faint scents of woven hair
and gentle hands beneath the pillow
of spiced, soft lips
that bring the morning
to night soaked eyes
and as the stars disappear from these eyes
another comes to light

how much poetry is in a person?
and how much of it comes out?
enough to bring up the pimples in your personality?
the ugly bumps you can learn to hide
but can't stop people from feeling
when they touch you

how much poetry is in a person
and how much needs to come out
before i am better
how much before i get over this *******
that's calling my name

how much poetry is in a person
and how do i get rid of it
i either speak cynically
or with the malice
and blood
that seeps out of me

how much poetry is in a person
and is it ok to have it there
and when will these pimples go away
and when will i be
alright again

does the poetry have to be gone
for me to be ok?

a lady lights a cigarette
glowing red cherry
lips, puffing without
regret
a cigarette, burning
smoking, grey breathing
choking and
tap tap the
falling ashes

it is over with
a definitive flick —
a lady lights a cigarette
she can see her spirit
dancing in the smoke

When I drive
beneath the city lights
I can't help but look up
and sigh.

The top floor
of the highest building-
so insignificant to everyone
but I.

The thrill we had
of sneaking in,
then climbing to the top-
so high.

Watching the traffic,
hearing the music,
and observing so many lives
go by.

One of my most memorable times
of growing up; understanding life,
but now it's just a memory that lives
underneath
the city lights.

With all that keeps me alive
The world that changes
with every flickering light
in the city
I see only one
Until each light goes out
my soul aches in the city lights
bringing comfort and pain
until I go out
With each light
I will go out