A hand
The same shade
as space
with stars as fingernails
just floating
or attached to the body cosmos
god or just a dream
who can say
you
if you want
what does such a peculiar mitt do
the same mundane things
as you do
maybe not
who can say
apparently one thing it does
is guide us
not overtly
but it's there
doing things
bad and good
hopefully it has a plan
for our global tableau
that makes up for
the pain of existence
not that it needs one
what true artist needs to explain
all of them arguably.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

It's as easy as breathing in
Hold it
That's good
Now exhale and wait
You can almost forget that memory
In a matter of seconds
And if not forget
You can manage to not care
At least for a little while
Let the smoke fill your head
And let it to be louder than your fear
I'll even endure a coughing fit
To expel the words I don't want to say
They ask if the escape is worth the problems you always return to
Every ******* time, yes
Of course they'll be there
Where would they go?
Even when I improve
My problems only grow
And if I *** in a cup
For whatever reason
And displease your delicate opinion
I'll indulge in your honor
God knows you might need this more than I do
Now zone out a little
Stare into nothing
The good kind of nothing
Not the other kind that you find in people's eyes
Like in times they want something from you and they know they're gunna get it
Or moments you ask them for something and they never reply
Or when they apologize over something they were never apart of
Because the tragedy isn't about you.....
It's about how they can fit themselves inside of it
Take another hit
Float on this one a while
Let the tense of your muscles ease
As if I spend the day trying to stay inside my skin
Like it's become too small and uncomfortable
Now I can expand and I breath without my ribs caging me in
Red eyed suicide
Artificial tears will make them clear
Better than vice versa
When the real kind of tears make it look more suicidal
An oxymoron in this case
Giggle at a pun
If you have a buddy then do a shot gun
Don't remember to forget
And keep on forgetting
It's as easy as breathing in

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Beautiful scar
I saw a chasm in my skin
A deluge
A mount of Venus
The angels took their hands
And forced upon my palm a deeper meaning
I saw it bleed
I felt the pain
No head line can account for this
No love line can amount to this
No lifeline
No imperfect star
Only knives
Sharpened by whetstone
And gleaming with meaning
As they steady carve your name into my salt
You were the razor
I was the skin
You were my love
I swear to god
Even the tears you shed found a way to cut me
Cut me deep
And I bleed your touch
My screaming nerves
my fragile flesh
My paper skin
I offer up
In all my wounds I know your heart
And as I heal I know your hope
It is a line on soft tissue
A forever
A beautiful scar

Too many, Lord, abuse Thy grace
In this licentious day,
And while they boast they see Thy face,
They turn their own away.

Thy book displays a gracious light
That can the blind restore;
But these are dazzled by the sight,
And blinded still the more.

The pardon such presume upon,
They do not beg but steal;
And when they plead it at Thy throne,
Oh! where's the Spirit's seal?

Was it for this, ye lawless tribe,
The dear Redeemer bled?
Is this the grace the saints imbibe
From Christ the living head?

Ah, Lord, we know Thy chosen few
Are fed with heavenly fare;
But these, -- the wretched husks they chew,
Proclaim them what they are.

The liberty our hearts implore
Is not to live in sin;
But still to wait at Wisdom's door,
Till Mercy calls us in.