Gone
into the moon
I wished
To see you soon
You have ascended to a place I cannot follow
With hopeless grace, a broken bird wallows
Alone amid the fallen blossoms
Spring to summer and summer autumns
Your presence now a hollow spectre
Born bare before my altar
Gone
Into the moon
Wish unfulfilled
My life now picayune

Out of the woodwork
Comes the spiders
Devouring your corpse

Though you're dead, you've much to give
In life you were a failure

Out the woodwork
Comes the spiders
Skittering 'cross your nose

The scent of Rose's lost to you
Away upon the wind

Out the woodwork
Comes the spiders
There's no one there to mourn

There alone there with the spiders
In death as you once lived.

What will become of will itself
when drums go silent at times last breath?
Embracing the last cache of air held hostage from the thousand fold worlds;
What elements hold their vigor when sweet embrace reflected tends no longer in anger?
Intellect and mind of mundane aggregate held as a disc;
In wonder, unopposed - a weapon, a chariot of the abyssinian vale.
All terrored delight, all tremble!
Being that which now pulls back as waves running from the sea
Toward or away? Toward or away?
Sway the endless sway, never tending to the great caress of undulation.
Undue situations, zeros or ones;
Zero and one, measured in jubulation; Inward time dialation - exhalation into the sun.

I was wrong-
It’s not the darkest starless nights when
My longing for you is at its zenith,
When the empty world has gone quiet
And only the distant songs of lonely trains and traffic
Accompany me in my reveries of you and me
In a place away from the cruel touch of time-
Where only I can see the sweetness in your eyes
That makes me melt for you
every time my eyes meet yours-

It is in the very stillest part of dawn
When the first rays of sun crest the horizon
Splintering the eastern sky, erasing the nearest stars-
The only stars bold enough to stand defiant
Against the incessant city lights-
It is this ghostly light that I miss you most,
When your absence is most profound,
When my mind, unable to distract itself,
Is most acutely aware that you are not with me-
When my hands need your hands,
When my lips need your lips,
When my heart needs your heart,
When my soul needs your song.

For at least in the chill of night,
I might dream of you
And sometimes dreams,
while only ether, are enough.

S(p)in a dotted line a thousand times and make a memory
Time begins and ends in all dichotomy
Lilly grass grows half as fast as elements spin jewelry
When winning weaves a winning glass be merry in the winnowing
Follow me merrily seasons tracking in a circle
Making sure we all may know the hour of our mercy
Track the sign of songs that sing the rain again
But open doors to cabins halls who echo with the stirring
Of warmth and love not need and weight to keep me ever furrowing

I said I wanted to remember you
Well then
if I remember you
Just as you were
in photographs
Your face like so
So clear and vivid
I want to remember you
I want to forget the pain
You are not there
Anymore
I know of the heavy
That which
sits inside my being
I will break

I think of suicide
In the way a small child thinks
Of honey stuck to their chin;
Something sweet and saved for later.
Your eyes as you ponder me
Are still like tea
Steeped from dogends in puddles,
Formative yet empty.
Our time on this plane
Fizzled and sparked,
Lightning in a bottle
Shaken by our unborn child.
I laid myself to rest
Amongst the fresh March brambles
And forgot to craft a tombstone.

A spirit lost amongst
Corpses fetid and sweet,
A gunshot sprayed across the countryside;
Here for a second,
The scent of snuffed embers
Alive in the night.
We sent you to sea
In a casket wreathed in gold
And I broke my fingers in the hinges
Trying to keep you to myself.

A child stolen
Beneath her mother's
Scornful eye,
A dying bride
Slicing her skin
On her wedding night.
I see with no eyes
And I taste with no tongue
The rapture of the absence of your love.

I awaken from nightmares  un-remembered,
I cross seven seas to find you wilting.
I offer you my breast
On which to lay your head
And when you do, I feel it:
The rapture of the absence of your love.

She curses your mother daily,
Your wife only an obstacle in her wake.
She bides her time,
Wastes her life,
A moment gone in a flutter
And an opportunity taken too late.
Divorce? But what of the children,
A million fireflies scorching the night.
A puff of smoke,
A clip of the wings,
Her dead seconds will never take flight.
Who is the bearer of bad news,
Who will alarm the saints?
Who now will fit her ashes in their gloves
In the rapture of the absence of your love?

In what lifetime was this fair?
A tragedy born on the edges of procrastination,
A love story taken up in the middle,
Strangers only reminders
Of you in past lives.
Hesitation,
The knife slick with blood,
The truth hidden in the liner notes,
Stuck pinned like a moth
In the rapture of your absent love.

There's no more story to tell,
What burned for six months
Was dead in six seconds.
A white shroud was laid over the memories,
A bouquet of lillies laid in their hands.
Graves dug sixteen feet deep,
Traditional overkill.
What then do we make of the rubble,
The dirt left from the hole?
The woman who was shoved, shoved, shoved
Into the recesses of your mind,
Into the rapture of the absence of your love?