I could learn to love you,
but that’s not the point.
It should burst out of my ribcage
With flowers and knives
Beautiful and bleeding
Singing with joy and
The pain of bullet wounds.

If we learned anything from love,
Maybe we wouldn’t love at all.

I met her on the road
Exhausted just like me.
I asked her why she's walking
She told me she is free.

I told her I'm a pilgrim.
She warned me, don't forget,
You may be tired of walking,
But your end is 'lejos' yet.

I told her Santiago
Was now my Xanadu.
She laughed and said the Khan awaits.
I laughed and said I knew.

I've seen his horse on hills afar,
He canters while I walk
And Kublai champs his teeth and shouts
His sword spits while we talk.

He wears the forest as a cloak
And chains the wind as breath.
I see him chase me further on
He tracks me to my death.

I asked her where she's going.
To Santiago too,
But I don't seek the spires and peaks
I'm hunting one like you.

He's running as his boots get worn
And I champ my teeth and shout.
He's keeping eyes out to the hills
While my sword point seeks him out.

Her deep black eyes and strong disguise
Bled from her and she stood.
Kublai Khan afore me spoke.
I ran but 'twas no good

She spoke out strong and in a blur,
'You are not my prey.
For many men along the road
Flee demons every day.'

And she roared and drew her breath,
The wind took up her gait.
She took the time to smile before
Her horse flew fast and straight.

I watched her go, still for so long,
The road behind ignored.
I heard the wind blow on before
I turned and saw He roared.

The hill was crowned with forest
Drawn around his back.
He spurred his horse on and the steed
Cantered down the track.

I turned and walked, slow and calm
For I am used to demons.
Though on the road I keep him towed.
The Khan is still the freeman.

Tonight I hope to dream
of riding fog
out to the sea
where the waves will
greet me
swell up
accept me to the deep

I thought I was lonely,
simply because I live alone
But lately I've noticed that
the loneliness of watching a
documentary I've seen
six times in six months,
surrounded by nothing but
the eerie darkness of 2 AM
in a one bedroom apartment
is nothing compared to the
loneliness of smoking a cigarette
at 4 in the afternoon with you,
counting tragedies on bruises &
scars in the spare room of your
best friend's new place

two burns decorate my shoulder
due to drunken recklessness
one on my forearm
by a stubborn game of pain
but the second in the same spot
was not in ruckus or fury
it was born from being
terribly, terribly
empty

I try my hardest to stray away
from machine rolled cigarettes
which take away the test
of perfection
of creating the best
I know each one
leads me toward the dead
at least I can say
I died at my own,
supremely rolled, hand

i'm so tired all of the time
and my bones are aching
and my joints are screaming
and my mind is begging for
rest
but all i can do for now is
hope i can get a few minutes
of sleep before you decide to
creep back into my mind and
keep me up for a few more days
maybe even a week
i can't keep doing this to myself
and am i really doing it or are
you still controlling me from so
far away?