When the
song bird
is gone;
when the
evening chills
settle in
your bones;
when the
hills are
too high;
when the
waters are
too deep -

the world
needs you
to let
your light
shine.

I went there without you.
I followed rivers to their oceans
as another after another cigarette
hung from the corner of my mouth.
I sat underneath a Seward sunset
and argued with God about
how I didn't want to die
and He kept telling me to
give living a try.
So, I met Satan in
San Diego, and we took a
walk down the Pier as I
folded origami.
I told him I was afraid
of death, but he was distracted
by blondes in bikinis,
so I threw the crane
into the water and watched
as it was devoured by the tide.

I sat with Jesus in Gethsemane
and asked Him if I had a bed in Heaven.
In return, He asked me to stay awake with him,
but the Klonopin was kicking in
and I was too tired to watch Him weep.

Strike match, light pipe.
He is not confined by his youth.
He feels like all of the ****
that has accumulated
in 16 years
is like the sound of a
piano falling to the floor.

All strings snap.

He sleeps on this floor and smokes on this floor and inhales and exhales on this floor until the pipe is cash and the sun rises again to remind him of all the nights his strings have snapped like an orchestra out of tune.

The cathartic release
of weeping on the kitchen floor.
Hands on top of head, screaming

"how much longer will this last?"

I tried to write today, but my head is filled with so much anger and my heart is so confused as to why I’m so angry that I crashed and burned and tried to pick myself up and put myself together but I realized that this brain is so malignant and so highly medicated that the only thing I could do was walk around all day as a cracked and punctured and bruised shell of a man that incessantly screamed until his lungs collapsed and his vocal chords burned down and his blood was dripping from between his teeth and he couldn’t believe that he believed he could actually write something today.

OH MY GOD I COULDN'T BREATHE.
My throat felt as if it was shriveling,
burning like the sun itself.

It's hard
to wipe away the tears
when your hands are around your neck.

I inhaled and caught my breath
and chuckled a little bit
as my exhaled breath floated across the lights,
casting a beautiful shadow on the ceiling.

Visit me when my body is wrinkled and cracked.
When my voice can no longer carry a tune,
my fingers can no longer pluck these strings,
and my mind fumbles with my words.

Would you stand by my bedside
and play this game of nostalgia with me?
We can recall the nights spent
outside of that hall, burning our pipes
and drawing our lives out of the smoke.

Will you realize
that no one belongs here more than you?

My blood flows through your veins.
Blood that once pumped through my heart.

The needle is impaled in your skeletal arm.

With reluctance I'm at your bedside.
My knuckles are white
clenching your hand.

You speak -
There's nothing left in me,
and there's nothing you can do.

While the others are asleep I call to you.
But there's nothing you can do.

A moment left of silence
A calling of all the hard times and good poems
Chasing insects, living our years
Bleeding the same blood we have
I'm one more lonely boy in the heart of the sky
We're swimming in endless space

A moment left of madness
Flooding the same paths we've walked for days
Calling Jesus, falling on floors
Sleeping in the same winter clothes
You're one more broken girl in the eyes of a wolf
We're swimming in endless space

Let's pack our stuff in boxes
and watch the snow fall into place

I went there without you.
The invitation for Winter
was a blanket of fog,
and my feet were peeking
out from the bottom.
Winter breeds dread
and I coped by spending
restless nights hopping
from bar to bar in
hopes that the right Spirit
would guide me down those
lightless streets and lighted streets,
down the sidewalk on Madison Avenue
trying to make it back to 65th so
I could sleep in my own bed.

In the room the women come and go
talking of D'Angelo.

Black Messiah, not Voodoo;
"Ain't That Easy," not "Playa Playa"
playing through someone's iPhone
out the Bluetooth speakers
on the coffee table next to
the gin and the ashtrayspliff.

The Demon was brought
out of me by the Jack and Coke,
fire from my mouth and eyes
and the headache!
Oh, I begged, on my knees,
my besought hands folded,
asking for the tongue of flame
to be removed from my head!
That my personal Nephilim be
extinguished by the deluge!

And he left me,
as silently as he came,
in a puddle of my *****
on the bathroom floor,
clutching my legs to
my chest.

I went there without you
and I had a visit with my grandpa.
April may be the cruelest month
but October kept him alive for a moment
longer.
We listened to Mozart and
visited and visited some more
until our throats yearned
for water and for rest.
With another kiss on the forehead
he left me for Good.

I sat with Jesus again -
this time in an Astrovan,
remnants of the serpent still
stuck to His heel.
I asked Him to play
Lacrimosa for my grandfather
at the gates of Heaven,
to which He gave me a hug
and we drove back toward
the rising sun.

I could fly you there.

We could feel light and free together.
I could hold your hand and jump off of this bridge
and glide over the waters with you
and even the rocks and the fish will wish they had wings.

I will break through the air and the clouds and the heavens.
You could come with me
and I will show you the moon
reflecting the warmth of the sun.

the boy watches as
snow falls quietly and peacefully outside, similar to
the way his grandfather died
in his sleep -
with a quiet dance, soothing and liquescent.

he treads through the cold dusting the frozen flakes fall onto
his hair and slowly melt,
freezing his skull,
chilling him down into the part of his brain that kept telling him
to stay inside;
to not speak to her.
"don't you ******* listen?
she is like a rainstorm that floods the rivers;
like a hurricane
that tears trees from their roots."

he cannot hear that voice anymore.

he knocks
as timidly as cherry blossoms
fall from their trees.
the door is opened
by the delicate hands
in which he used to bury his head and weep about
the loss of life and the lives that are
too lucky to be alive.
her eyes -
two jade green courtyards where he would spend days
watching the days go by with a blink of an...
eyes that met his -
clear brown as earl grey tea
and as sad as a child falling asleep
without a bedtime story.
he whispers quietly,
feeling his brain thaw
and his heart clawing and begging
for any scrap of hope.

"did you ever love me?"

"no.
i never loved you. i didn't even try."