Poison drips from your lips,
It sinks into my skin.
I'll lick it off your chin
If it means that you'll love me.

You expose all my faults
But I ignore all of yours,
If it just holds me here
A little longer.

Verbal abuse is nothing
When a fist bursts against your jaw,
Tears running
I know I can get it right
Next time.

I shake when you rage
It's a distorted version
of me you see,
I pray
It'll come in clearly.

I pour so much love into you
That the amount of rage,
I receive
Doesn't register.

How can I love someone
So much,
Yet they only seek
To destroy me?

A night sky is a piece of black paper,
With little holes drawn in chalk.
Rested by a soft, white, light,
Warmed by a nearby lantern.
If we were to leave the cold earth now,
And fly up, so high,
We would feel the warmth too.
I'd bet there's an empty star, somewhere far,
Sparkling against the inky sky.
If we're kind and treat it right,
That star will keep us safe,
If not for forever, than tonight.

don’t always
understand you
incomprehensible
beautiful
woman, you     ..

The wind is changing.
If I start shouting,
It only attracts
Those who can't tolerate
A humble human pulse.

They’ll come, taking away my calm.
I will be forced to fight at the wrong time
I can, after all, silently feel compassion.

Decisions flow each day
From the breathing mind
The water is wasted for soulless tools,
Not for thirsty, dry eyes.

Then a sarcastic ambiguity
Touched my body
And an unpleasant shiver
Ran under my skin,
So cold,
So emotionless,
As if this muck wanted to melt
My stubborn intuition.

I can’t erase my feelings,
So, I turn my soul inside
To dive beyond this reality,
Not to betray what I believe:
My unyielding, simple sincerity
With myself.

On a day that was
fraught
with anxiety and anger,
I sailed on
to the
other side.
The two pens that
blew up in my hand
foreshadowed the
prolific writing
streak to come.
Six poems today,
a personal best.
Bukowski would be
proud.
He might even
wonder
How I did it without
******
***** and
cigarettes.

It was easy.
I had bluebirds for
lunch, and listened
to Vivaldi.
I just let the telephone
ring
ring
ring

Lyrics and poetry
are
two sides of the same coin,
one sings,
one listens.
One rides rhythm,
the other rides breath.

One is a chorus,
the other a hush.
But both,
both are spells.
Both are stitched with longing,
looped with memory,
tuned to the ache of being alive.

Lyrics lean into melody,
into the pulse of the body,
into the sway of hips
and
the hum of heartbeats.
They repeat to remember,
they rhyme to return.

Poetry leans into silence,
into the space between words,
into the shape of the page
and
the pause before the line.
It spirals,
it mirrors,
it meanders.

But both,
both are bridges.
Both are breath.
Both are the hand reaching
and
the voice trembling
and
the truth that won’t stay quiet.

So flip the coin.
Let it land on your tongue.
Speak.
Sing.
Sip.
Repeat.

Let your voice be the ritual.
Let your silence be the song.