Don't go far off, not even for a day
Don't go far off, not even for a day,
Because I don't know how to say it - a day is long
And I will be waiting for you, as in
An empty station when the trains are
Parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
The little drops of anguish will all run together,
The smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
Into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve
On the beach, may your eyelids never flutter
Into the empty distance. Don't LEAVE me for
A second, my dearest, because in that moment you'll
Have gone so far I'll wander mazily
Over all the earth, asking, will you
Come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

I’m certain,
That one day
I will forget.

Until that day
Comes

I will remember
To forgive all that
Should be forgiven,
Myself for that matter.

And most importantly,
I will love all that
Should be loved,
I will live through
All that should be lived.

I will seek the
Field of daisies
That waits for me
Patiently,
At the mountain top.

I won’t look down,
Except for when I do,
To remember you,
Beautiful and
Only beautiful.

I can’t wait,
To lay my heart to rest,
On the flower bed,
That sits at the peak.

I’ll sit right besides it,
And as I forgive and forget,
I’ll find peace
In the changing of the winds,
And the breathtaking
Sunset over the horizon.

Sometimes
I give a hard look
At myself in the mirror,
My eyes gleaming with
Sadness that has followed
Me from down the road
And my hair all *******
So it doesn’t show how
Much it has grown

I tell myself
I want to be a poet,
Someone that writes
And moves and
Yell’s at you how gritty
Life has been lately.

But it hasn’t been all that gritty,
Or *****, or painful or-
Maybe it has.

Somewhere I read,
That a dead man
Loves the hardest,
That what only matters
Is how good you walk
Through the fire,
That let life not separate us,
And who cares about death?

I’ve come to hate and detest,
Those who hate,
But when will it be,
That I take upon
My shoulders to love.

And love is not
Like a gas stove,
But more of
A bonfire
That turns night
Into day.

So warm to the touch,
But so beautiful
To have when
It’s 1:00 am
On a cold front,
And god,
I just need
Another
cigarette.

Please,
Let me love
Again.

I’m begging.

Be it in death,
Or alive.

Be it awake
Or dreaming.

Be it through
the extinguished
Fire,
Which means
My walk hasn’t
been that great.

To the one,
That lights it
Again.

I am between
Dying and not dying.

I’m probably not
what you want.

Neither am I,
What you need.

But I will love,
The type of love
To move states,
To be alone
If it meant you
Would be coming
Through the door
Any minute now.

it will
Also be rumbling
And the ground will
Shake and
I won’t know how
To tell you how
Much I really love you.

But I will try,
I will try so hard.

To be all I am,
And all I am not.

Today,
I happen to be
tired of being a man,
I walk empty streets,
That feel just as empty
As I stride on the asphalt.

my feet always
Tapping to the rhythm
Of the quiet palpitations
Of sorrow and one more day.

It will haunt me forever,
Missed opportunities,
The discouragement
To wake up remorseful
Again and again.

The sound of love and peace
That Leaves my lips
Every moment that I think
Of bougainvilleas,
The corals in the sea,
Avocado trees.

and You who looks
at me with pride
Every now and then.

In days,
Weeks,
Months
Like this

I can’t wait
To be happy.

don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.