I've always longed for
the idea of letting go.
And truly go mad.
That must be so insanely relieving.

She asked me to write her a poem,
this is what I wrote…

She dreams of winter winds
that blow her breath and smiles
She likes the simple things
like walks, talks and style
and when she asks me for my time
I know she’s only teasing
she knows that without her love
I could not go on singing

For this reason then,
she told me to sing a song
and this is what I sang…

My voice is not the song of kings
nor any angel will heed my cry
But of all the sweetest things I bring
the sound of silence I will try
Not to strangle the loudest tear
or hang a hope of sky
As long as my love she loves me
before the day my love does die

She told me then to tell a tale
one that will never end…

Allow me to turn you into a book
I’ll breathe your story into the breeze
turn the pages of your eyes  
and whisper waves among the seas
Let them leave your soil of sorrow
Let them fill your dug up hole
find some shade within the shadow
where branches green within your soul

She stares weakly at the rest of me,
and asks, “Are there no other words
you keep?”

I look into her dying eyes
words take her final breath

My love lies down to sleep

They've been
monkeying
around with
my town, when
I wasn't looking.
The space and
landmarks have
been shifted.
Something is
cooking in the air.
It smells ultra
bright, with a
hint of juniper
berries.

Even, the kittens
are sitting up on
their haunches and
taking notice.

Once again
I stand still
And not like
a tree,
Or a parrot
through
The eyes of
an ocelot
Or eternity,
Or prophecy,
I am but
the minuscule man.
I am Man,
Not the moon,
Celestial stone,
In love,
Amid whiteness.
Or the stars
Twilight thieves,
Sparkled fire,
Fluttering with
The wind.
I don’t
understand
What the
wind says,
So I let it talk
Among the branches,
I can hear it through
My open door,
Invasive,
Running through
My living room,
Through wood
And memories,
Bridges burned,
I close my door,
A black hole,
A deep minute
In silence,
Misery,
Like moldy bread
On the table,
Overwhelmed
With grief,
So quite,
Like loss
And agony
And ***** water.
But everything changes,
The night passes,
A second,
A minute,
A year,
And everything changes,
Rye grass starts to grow
Around my toes
And below my feet,
Life,
Tenderness,
Inevitable,
Beautiful and warm
Like laughing
Or running,
Or drinking coffee.