send them in
  I'm sad as sin
    not next year
now, my dear

bring on color
  so tired of dolor
    I want to smile
more than a while    

here you are
  shining star ...
    your antics please
you give me
a squeeze ...

so this is where all the dreaming takes me
to a cold, empty reality
with sleep still in my eyes
shivering, confused, I must’ve overslept
now it’s time to wake up
one last yawn, then face the lies
I’m barefoot and the streets are rough
paved with broken glass
but that’s okay
’cause the land is flowing
with milk and honey
bread and butter
and justice
if you just keep on going ...

I guess I will do something like homework.
Purposeful, delivered with instructions – to be completed.

But I cannot forget those shadows on the building nearby.
The way the sky does not know whether or not to be blue
or cloudy.
So it rests on the roofs in order to
contemplate its decision.
I remind him to breathe – as well as I.

There, that helps.

Now we can follow the linear direction of the telephone wires.
Train tracks in the expanse. They allow for geometrical
and purposeful
sense to be made of it all.

Damn. They led me right to the clock!
How could they?
The time I did not need.
Why did my eye follow that line so faithfully?

Now those minutes that I lost and forgot all line up outside my door.
Waiting to be counted and named. But I cannot go to the door and let them in.
There just isn't enough room in this small apartment!

So I sit in my chair, perfectly consumed by book.
Yet I do hear them shuffling and muttering and shifting outside
making room in the hall as newcomers arrive.

Every once in a while, a particularly insistent one will ring that buzzer.
A delusion that his interval remains
very pressing and must not be missed.

Soon enough
I think
I will post a check-in list up on the door
maybe they can schedule appointments.
Then they will see just how busy I am.
Unfortunately I cannot now
I can only wait for the evening when they give up for the day and clear out.

Because, if I opened that door even a crack to slide the paper through, one or two would manage to slip by. I might even be risking the lot of them piling up on the door until I just couldn't hold it up any more and they would all clamber and fall in, one on top of the other (none are very considerate or patient) and I just wouldn't be able to stop them! Can you imagine the mess they'd make in here?

I did just sweep the floors.

I want to destroy you as bad as you destroy me

But sometimes

Most of the time

I want you to destroy me

If it meant lying next you at night

I thought
When I got someone new,
I would feel a sense of happiness...
Or anything really.

But NO,
I still have that empty feeling...
But now it's growing vast;
Eating away at my chest.

No longer feeling numb,
But a dull ache
...
From head to toe
The emptiness has grown.

Because,
When I'm with someone else; I feel nothing.
...I need you.

There skin is soft as it is plush,

the shade of pink

when I make them blush.

They giggle and smile

when I touch there hand.


Oh how I love,

the way the fall for me...

with such grace.

pale, bitter agony, sweet ordered chaos, vague awareness, dead to the world, unable to wake yet unable to sleep, hopelessly happy, wanting to be in the limelight, yet to shy to take center stage. Teach me how how to live and I'll teach you how to fly.

The thunder screamed
And the stream flowed on silently
The rain thudded and flooded
And the water spilled
Out like the words
From my throat
Awhile ago
Before when I stopped trying
To explain why I'm here
And all alone
And in the indents
Of where the stream lays
Now just a vein
In the floor of the crashing river
Is where the bones lie
From the body of the one
Who died trying to see through the universe.

I am stuck.
Not by choice
but rather simply by consequence.


I am
too young and too old
too shy and too bold
too anxious and too calm
too busy and too bored


I'm not sure how I got here.
I'm not sure if I am here
or if I'm in-between one place
and the other
stuck in limbo.


The space between
this one metaphysical place
and the other
laughs at me.


It knows
I can’t be
bothered
to move,
because I don’t
know how.


So I am stuck
between one and the
other
but still
nowhere near
the happy medium.

We, as poets

we fear the tangible

our fingers have lost the ability to

touch, to

feel

from

nights spent clutching our pens

from

unclenching our fists

from

peeling our

fingertips away from the ones we cannot afford to lose.

From pressing the familiar lines of our

palms together while looking

up past the cracked ceiling

up past the cloud that Darius calls

God

We, as poets, do not believe in a

heaven, for

Purgatory

is so sweet

 
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