People only ever want to ask me about
the poetry -
those verses about
busted up noses in outer space;
about the pros working
way down passed
the corner of Broad and Main;
about fistfights and hard, hard drinking.
But I built a flowerbed this weekend...
Twenty two tastefully irregular stone blocks
in a crescent moon shape,
filled with the blackest of soils.
The sweat of toil.
The digging.
The planting.
Exotic grasses. Asian maybe?
Purple and yellow flowers.
Zinnias or some **** thing.
All covered in a thick blanket of brown mulch.
It's a fine thing to have dirt on your hands
instead of blood.
No one ever asks me about flowerbeds.

As the wind blows
And the trees become woodwinds
Playing a wonderful tune
My eyes experience the beauty
Of what nature is
While my mind fails to attain it
And my mouth cannot express
In the end, it's better to get my own taste and experience the aesthetic

the vast expanse of constellations i found residing in your windows is both exhilarating and mind boggling
mind boggling in a sense that it just seems impossible to find such wonder through two simple pathways to your soul - if there's that much of everything through your eyes then how much is there in the rest of you?
exhilarating in a sense that there is so much of you that is left to uncover, and i understand that it's impossible to peel through your layers but i'm still gonna try because you are the best thing to ever exist and i want to know as much i can of you before i start to forget

i want to love you as much as you fascinate and confuse me because there is nothing else in the world that i'd rather do
there is no other person that i'd rather adore and there is no other person i'd rather become the center of my universe

Such a huge, beautiful sky
Now that the mountains have all
Called in sick.

Plains where valleys were,
Seas withdraw as if in retreat;  
Defeated armies of

Timelessness. Wake of
Soil and stone. Such a
Huge, all embracing heaven  

Not even looking down.
And now, enter her, as I make
Myself comfortable with

My new life of treatments and
A violently shortened lifespan;
The one I always loved from

Within the shadows.
Willing me to live.
Caring.

A sleeper angel deployed to
Hold the holder;
Double-wing-cover from

The snow. Old love unspoken.
The kind that makes hills run for
Themselves.

Steady and unquestionable;
Tectonic shifts between hearts
Running out of

Tic-tocs and bass lines.
Plains where valleys were. She
Fills craters with her presence

In the room.
Never my girl; always my girl.
Sleeper angel activated.

I see why the seas withdraw.
No wonder the mountains called
In sick.

She raises solar storms with her little finger;
Conducts atmospheric changes with
A sigh.

Sipping something strong
through commercialized styrofoam cups
Tighten your jaw
Steady your lips
We're all parasites
Attaching our hips  
Breathing in moonbeams
collecting dust
Wrapping our heads around
Whirlwind
Motion sickness

Tree, I have come to shelter and with the rain to weep
I am soaked, barefoot, with mud running through
soft the moss, cool and cold
to soothe my heart that bleeds.
Our waxing nights of love and moons
now fallow, a field that burns
****** our hollow bed
of haunting, silent screams
too soon the fiery devil
too far my lover
the spring.