I just keep reading my own poems
At 3 am, over and over my words
Carnal is she, leaping at me, leaping
One, two three  bee  tree oh ******
Rhymes to thin down grief

No, grief is too fancy, I flatter myself
It is      maggot of the soul munching
Loudly scratching... my thoughts
Are anxious fingers, finger-tips torn
As war ridden boots, my feet make no
Sound in the world.. they startle but
Themselves, they leave no change

I am       wallpaper boiling through
Months of moisture, slowly stripping
Myself cement and repulsive and
Whitewashed... flat as the belly of a table
I lie like a dog with my limbs raised
To a friend

O God, love me. Overturn me.
I am tired of my stale riots,
Of my resistance, my revolutions
I am nothing to build upon
Nothing to build with, cats and
Cars sound through the walls
Like footprints into sea
I am deaf, redundant abundant,
self-centered misery and dull defeat

I pick my nails and sit
Boat in a stagnant sea
Jigging as if itchy, twisting
Twining tweaking tingling
Even time stops by to tusk

Carnal is she
Leaping at me
Swift and free
Sleek as tea
Whispers thick
And then does lick
Ick ick ick ick
She sticks
The blade
Down in bed
And then she fades
As soul from dead
And fed am I
On nerve and song
And lie I long
Shivering along
To barren currents
Of our ripe night
And harvests she
The crop, and stops
To smile at me
And further drops
Me into fright

Bold is she
Carnival and cat
A mocking flame
To my dear wax
Tumbles my body
In her shrill hands
And lands in mercy
Of her mischief
Then melt I
And fly I falling
And follows she
To watch me come
Alive again
Again. Again she goes
And scares the skin
Tin, as tin
She laughs away
And if sin this be
Then sin we may
Till the sun should come
Alive again

So falls asleep
The clock at work
And still stand staring
All stalls of night
Wander shall we
Or lie down to sleep
Shall we dance on lips
Of thought forlorn
Stumbling go ever
Down in dim
Or lead the leaning
Limbs to the lair
Of dark despair
The dear despair
The shuffled sea
To which we see
As children in plea

Shall we then stop
And hear the streets
Go wading on
Or lose shall we
Ourselves to blood
As bumbling it goes
From us to us to us
For there is no weep
That may we stir
As sweet in tea
And beat and beat
May these shrill heels
Forever and free
May once they slip
And then fall far
Into the song
And may the hands
Yield as we
Lay them rest
On our simple *******
And may the land
Of whsiper and chant
Ever go writing
The waves of sea

But mourn or nor,
Lose shall we
Stale as sundress
In the lap of she,
Loose as tea,
And no comfort coy
Shall hear from us
A single cry
And sweet or sleep
May mend the bleak
But we will not weep
No, we will not weep

Weep we shouldn't
Lest morn should bear
Upon it the stain
Of our meek feat

And weep we would
If but we could
Bear brave the banner
Of fierce defeat

Every night, I walk down to the lips of the my town
Quiet as the stark knife edge, simple as dust
I will get lost, once, tens, a thousand times
Counting meters and turns to the forbidden home
I will waste days and days to glimpse the blackness
Peep by the fence, disappear behind, watch the door
Touch the sweet blue dryness inhabiting the windows
I can stroll a hundred hours, all alone in detatchment
You do not know. You are never awake to see.
Every night, I pray. Everyday, I look for God's fair face
In wild men, in sullen men. In the keen red eyes of hatered
In my own beloved misery. God is in the ashes,
God leaves footprints in the graveyards
Watches the playgrounds from afar. God is in tyrant boredom
When trees shuffle, and all else leave

God is not here. Like a cannon ball, I toss the lowly soul around
I wash her face by the storm, I pull her along into malls
Lights take her astray, music suffocates her
In the night, every night, I am a shady wanderer
Wandering as a worm, looking for sweet
And no one no one no one is here

Smother the torches
Burn down the sun
My young boy has died
And his ashes blown
Stomp on their candles
Shatter their statues
No fumbling mourn
Could bring back my boy
No fostered condolence
No faltering words
Woe to the blacksmith
Pounding on the night
His burning stars
Errupting, errupting
Woe, the moon has left
And no jewel of old or now
Could bring him back tonight
No noise of plea, no agony
No mumbling thunder
In my frail blue body
Woe, the room is dark
And empty and empty
Not a shadow, not a light
No one to hold onto
No one no one no one
There is nothing in me
With my young boy gone

Dance me when they are all weeping
Dance me to the sound of their grief
Dance me naked, pitiful, ordinary
Polished a wood to hold the mirror
Polished a mirror to hold the world
Polished a world to hold me, O
Simple acosmist, dance me thoughtless
To the edge of your thoughts
Dip me faithful, into disbelief
Dip me, trick me, pull me back
Taste the constant revolution
Brooding in me, taste the brood too
Senseless word, tasteless art
Taste that too. Startle, stumble,
Startle me thus - O dimmed Daedalus
Craft me wings, craft me the sun too.

Oh heavens, to have destroyed you
As a mad artist may his work
As a blacksmith may the sword
To have been called for then
To have waded in the tense desire
Of your bleak longing for grief
And beheld you naked, pathetic
Permanently deathless a creature
Tearing at its rivulets of life
To have been loved despite.
To have taken you into me
Tied you to the lone in me
And robbed you, clawing, over and over
Turned you to the flame you stole from me
Oh, to have been loved despite, despite