I have written myself to many wrong people

To idols of bronze
How should one know,
That they need forgiveness in the depravity of the heart
And the heavy weight of pain we place
In ourselves

All sin is but guilt
All praise be to You

I don't know
If you cared enough to find this

But every night now

I think of La La Land
That night I knew I would lose my job
When you convinced me to stay

And why I cried so much
Why I over-empathized

It was me and you.

Im still trying to figure out
If I miss you
Or just the idea of it

But every time I see you now
I still smile
And you do too

I wonder if I'm the only one
With ache in their chest

I wonder if I'm the only one

Who wishes love took deeper roots

I wonder if I'm the only one

Who still thinks of the beach

And the way we just lay together

When I laid in the sand
And another voice is with me

She asked me tonight,

"who was your first love?"

All I could see

Between closed eyes
Was your face

How hard it is to reach out

Between the wrought iron gates

And take a hand

That seeks to save?

But as He severs the ties

And destines us for different paths

I hear the devil himself

Understand his distance from God

You were so close to complement

Yet far too tangential

We now suffer from acute

Dispensation of angle




I do not know how long I will wait

Until I can wake

And not miss you.

Not dream of the same foggy Venice

Or the same question,

"Why, Why, Why"

Or stay up fighting mind to erase you

And the image of your smile

Or the sound of your laugh

Or how much you loved the way I ran my fingers along your neck


There's not a poem long enough in the world

To justify this

And the surrender to God that must replace

The emptiness you left.

By next week,
I will be on the road
In protest of the many forms
I found myself within.

I had asked
How many times?
Should we travel to Zion?

Should we see the majesty
for what it is?
In the glory of a setting sun
on the precipice of us

And there would be no answer
but the whisper of God on cooling winds.

Now I shall go alone
into the valley of Him, into the darkness hidden
between the flanks of the canyons
The armies of Hoodoo
where the echoes of birds
travelling south
give me peace
and sing to me
the way you never knew.

The everlasting shame
that tears bring to this parched ground
given solely to subterranean streams

I saw it once before
in coastal limestone
with strands of ivy
and tropical greens
withering into teal seas.

Please forgive the erosion
for even the stone could not consist
against the waters,
their fundamental nature
that irresistableness.

Would you have liked to know
the way the shadows parted
in newly-born morning
the potential of life
in this trying state
at the deepest depths of the canyon
and looking up upon beauty

But you could not
only the fossils in the stone
only the buried things
the lost potential
the foundation of beauty
if only given time
if only given trust
in nothing but divine

this nature,
this place
solely to God's grace
his supple touch more powerful
the kiss of light wakes me
and now,
seeping within the rock
there,
I view upon the entirety
and see it

Could I tell you,
That you were supple
as the string
that guides the long days
and the careful nights
the musculature of the mice
that comb the fields
looking for the loamy place
there we sat

Could I tell you
That you were the soft
gentle breeze
that tousled my hair
angered my nose
upturned
and sneezed
no compliment to give
yet constantly
there

when I hold a ruby in my hand
or a pearl by your ear
it is you I see

I cannot guide these words the same

I will machinate
But never create
the same feeling
you gave

The soil does not loam today
it is still and packed
at long last
it rests

The sun is high
the fields filled
the roofs shackled with doubt
the sadness that enters the valley
with the foggy morning
and leaves
an empty dusk

with but the sparking ruby
of Mars
or the twinkle
of Venus
and I am all at once, lost.

No matter what I said,

No matter how I told you,

the columns
still fall

the roads
still grow old

and the vines
drape the necks
of marble molds

In Rome, the forum--
I can think of nothing but
Madison Square
Gardens
and the stone that should be old

I think of the Roman--
and the fields of wheat
I think of man
and the sowing of seed

how fallow the winds,
how empty the streams.

I think of the columns
I think of the streets
I think of the cities
I think of these

And I
could not help but weep.

Hello,
No one.

Hello
mistaken one

hello friend in the lost pages

hello friend in the archives
with a careful pen
and soft fingers

do me a great favor
remember these bits

remember this:

"Ye, the ancient ones
in sifting dirt, do decay--

their words, their words,
the same grey
sky
which told the tale of
a future you
stuck behind the window
caught within the sill
the rain
that makes you feel the same"

as that lonely peasant boy,
arranged
by the callous night
and obeyed

the command--
the soldier
the sword
the bullet
the bolt--

Zeus, even which at highest worship
could not consume--

even Apollo, which better thinker than I
decided to draw the universe through

and Dionys
the chaotic hue
the uncomfortable ache
to every truth

you will know the dialectic
you will know the dichotomous
you will know poetry
you will know truth

Give to me in ancient song
give to them me in my truth
give to them the imperfection
give to them the nasty
the fake
the lost
the snake
the pain
the world
the whole
ordeal

Do not ask me to recite poetry,
nay, not with grape in my veins--

Do not ask me to proofread truth
as the rocks
or the water I drink in my cupped hands

I am a father of simple
child of no one
brother of singing voice
son of music

I am but acids
tripping on acid

i am but time
tripping on seconds

I am but stone
with electric current
reciting current events
eventually distinguished

but not for me
not for these
atoms,
or time
not mine

this is the curse of poets
the curse of 23 followers
and counting

the liars of open scheme
and dying rhyme

i am the last scream
that bathes in obscene
and truthful
meaning