Writing at night is easy---
Living in the safe poetic world , creating private visuals -
to blot out paltry expectations
Naked before people that hurt for amusement ,
dying a little each hour but unable to fly away
The inverted turtle struggling in the noonday Sun
A bullet without the freedom provided by a gun
Forgotten son ... Forgotten son ...Move on as he'll
never amount to anything at all
Writing your feelings on scrap paper you stupid little boy

I can touch you now
The streets are places I walk in
Sometimes full of life
I can hear you now
The music is always playing
Sometimes beautiful
I can see you now
The mornings a painted landscape
Sometimes colorful
I can love you now
The heart is a vessel that carries me
Sometimes where you are

But for how long?
How long is now?
Is right now
All we have?
If right now it is ending
How long can I stay strong?

I can feel you know
That your skin becomes hateful daggers
Sometimes
Painful

The love I have is tainted
By the poison of the end
And my knowledge
That nothing lasts
Forever

How long do we have?
How long do I have?

hope there is still a spit of a palm covered island
for this ship to land upon;
I have sailed these seas and felt the winds
braved all the storms, the lack of breeze;

fought the company back and come to here
between the  sea and shores;
I wanted to mutiny myself and throw
overboard my sexton and mates;

draw from my scabbard my long sword
or my hip my pistol;
and shoot myself in the head
or the chef who cooks like ****;

but I have sailed this far and come across
the Atlantic the Gulfs;
of Mexico though in the time they
had no such names or maps proclaiming;

the names were not known then
and so I sail still;
behind the masts the ship alone
now I have tired of all my mates.

I must be high

I forgot how much it hurts

must have a good buzz
and am wobbling

guess I must be  lifted on substances wings
above all the  calamity

from there I don't
see
all the suffering