Trapped now are we,
Encaged behind the curtains
Like rogue hares traversing
The winding canyons
Of travellers’ dreams,

Hares that beat the dust
Beneath their tired feet
And hares who do not lust
For grass beyond their reach,

Hares beating dust
Into the slits
Of sabbatic sheets,

Dust that sits
And dust that seeps
Into the wilted corpses
Of knackered beasts,

And now, those hares,
They look upon me -
A silence lost
In our final dreams.

there would be no sleep
this night
wracked with reckoning
futile cup of decaf cooling
minutes become
memories murmuring
recriminations reverberate
bowed head nodding
over quiescent keyboard
as vivid visions vanish
one
        into
                another
hesitant hours hovering
errors echoing
in void of forgiveness
aching agony of awareness
becomes brutal
he receives respite
as night became day
he understood what truth
could be known
he has only himself
and the day before him

and so he lay down
and so his eyes close
in the light of morning

The horizon took a smoke break at sunset
And 7 hours later she's still gone
No doubt sleeping with the breeze
I stand on the deck in the darkness
Leaning forward
My hands on the rail
Gazing at the infinite mirror, reflecting
The air is as still and cold as the water
Just like the man next to me
He sighs but no vapor forms
He's cloaked in a blue shadow
Like the bottom of the ocean
A darker blue I've never seen
But in a voice clear as ice he asks
'Do you love me?'
I nod
'Not talking tonight?'
I nod
He rests his stygian blue fingers
On the back of my moon-light hand
And we kiss
Enjoying each other
Until the sun clocks in in the morning

i haven't left the house

i havent

i haven't left the house for fun in a long time

what is fun?

i could look up the meaning of the word and yet

still not seem to understand it

my heart has dropped in my stomach

a bag of acid

and sunk

and with the movement of swishing enzymes

it has twisted and churned

and poured out any emotion i had left

what's the difference between happy and sad?

sad and angry?

they are all the same to me

at the end of a smile

of a roar

of a tear

my little emotionless heart

is lonely in a bag of acid

and enzymes are twisting and churning

all with efficiency

and my little heart

is just there

for the waves

i am so lonely

but every conversation i have

with anyone but my family

is an inner battle

i will start and end every conversation

my mind drives at 150 miles per hour

and nothing less

and the sound of its roaring engine centres in my head

and lingers in my ears

and even when the conversation end

my mind will continue to echo its roars

for years

i promised myself i wouldn't do this

lock myself inside me

and lose the key

i promised myself i wouldn't do this

throw my body like ****

and expect it not to fight back

i promised myself

i would be happy

2017 has already ****** me up

as it came in

UGHhHuhughuHGughughughugh

i don't even know how to ******* write anymore

something i used to have guarded deep underneath my flesh

blanketed in tissue

laying on bones

has thrown off the covers and is racing in blood

and has just flowed out

with every little slice i make

who knows this

me and me

i used to think i could be a writer

read comments and smile

i used to think i was something

for a whole minute

but my big old mind

slapped me right back into shape

and helped me understand

all of my little hopes were dead

i watched slam poems

read sonnets

who am i kidding

i haven't had a split second for me

so much so I'm mixing science

with poetry

i shut my eyes and see 4 quadrants

and the negative and positive number lines

engraving with a tickle beneath my hair

i see the alimentary canal, the small intestines

forming a headband of flowers around my head

i see atoms bouncing around my limbs

accompanied with hundreds of shells

i see cations and anions

and every thing has to be done

so many things to be done

that i can't sleep

and i wake up late

and the day is half gone

**** what a waste

i will beat myself for the entire day for the hour i spent shut eye's distance away from books

all i can think about is time

and as i write this i glance at my clock every second

1:06 and no one will read this but me

422 words and nobody cares

ill just go through this alone

just like every other rough patch I've ever had

because i push everyone out

and wonder why no one cares

my eyes droop with every little tap on my keyboard

why am i alive

i know so many people who deserve lives

and my name is south of that list

cross my heart and i hope to die

they really weren't telling a lie.

I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

The warrior walks
Dawn's first light in the forest
A babbling stream

The birds are chirping
He wades through the tide of mist
Around his ankles

The stream is ahead
Dropping his weapon he falls
The battle was won

He saved his village
But suffered a grievous wound
He reaches forward

The ice cold water
Brings wet fingers to his lips
A slight refreshment

Savoring the taste
A bed of wild flowers
A perfect cushion

Weapon behind him
He thinks about his breathing
With grass on his face

Remembers, exhale
His wife and child, inhale
Beautiful, exhale

Remembers, inhale
The days long battle, exhale
His people saved, still

Remembers, inhale
Vibrant colors of spring, still
His daughter's face, still

Remembers, exhale
Cold water on his lips, still
Birds are chirping, still

Wild flowers, still
Rays of dawn pierce the trees, still
A babbling stream