when I scroll, nothing loads
is it just me, or like all?
this portal, has it gotten old
it is so difficult with poetry haul.

I’m painfully aware
of the existence of
my hands,
When they are not
touching you.

I long to see me
As you do,
Entirely foreign and
Mundanely beautiful.
I wish to trace
The curves of my lettering,
Attempting to decode
A message I have already
Memorized.
I have already unraveled
All of my mysteries but you
Still startle at each creak
Of the floor, each squeak
Of the door.
Nevertheless,
That elsewise wonder
Is only reserved for
Strangers.

In the empty train
your bracelet peeks out my sleeve
a quiet reminder.

the best fishing trip to the cabin
and we never went fishing,

a torrential down pour.

it rained for 3 days, the electricity

went out and we had charcoal, barbecued
on the porch.

a candle and a lantern.
there were batteries and a radio.

we smoked a joint,
drank beer and we talked
about the the stars
and the care and release of fish.

listened to music...


...an hour before sunrise
I took my fishing pole
and headed down to the river
where the ripples and rapids
mimic modern life

sunrise lit the sky on fire
and slowly off the river the mist rose

mingled into sky

and I spread my brother's ashes in the river
and every river flows to the sea.

(love you, Dean)

I looked through the files of my soul
and after searching, all I could find out is that I dont wanna die
And that's enough for me
For my body is a masterpiece
Not to be tampered with
Not to be harmed
Especially not by me

I pray for love
I pray for peace
I pray for us beneath these sheets
And once I've given you a show
I plan to steal and keep your soul

in my dreams and idle violence
I imagine that I’m loved and lovely,
that she rests upon my chest in silence,
her breath testing the finiteness
of my heart that ticks defiantly.

so tricky are these fickle dreams,
I hear no real beat beneath my bones.
where the river goes, so do the boats,
and daylight has decreed
that we are gone the way of ghosts.