Her eyes played me
Like soft chords on
An old violin,
And the sound produced
Would never sound as sweet,
As the song flowing from
Your piano key teeth.

There are harmonies in my heart,
And melodies in my veins.
If only you'd strum me
Three times more,
I'd blow into your trumpet lips,
And you'd buzz and you'd hum-
Dancing inside of my kiss.

I'll take this mallet,
And hammer away
At the contours of your spine
Like it were a xylophone,
Your body vibrates-
I flow to the sensual tone.

This is a symphony of few,
An orchestra of two,
And who needs instruments anyway-
When the music is made
by me and you?

After smoking my first pack
Of cigarettes
The novelty wore off pretty quick.
It didn’t feel cool anymore,
Didn’t make me feel important.
The cigarette was just something
To stick between my fingers,
**** between my lips,
Inhale and feel something
In my lungs.
A prop.
It was just a stick
With a red, smoldering ****,
A piece of tobacco
To play with before the ember
Ate way down to the filter
And singed my fingertips.

Now, I think I light up
Because the smoke is so
******* enticing.
It’s beautiful,
A kinesthetic work of art
like a ballet,
The way those silver
Tendrils curl so languidly
From the tip into the air,
So graceful, so smooth.
When I smoke
I can’t help but to imagine
I’m watching a group of dancers.

And I think I light up
Because there’s nothing better to do
Half the time and at least
It flouts the boredom
for a few minutes or so,
At least it interrupts the
Relentless monotony of Life.
Kurt Vonnegut mentioned
Something about smoking
Being a noble form of suicide-

Well, so it goes.

Draped, splattered on a canvas
that stretches over bones—
Let's see what life you can make of it,
This framed temple you call home.

These rough edges strike you
Awakening their shapes steadily,
Just living lines on road maps that will never,
Ever lead you back to me.

For you are a transformed artist, a pale-skinned army
Composed of a thousand lies,
A self-proclaimed angry bird,
Red like a sick horizon.

With uneven flow, your hesitant hands
Trembled all through the night,
Just to burn it in morning, even though
You worked so hard to get the lighting right.

I lost her.  
Where did she go?
I hear her voice.  
It's coming from the studio.
Against my better judgement.  
I follow.  
I don't dance.
I don't have a dancer's body.  
Music.  
My heart races.  I hate this.
The mirrors surround me.
Where is she?  
I can't do this without her.  
I'm short.
Fat.
Mirrors.  
Suddenly, I can't breathe.
I close my eyes.  
Open them.  
Eyes front.  
Ready to fight alone.    
Then I saw HER.  
As the music played, she let the rhythm pulsate through her body.  
The vocals moved her spirit.  
The percussion moved her feet.
She had enough curves to move with each instrument.    
And so she danced.  
She was bursting with sensuality.    
Aware of the power of her swaying hips.  
Her smile hypnotized me.  
The fluidity of her body seduced me.  
No.
I must not give in.    
I feel weak.
One sway consumes me.    
I am defeated.    
And so I let her dance
Back into my soul.

Sweet is the kiss
That makes me hate the time,
Soft is the breath
That fades from your lips to mine.

Smile, dear
For just a glimpse of that subtle grin
Is enough to make my heart shutter.
And I dare you to bat those blue eyes again,
I promise i won't stare.
Breathe your soul into me
I will conceal it in my heart,
guarding, until the end of my time.

And I'll show you what trust looks like
And I'll show you what passion tastes like
And I'll show you what love feels like--
And that will be more than enough.

High.
Breathing is normal,
appetite is aberrant.
All sounds are ambient.

I
am
still
here.

Lost in time;
unaware of reality,
but aware of my sanity.

Am
I
still
here?

Senses have risen
and failed
My mind is jailed.

Will
I
stay
here?

Jailed but liberated,
I am one with everything.
My heart begins to sing.

I
am
not
here.
-Bb

Long day.
Still no job.
Not a friend to hear my cry.
I just really need some sleep.

You know, my ceiling doesn't look the same anymore.
Endless nights of mindless staring--
has accumulated a peculiar fascination with
this slab of poorly painted drywall.
Blank, empty, curious,
it seems as if my ceiling and I have more in common
than I previously recognized.

I don't know when the sleepless nights started,
but my need for them to end is imperative.
I can't take it anymore.
Lying alone in your bed at night,
provides too much time for thought.
I can't deal with more thoughts.
Not with this insignificant life of mine.

Too many thoughts of love,
and how i don't posses it.
Too many thoughts of hope,
And how there is none.
Too many thoughts of Heaven,
And how I'll probably go to hell.
Too many thoughts about those painkillers in the drawer--
hiding so close to the whiskey;
Too many thoughts about how many pills It'd take;
Too many thoughts about the chance of getting some real rest;
...
I just really need some sleep--
Forever.


-Bb