I need you
In the mornings with my journal and my bible
On cold windy fall days
Perhaps on lazy days while watching kid movies
when i sent your smell i feel comfort
the smell fills my home, fills the streets and cities
i want you

"where day is....an opening door'

black lined eyes,
purple-red lips
cheeks of rose
and broken petals,

summer sings of
green feverish leaves,
of a hot sun, of my
longings.

twisting lizard
scales not skin
iron-like, unhinged
and re-hinged, threadbare,

cardboard sun, smartly
stitched like a brown bear,
woken from a trembling
night of crimson stars,

torn up paper, song
of love, hot bird,
sparrow at an angle.

Yet again
I try to make some sense of this
heartache
Spin the rejection into something poetic
Searching for melancholy romance in all the missing.
But it isn't romantic
And there isn't always sense to be found.
Sometimes it's just broken promises
And question marks
And heavy emptiness.
And these useless metaphors aren't enough -
They don't fill.
Sometimes nothing fills
The gaps and empty spaces left
When it all comes crashing down
When people disappoint
And people always disappoint.
These words don't know how to soothe
The anger I feel
At them
And at myself.
Sometimes there's nothing you can say
Or write
When your body aches with longing
And your mind tortures you
With all the wishing
For it to have been another way.
These pretty words
And this glorified hurt  
Don't make it any of it less true
I think I've always fought accepting
The tragedies I can't undo.

Sitting on my balcony
As the dark envelops the lake
Drinking a glass of wine
I forgive everyone their sins.

Tengo un vacío enorme en el pecho,
hambriento como buzón de sugerencias.
Y no quiero hacer nada.
Echarse a morir es terapéutico.
Buitres en la azotea, niños hurgando en basureros.
La última vez que hablé con alguien
ninguno de los dos estaba prestando atención.
A veces no quiero ser nada.
Para ti, vocecita de lector (que suena como tú
y habla como yo), son estas letras vagas
llenas de la sabiduría que otorga el sufrir
y el amar profundamente:
si te digo que la vida pesa lo mismo que pesa
un elefante de Dalí,
¿creerías en mí?
Sería la poesía un asunto académico
si vivir no fuera de dominio público.
Pero yo no quiero hacer nada.
Como disculpándose me abraza
la primera derrota del día
y al salir se le olvida
cerrar la puerta.
Hasta luego, poeta.
Hoy no quiero ser nada.