See that orange dust, being picked up by the wind
With crusts of brown catching on the edges of your shoes
Do you see the pieces of wood, dryly speckled across the pavement
while others get carried off by the ants up the side of the bench
No, you probably don't.
Because you are looking up, at the vibrant green fronds
The leaves that span their arms wide to embrace the sun
The new shoots that crawl and creep along the trees edges
Perhaps a blossom or two, breathing for the first time
And the scent that lingers in your senses and heart
And you smile at them. Yes you smile.
And offer them a caress for those closer to the ground.
Maybe pick up a freshly fallen leaf with colours
to bask in and share later with your 5 year old niece.
Or place in the middle pages of your travel diary
as you soak in the experience of the new
Then, when theres not much else to do,
you may on occasion admire the somewhat gone
The amusing and sweet pattern of the holes
that have torn through the turning yellow and brown
Maybe you'll trace around it with your fingers
Reflecting on how even death can be beautiful.
Yes, I too have seen these things. And picked them up myself.
Carried and disposed of, during a meandering thought.
Yet, very seldom. In fact, I have yet to see it.
Will anyone try and piece back together
The leaf that has become apart
translucent and scattered.
And still.
With no more of anything left to give.
The pieces now trembling with complete vulnerability
With no will and no colour.
Its disappearance will not be noticed
by anything
other than the silence.

A foolish heart knows no bounds,
falling over and over
like a gentle whimper of a child
but yet,
still looking up with a vulnerable hope
a yearning questioning
for the affection
of the averted gaze.

A foolish heart sees no truth,
staggering in a room full of thorns
only to proclaim
that the spaces between
are whispers
silent expressions of
a secret love
that they wish to see.

A foolish heart hears no rejection,
for its all a projection
of a nightmarish confusion
while the truth
no matter how sought for
suffocates
at the seam,
and the foolish heart continues
on with its caramel dream.

A foolish heart does not fear pain,
for that is where it sleeps.
No, a foolish heart,
fears the end,
it fears the death
of its very own breath.
Where the illusion is broken,
and all that remains
Is a plain human being.
A foolish heart wants to stay foolish
for it’s the most alive its ever been.

A smile is so much more
than a curvature of the lips
Its a smell that emits
from the breath of a kiss
Its the sound of joy
behind the cryptic face
that remains perfectly still
and yet watches you with grace
Its the movement of the thumb
across the knuckles of a lover
Its the gentlest of touches
of one nose against another
Its in the stolen glances
That escape the attention of the other
As they lace up their shoes
and talk about their brother
Its everything that you embody
and everything that you miss
When you realise
that you want all of this.

The shower
water
of silken light,
caresess my face
my hands
my thighs.
The delicate warmth
of the sunshine
beam
escorts
out
the sweetened steam.
The dancing giggles
slowly
reveal
all that lingers
beneath the peel.
The naked
truth
that
what
I feel
is
undeniably,
ever blindingly,
- real.

Fallen angles shake their heads
as my body drums against the
all too contained
cavity of expression.
Maddeningly, utterly in disarray
the mind stumbling
over the debris
left by the racing heart.
In a way, I hate you
but mostly me
for being at the mercy
of someone else's gaze.
God ******* ******,
**** ******* christ.
I want to pull my breath out
and bottle it up for a while
so I no longer have to breathe
this fire of unrest.

Fill my lungs with your smile
as we walk along
the sunshine drenched road
of meandering thought.
Our hands radiate
the delight that our words cannot
laced together, they wander
looking out into
this giggling world.
You laugh at a thought,
and I smile at your eyes
Each step
Lavishing the path with colour
and leaving a scent
of two lovers in bloom.

My blood flows with gold
my fingers alight with fire
it propels and consumes me
to an all encompassing desire.
Completely in the wind,
utterly in the rain
A sweet abandonment
into the delightful pain.
My skin - too tight
My movements - too constrained
Even a bellow from a mountain top
leaves this feeling untamed
A power so wild
so ferocious, yet so compressed
wails at the boundaries
of the unexpressed.

If you wake up in the night,
in a pool of sugar sweat
then baby you know what it feels like
to be in utter love-death.

In the morning, I die a little
as I get dressed in my mind
The afternoon reprieves a little,
as I smile stupidly love blind.

The evening gets a little tricky,
as my hopes get laced with doubt
I shake my head, my hands and body
as I try to shake you out.

Nothing seems to help
as the suns intensify their burn
the ones at the edges of my fingers
that repeatedly refuse to learn.

Logic can get ******,
reason is long out of breath
in trying to keep up
with this feverish love-death.

Sometimes you forget
that the window is
reflective
and you impose yourself
on to the world.
A gentle reminder,
of your own disposition,
and the way that it
escorts the sunlight
to your thoughts.
Your exuberant leaps
of elation
fling the curtains
open wide.
Yet your deep sighs
of exasperation
confuse the image
on both sides.

I see the world the way I see myself
One, simple set of eyes.
Desperately searching for that hope
that tomorrow will defy itself.
That it will bring something else
Other than today.
Much like the rest, I close my eyes
at times,
when the uncertainty seems too much
Or divert my attention away from the sky,
towards the leafy mulch.
I can do it, the game that is.
The slow walk onward to the edge.
I too can march with sturdy shoes,
then swiftly step backwards off the ledge.
At times, when I am feeling particularly lost
I will muster up the desire to take a peak
but the world always waits both eyes wide open
an unwavering stare,
churning within the unfathomable deep.
Muddling, my eyes water - my fists clutching
at my tear soaked chest.
Even death doesn't seem like enough,
for I will not know the truth
even then.

I can't stand this nonsense, this indifference  
this moat around the edge of my sight. My life.
I can't stand this overindulgence,
this unfettered decadence,
while the rest of the world isn't even given the privilege of weeping.
Of sleeping.
Of light.  
Insistingly,
I can't sleep - my dreams too a world without dreams.
An unfiltered montage of my insecurities playing out the reality I feel behind the forced optimism. The fanaticism,
for the smoothly ironed pressed.
Life.
I call out my own name -
behind the darkened and forgotten windowpane,
is the version of myself, angry, lonely and free.
Free of the freedoms that suffocate me.
Apparently I'm free to choose my fate,
my desk, my jacket, my dinner plate.
Yet where is the queue for self-expression?
For social justice? For unadulterated streams?
I am waiting, and getting rather impatient
with this facade
that we call 'the way it is.'

I have mentioned to you so many times, how you fail to see.
Looking between the slithered light, between the sheets - you lie and wait incessantly for permission to live.
It frustrates me to no end how you choose to forsake your strength,
for a couple of nice words from the world
for a couple of smiles from the rest.
Inside your belly, stroms forever brew.
Blowing around your mind to no end.
You contain all the power and glory inside yourself
turning nectar into posiion.
Now you lie there- feeling sorry for yourself
Wallowing in your pathetic trance
Forever using the victim card - to escape what is essentially your mess.
I am sick of dealing with your passivity, your submissive - weakling tune.
I want to shake you, corner you and show my teeth
Until you finally allow your power to come over you,,
You are not sweet - you are not kind - you are not passive and you're most certainly are not blind.
You are a fire living in the dark mind of a frightened sheep.

I don't know how to explain this life
if an alien came down and asked me
"whats it like to live?
I'd reply with something like
It depends
It depends on how you look at it
For example, take romance as a sample.
If I am adored and adorned with grace
then smiles inevitably creep upon the human face
but if I am alone and lonely too
I'll crawl around the inside of my skull
until I find something to latch on to.
I don't know, truth be told
You're born, you grow, you get old
Then into the dirt everyone will sink
Its pretty meaningless but
its life. I think.

Deeply snoring, the gentle soul sleeps
Cushioned by the ignorance of the mindless dreams
Following the circles of the reoccurring scene
The dream is everything, life is unseen.

I got left alone as a kid.
And not in the good sense,
Where you are given time
And space to explore
Your mind and the things that can fly.
I got left lonely.
I was the kid at school that ate their lunch
In the doorway of the school hall
Because no one would go there
To point out that I was alone.
I could pretend that this was a doorway
That was a cave
That stored a secret world to the elves.
but in reality – I was cold. And scared.
And had weird food.
I was forigen. But I didn’t know what that was then.
I was just alive. And people didn’t like me.
And the ones that liked me.
Often stopped.
changed their minds.
By the ones that didn’t.
It may not seem traumatic,
Or even worthy of complaint.
But it haunts me,
Today. And yesterday. And the day before that.
Im always afraid that you will leave me alone
That you will change your mind.
And that I will once again,
Have to find a doorway to sit inside.

You will die one day,
its true.
It's not a lie.
But that doesn't matter,
because you have to get your car registered
and fold the washing.

I love you like stupid does
Throwing my arms up
and declaring
an overwhelming defeat.
I love you like a child does
an adoration that knows
no bounds
giving an unwarranted amount
of everything.
I love you like an old man
loves the sun
gratefully soaking up
ever last moment
of warmth before he too
is done.
I love you like a tree
that roots itself
deeply
and continues to grow
unconditionally.
I love you.
I just do.
Like stupid does.

I’m alive
I breathe
I think
I feel
I want
I fear
I change
I ignore
I lie
          I long for
                                     I leap
I cry
             I soar
I cry
    
I fall

I cry
I pout
I harden
I cross
         I surrender
I sit
I listen
I wait
I realise
I transform
I desire
I love
I admire
I breathe
I live

The sheets that smell of your face
That once told me
That I was beautiful
I lay often blinking
Away the tears
That well from your silent love
The way your nose touches my cheek
When you press against me
In the night
Tells me all the things that I want to hear out loud
I want you to scream them
I want you to feel them so burningly that the fire
On your teeth turns sweet
Its because I don’t understand love
I don’t really know what it is, so I keep looking
But I’m looking in the wrong places
I know where to look
but its scary there
Because it’s inside of me

And inside of me its dark
So dark in fact that even dark doesn’t exist
No light ever touched me
No sound has ever caressed me
No breeze has ever whispered upon anything but my skin
because inside me, there is a nothing.
And I say a nothing on purpose
Because there is an essence that cannot be defined
It cannot be touched or explained
Or even described
but its there, and it sits forever
It listens to the rain of emotions and thoughts
That batter against the windows of my eyes
It sits so deliciously still
So still that when I taste it
A fountain of gentle love flushes my spine
So that I feel far too pleasant
To be able to love you
Because If I loved you that much
If I covered you in all the nothing that
Rests attentively inside of me
I wouldn’t even have my nothing left.
It would just be you
Only you
And I would be your skin
holding you together
While giving you all the sensitivity
Of every nerve in the universe.

Often in the land of dew,
I waltz around and look for you.
You absence persists as days flow
Following things you ought to know.

In this place of light and soft,
I caress the growing grass and moss,
reminding me of our days past,
the tender whims of pats and laughs.

I now hum the tune of your will
I know that must hear me still.
Whichever place you think you roam,
all paths lead to our small home.

If life has taught me anything true,
patience would never search for you.

Often In this land of dew,
I waltz around and look for you.
I do not wait nor endure,
my stillness remains blue and pure.

I smile without cease for your return,
Whether you do or not is not of my concern.

Changle changle, Chain chain.
Jingle like that loose brain
The sounds of coins, full and dense
Tasting all that decadence.
Inertly, following I not must
allow that gentle heart to rust
The hole, may not of course be true
but it's reality brings
terrible news.
If this book, which it is just that,
is not fiction, but after all, a fact
That is the worst, yes, indeed
For we are all bound by our greed
We must obey, the words, the facts
Those undoubtable, untouchable
unseeable artefacts.
Yes, hell for you. And you. And you.
Heaven for me and those who agree
That some-man-in-the-sky-decided-that-he-wanted-us-to-be
Free?

Jump into that shattering window
Jump into that dark void
selectively pull out the finger nail
that remains stuck at the base of your spine
Pull the hair off the old troll doll
Until her eyes seem far to large, far to bright
The colours of the room allowed to merge
who gives a ****, its still full of light.
Beat the box against the wall,
watch it curve, the contrarious fall.
With you fingers, follow the lines
up the side and back of the spine
Then strip the pages, open and bare
Inhale the worlds lingering in there.
When the madness thickens the air
Laugh, cry, sing and die.
Don’t stop to wonder why.
Your palms are enough
Your own two hands can bare
To create whatever breathes in there.

I am a slave.
A slave to the ideas that I’ve called my own.
I’m a slave to the qualities I call home.
I am a slave to my beauty, a slave to my mind.
I am following the tail of the ignorantly blind.
I pretend to have a purpose.
A thin skin on the surface of the deep.
Beneath only hollow blackness
– the bottomless ocean, the reasonless street
I think I know more now than I did as a kid.
Truthfully though,
I bow down to the uneducated.

It can't be real. Life. Love. Whatever. It turns its head with the slightest change in breath.
Makes it all seem irrelevant. Or relevant. Or both.
The specifics alter the hue.
The weather sets the tone.
The tears trickle down and out of the mess that made them.
I love him. No I don't. Yes. No. Maybe?
Doesn't exist.
Maybe...
Is it solitude I fear?
What fills my heart, empties my eyes.
What fills my mind jingles like loose change.
Using it when the small thing catches my attention.
What can I extract from this? How much juice can I drain from this blossomed thought?
This sparkly idea.
Colourful nothing.
Love never hurts. Not being allowed to love is agony.
Not being able to express it - torture.
Head first dives - cold water fills the nose and eyes.
I'm wrong. Most of the time.
Well, I'm not right. I lie mainly to myself.
And you sometimes. When reality jabs my side.
What's best for me? Who cares.
I have to go make dinner and read an article on happiness.

The lips that seal,
seep no dirt.
The eyes that shut,
see no hurt.
The ears turned out,
hear no lies.
The hands laced back,
feel no flies.
The nose turned up,
smells no muck.
The fingers crossed,
avoid back luck.
The mind kept mute,
sleeps in bed.
What is left,
might as well be dead.

Tree leaves shake, dancing for my eyes.
Many trees have come
before and will come
after
the most beautiful leaves have fallen
from the one in my kitchen window.

All the winters that have been and gone
taint nothing about
this particular
one
as it blows across the skylight
of my tiny, windowless room.

So why do I pine inside
to be special within
to be the only light
shining upon
your eyes
as they happen to focus on my body
tracing my face in the lamp's shade.

Like the winters, I have come
blowing across your dimmed sun
not the first
may not even be
the last
but I am here, now. With you.
in this room with too many small cupboards
and the smell of a growing familiarity.

it forever stills within the quill
the quill that never inks what will
making sense only confuses
for those who aren't looking for the thrill

my words wont shine within your light
your light is made of a delicate fight
once broken the words unspoken
will fill your blood with explosive delight

carry me now to your place, your home
I wont listen to your metronome
forgetting the tea filled with nicety
and lets dance until we are overthrown

in all your life, that bubbles in you now
age moving eyebrows into a frown
hold the tiny hand that stumbled onto this land
and walk yourself back into the unbound

Shining bright, you distract you from yourself.
Falling in line. Keeping in time.
That's just fine, nothing wrong with being entertained.

But keep in mind, if you seek in the wrong place, you won't find.
Or be found. Put your ear on the ground
listen to what I've been telling you all along.

You're so close, as close at it gets.
But your looking towards the abyss.
Its okay, we just don't know
that the way you can see is beyond what your eyes show.

Put your hand on your chest, feel it rise and fall.
That beating of the mortal drum. The life flow.
I am the universe, I am the cosmos and also a seed.
When it blooms, it reveals a beautiful catastrophe.

Explore, expand, ingest all of life.
Then would I need to tell you to be nice?
If you were the oceans and you were my eyes
Would I need to preach for you not to make them cry?

If you want to be a somebody, nothing wrong with that.
But you will have to accept the boundaries of contact.
But if you don't draw that line, if you come to be.
All that is in you is in me.
Become a no-body.

So you can draw those lines if you wish,
but your experience of life will only be a glimpse,
through moments of detachment
you might peek at true bliss.

Freedom is in the limitless.