all i do is sit and wait
the feeling isn’t great
when all i do is give and you take
your energy seems fake
is what i’m doing a mistake
this feeling makes my stomach ache
when it comes to me all you do is flake

Κάποτε κάποιο καροτί κορμί
σκυφτό σκιζμένο και συγχισμένο σημείωσε
πως από την ενσυναίσθηση
μπορούσε μόνον να αντιληφθεί την προσωπική του αίσθηση.
Το ίδιο κορμί, από εδώ και πέρα θα το λέμε υποκείμενο,
γδύνοντας το με τα μάτια μου
άφησε πίσω μια ανάμειξη πρασινωπού χρώματος που για λίγο θύμισε δυναμικά γαλανή πινελιά πορτοκαλιού.  
Μια φορά πολύ καταναγκαστικά έθεσε το άλλο κορμί, το δικό μου, που έγινε το αντικείμενο της δικής του ιστορίας σε θέση πτώματος. Σε επίπεδο τόσο χαμηλό και αξιολύπητο που έκανε εμένα, ένα υποκείμενο θλιβερό, να νιώθω μικρό και ασήμαντο.
Τότε το αντικειμενικά αδιάφορο μα υποκειμενικά αυτάρκες κορμί μου άφησε πίσω τις ανυψωμένες προσδοκίες του.
Το κερί δηλαδή που άναψες με το λεκτικό σου σπίρτο, η καρυάτιδα που συμβούλεψες να προσέχει να μην την αλλοιώσει η όξινη βροχή και ο συμπαντικός κόσμος που επαναπροσδιορίσαμε συρρικνώνοντας τον στο μέγεθος μιας ζεστής αγκαλιάς που μία σου, σε ερέθισε και μία μου, με ηρέμησε, κάθετι δηλαδή που είχε με προσοχή πλαστεί σε έναν κόσμο συγκεκριμένο, σβήνουν ξαφνικά.
'Ολα μονομιάς βγάζουν καπνό που αρχίζει να ανεβαίνει επιδεικτικά στην ατμόσφαιρα.
Όλα τα τσιμπήματα, τραβήγματα και αγγίγματα πολλών ρίχτερ που μηδενίσαμε αντιδρώντας κ΄οι δυό εναλλάξ ψύχραιμα, γίνονται τα ανέκδοντα της παρέας.
Η αφαίρεση του δικαιώματος μου να σε δαγκώσω και να κουμπώσω την μία φορά μετά την άλλη τα μονίμως ηλεκτρισμένα με φορτία αρνητικά σώματα μας δεν μου επιτρέπει να εκτονώσω την συσσωρευμένη ανικανοποίηση ουσία του ερωτικού μου πυρήνα.
Γι΄αυτό η επιβίωση του υποκειμένου μου είναι εξαρτημένη από το διαστημικό μυαλό σου που μετουσιώνεται σε λογοτεχνία. Μετενσαρκώνεται στην ιστορία την δική σου.
Δεν νομίζω απλά να τρέμω, να εμφανίσω μια απλουστευμένη  φρί βέρς συλλεκτική δημιουργία που είναι η κατ' εμέ ανιαρή ιστορία η δική μου.
Δεν νομίζω.

I was falling
for you

the feeling of
being weightless

the sky and
the ocean are
blue

like your eyes

your eyes and
Einstein’s brain

are the depths
I can never reach

but I will drown trying
to reach either or both

Keen observations
Of a restless mind,
Every day a possibility
What will I find?
Will I trigger imagination
And inspire another?
Oh, don't count on that
Were the words of my mother.

I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

It's the continual
opening of the
eyes that disappoints,
not that sleep brings peace,
but it's the momentary
reprieve from life's
clenched fist, and
it's ruthless apathy.

Life is a toss of
the coin,
a roll of the dice.
Often, it's snake eyes.
As a kid, I always
thought that everything
would be alright.
Now I see the
randomness of
it all.

I'm always trying to
get back to Eden.
Sometimes, the
dreamer in me
forgets the futility.
The banishment is
forever.

u see the knife
you watch the glow
u see me smile
but can't hear me cry
u think i'm happy
but inside i'm breaking
u see the blood
then u realize
that i wasn't
lying
when i said
i'm depressed!
u wish u gave me the
support i needed
but now it's too late.
I'm dying inside...

I don't feel special,
I'm not unique.
I want to cry
but I can't even speak.
My hands reach out,
but they cannot hold
a single thing
but the bitter cold.
Everything's frozen,
I feel lost.
Even my tears
have turned to frost.
When I cut my waist
it bleeds black.
I'm so deeply gone
there's no way back.
This is goodbye

December nights are different than the rest
In December I lie awake and listen to Christmas songs
In December I lie awake finding presents for my loved ones
In December I lie awake thinking about what I'll cook over the holidays
Why can't every mont be December?

The terrain of your loneliness falls under my hands
soft as cinders in a snuffed fire
We have both burned, in our way
and under my breath
Embers ignite, the soft glow
And incandescent heat of our palms, tenderly met
Lanterns in a grey sea
we light as beacons
For our lost ships
calling them
To safe harbor.

They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love."
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

All I know
Is how
I feel

And sometimes I
Wish I
Knew nothing

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

mom, i love you
mom, can you take the weekend off?
mom, can he go back to his house?
mom, i miss you
mom, i hate you

When I was little
I was scared
Scared of the monsters living under my bed
I used to hide, under my blanket
Under my blanket, I was safe
The monsters couldn’t reach me under my blanket

My parents used to say
The monsters would go away
I would grow up and that then they would leave

But I grew up
And the monsters didn’t leave
Turns out my monsters, grew with me
Now instead of under my bed
The monsters live inside my head

So I hide, under my blanket
Where I think I am safe
Wondering if after all this time
My blanket can still keep the monsters at bay

Please for dailiness
Help me take it slow.

Courage, calm, and caring
The anxiety will ebb and flow.

            Seeking. On we go.

Man with no name
Laconic in every frame
Smoking a cigar
Or driving a police car
Westerns or a Cop Thriller
As a Drifter or a Rider
Iconoclastic instant justice
44 Magnum to carry it out without prejudice
Mayor of Carmel
All American Male
Filling cinemas across the globe
East West North or South
Its got to be Clint Eastwood

If I could love, I would take the best of marble and dove,
And craft her eyes like inlaid tombs in stone skyward flight.
Just so, the Egyptian khamsin wind, by way of Rhodes,
Alights with evenness on the trullo stone of Alberobello.
Just so, the weighing of the heart lies between marble and dove.

It takes me
perhaps a few minutes,
at most,
to write a poem.

In the brief instant
between
creation and publication,
I am convinced
that this poem cannot be
improved.

But note,
it is never the claim,
that the poem is
any good.

I write
so that I may express
what I had genuinely felt
for a few moments.

Beach day adventures
are like delicious coconut cookies
where the sea meets the coast
grounded beyond your comfort zone
intertwined with flavors of the sunset
flowing in the skyline
and footprints scattered everywhere
like a canvas of scenic artwork on the sand bank
a paradise where guitars and lovers
igniting their enthusiasm for life
with the soothing sounds of Goombay
and the beauties of sand and surf

Break my bones;
cut my throat.
Pull me open,
learn the ropes.

Breath me in;
taste the fear.
Shank my skin;
stand and cheer.

Kick my head;
let me bleed.
Unbolt my veins;
enjoy the read.

Gouge my eyes;
punch my face.
Wrap me up
in your embrace.