here, time is a truck
with waxed wheels. but it
keeps pacing, keeps paving the path
to destruction; in dreams, I pluck

myself from its sheath, let it sweep
over me like a tide; on the
ground, I gather my garments,
as stones and seashells, slip

into their ethers, where eternity
waits. here, pyramids don’t converge
as they taper; they tunnel
like a lair that has lost its lucidity

& I’m wandering within their walls,
clueless, clouded—a captive child
eager to escape into enlightenment,
or another dream, where bliss befalls.

this is a paper-dream gobbling
reality—down to its
bone, bruised bare & bleeding.

The breeze between my fingers holds me
Exactly where I need to be
Far
And for a moment found
Indefinitely
Connected there
Almost lovingly with
The soundless trees
Which have whispered fair
Next to nothing's for all eternity

I wrote a poem you'll never see –
a masterpiece; it took me weeks.
I love you and I wanted you to know.
I achingly described your lips
with tender, breathless craftsmanship;
it was a soulful, sinful epic wracked with lust.
Poetry herself, intrigued,
shook her head in disbelief;
no mortal girl could ever love so much –
and so, enamored by my words,
she decided to ****** you first.
I'm sorry, lover, but she had to go.

I love you more than anything me.
Wait for you like ocean tides knowing.
And speak with fire bright stars,
   where our hearts reside, burning.
In ever we will be togehter in
   this yearning.

Everything's better
With the presence of you.

You can make the world smile
As if it's on cue.