When the tears won’t come
At the greatest depth of our sadness
When we feel so hopeless
We couldn’t fathom any space below
And yet a great pulling in our chests
Haunts us with the knowing that still
There are fathoms to be pulled
Within these sensations the dry eyes of
Sorrowed desperate beings hold
A wealth of insight regarding the
Machinations of an essential process
Hidden beyond the reaches of
Empathetic yet requited hearts
Lost to the imaginations of those
Embedded in the arms of belonging
When the tears won’t come
It’s because the bottom of a deep well
Has been pulled away impossibly
And where there was no space to give
A great void is rendered into being
Within fragile beings made desperate
In the wake of an impossible suction
Pulling into existence a hollow space
That we birth and give the name of Loneliness
Loneliness does not cry but asks to be filled
And the fragile beings now made
Sorrowed desperate parents give
Their unconditional love to the child
We fill Loneliness with belonging
With love no matter the source
And the bottom to a well is rebuilt
Of brittle sinews and hollow bones
The pressure rebalanced one might cry
For tears need a harrowing and
Strange balance to gift us relief
Or the tears may still withhold their gifts
Haunted by reminders of desperation
Feb 11, 2022
Feb 11, 2022 at 8:27 PM UTC
Awoke to a sad same day
And before I went back to bed
I crumpled every ******* dream
And threw them all away
Fools are those who imagine
It’s somehow righteous to be different
And amid the masses they’ll be seen
But no one knows you, little man
The news is not covering your dreams
I think someone really wants me
To be the same as all the rest
Behind their smiles I see a lie
And though I’ve scoured the bay for truth
Cities make, of my reflection, jest
Dreams are this illusion of vastness
Like matter, what seems dense is hollow
What I want, to you, is small
Every selfish field must grow fallow
What’s fateful matters not at all
So it turns out I was right
And happiness must be
An empty bottle
A towel to throw in every fight
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 12:48 PM UTC
The dream is one of life’s great ironies
A word overfilled with the vaguest hopes
A word impalpable, of fantasies
And yet, the tangible within its scope
When nightmares leave us restless and afraid
Mother soothes her child with “it’s just a dream”
But when bold men dreamt of what they then made
Matrons held those thoughts with profound esteem
Each is urged to trace whimsy’s beaconed path
For boys and girls can be all they desire
Heed not reality, nor aftermath
Set reverie, each night, newly afire
I found this same paradox to apply
When I dreamt of you, my deluging love
Saw heaven in the depths of your brown eyes
But sleep’s hellish guile pained my heart thereof
You smiled at me and walked amid soft light
Under a glowing willow tree, we met
For hours, as friends who were once lovers might
We merged with warm embrace our silhouettes
I cried for joy to hold what seemed so real
Lost in you, I forgot of earthly time
And to have foregone breath might bear appeal
For, in that false world, you were truly mine
This sweet conceit is such a cruel scheme
For, when I wake, it’s always just a dream
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 5:39 PM UTC
Sometimes, the sad stuff nestles
And offers a familiar strangle hold
But you offer me a stranger’s hold
And like a snow globe unsettled
The sad stuff scatters
Blood vessels open wide and wild and bold
And we go deeply upside down
All the particulates of our particulars
Dance around in carnal discussions
Of morality and philosophy and borders
Spoken in petite four letter words
Jul 24, 2016
Jul 24, 2016 at 12:13 AM UTC
I held my head today
With compassionate hands that pulled forth tears
I held my aching head
Filled with thoughts and images I’ve kept
In distant recesses
Breaking free, boiling up to forefronts
With rage and sorrow
Like bodies long forgotten out to sea
Washing ashore to shock new eyes
With bloated horror
Thank you, distant ****** ancestors
For compassionate hands
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 9:51 PM UTC
Your stare is a diamond-cutter
Your hair smells better than
Hair that smells good.
Namely, I like you better than
People with hair that smells good.
And I wonder at your personhood
For you are made of *** and *****
Your mouth is filled with gold and snakes
And trickles rapturous winding rivers
of *** and venom.
Your sharp teeth have purpose
And your softness only seems
To heighten their resolve.
When you open up to me
I better than dissolve.
I become aware for the first time
in a week.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 1:20 AM UTC
Take me everywhere, beautiful
There's too much
I have not been
Jun 25, 2013
Jun 25, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
Be wild
Be free
So to leave the hollowed masses blushing
With reminders of forgotten roots
Tear clothing from imprisoned flesh
And let light nestle back
Into ruins abandoned not through time
But for ugly Godful shame
Savagely unhinge choking steel doors
And let loose a fiery green
Send forth flames of growth
And sparking soul
Leaping high into the night
Taunting the darkness
Beyond the reach of Jove
Light pagan candles
And chant ritualistic
Prayers of Yes
May 15, 2013
May 15, 2013 at 10:13 AM UTC
When we die
We sink back
Into that from which
We came
We reconnoiter
Our stuff
With that from which
We were delivered
And it takes
A bit of time
No one
Can be sure
How long
Because
Well
The process
Of reconnoitering
Starts with our rotting away from what we are now
Involves some process
Or another
Of our being reabsorbed into the Earth and her elements
Being redistributed
Here and there
And everywhere
Over that period of time
I am fairly certain
We cannot know
Ourselves as we are now
That is to say
There will certainly
Shortly after we die
Be an ending of neural pathways firing
And a stillness of thoughts
Even those that let us therefore be
And given enough time
Some of those elements
That were
Within us
Will certainly
Be without
What we now
Call us
And all of the elements
That we now
Call
us
Will
have
to
deal
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And given
Even more
Time
As much as
random
Dissociated time
Needs
Elements
Of what we now
Call Us
Will be within
What we would now
Call other
Living things
Or, one living thing, viewed not through the lens of time.
As a poem
On an
Infinitely long
And strange
page
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 5:12 AM UTC
Your love
Is everything
Barren desert
Fertile valley
Lush indeed
Apr 9, 2013
Apr 9, 2013 at 11:57 PM UTC