In a long time,
like a good dream
that just faded away,
and now I relish in its memory
like a ******,
I can't stop holding on to what
so badly needs to let me go,
can't stop tugging you closer,
as he calls your name from that crack
in the front door,
can't stop saying how much I love you,
in how many different ways and shades,
that you can never remember
or never cared enough to in the first place.

Can't say that I've grown,
and become greater than what I was,
a new shoulder for you to rest your head,
new muscle to make you feel comfortable.

Sometimes I wish that I could scream,
at the top of my lungs, just the way a rabbit does in the maw of a lion,
or cry the way the sky is blue,
infinitely, with new meaning everyday.

Sometime I wish that my anger,
could become as ****** to you as anything,
and that it would be as masculine
As everyone of your most embarrassing desires.

Sometimes I try to find things to cry about,
and when I don't, I drink,
feeling emptier than ever, because I can't seem to feel
what everyone else feels everyday,
like I'm missing the big story,
the biggest, brightest explosion ever known to humanity,
the show of God in the light of your eyes.

I wish I could say that the long swish of your brilliant hair,
is it.

Or the tiny crinkle in your mouth, the trickle of a smile,
is it.

Or that hopeless cuteness in your ***** brown eyes,
is it.

I have been overlong,
wanting to understand everything about what I could never be to you,
thinking more about what you were to me.

Each memory a needle against my heart and brain,
trailing across nerves, tickling and destroying,
and all the times I couldn't satisfy your hunger.

But, on the edge of my desperation,
reaching out and holding air,
grasping molecules,
swiping at nothingness,
slapping away feverishly at my own dark emotions,
I keep looking for you,
like the memory of me that you are,
while I'm sifting through the dream of me that you became.

The idea that I couldn't make whole,
the ache I couldn't bend in my favor,
the lie I desperately plied as truth.

I have loved you,
I have loved you.

We revel in the sky,
and dusk,
and eventuality.

Love,
hopelessness,
diaspora.

Moment to moment,
we are the ever-changing aurora.

Our lights and our heat,
in the fading dark
we watch the horizon
where the mountains meet.

The tracers go,
round by round,
beginning at the muzzle in heroic glory
ending in the stomach with epic sorrow.

The sky is large,
the moon is bulging,
the clouds are pastel and burning,
smeared by the wash of darkness.

I am famished, but painless
because pain
is the dim smolder of love and freedom
suffocating deep inside.

That fire has not been stoked,
untouched for a while.

The oven has gone black,
the charcoal tastes mild.

And I have been loved with no freedom.

And lived for freedom with nothing to love.

I have gained wisdom,
and talked to myself.

The sky aches for its reunion with the horizon;
humbles itself, all out of color now,
and hungers for the embrace
of the mountains.

Into the murk,
the tracers go,
round by round,
lighting up that dividing line,
between hungry sky
and famished mountain
creating separation
in a world lost in time.

The tracers go,
round by round,
beginning in heroic glory,
ending in epic sorrow.

you look so good
like a goddess
where's the courage to tell you?

do
I know the right words?

An innocence of love like
a bird in the sky,
in its cerulean heaven,
all its purity
untainted.

all the painters in the world
using all their colors
like ravens and vultures,
and the advertisers
using maroon and crimson
like doves and love,
they just don't know.

How you look in a snapshot,
is better than a mural.

I hate that we can't talk any more,
seems decrepit, I'm so poor,
spoiled by the gift of your lost love,
like a pearl in my mouth,
every gulp of the sea
is a tearjerker.

All I want is love and affection
from the eden of your love,
the juice of your apple
a knowledge
only concerning to gods.

The seed of your body,
a peachtree paradise,
each pod dropping to the body of my death,
like the shroud of renewal.

Each new picture of you:
the destruction of your youth,
and the eruption of your wonderland,
is another nail,
another regretful wish
that I'd seen and understood
everything beautiful about you.

Even in the moontide hours,
when the dawn brawled
and your teeth crawled against the loose skin of my earlobes
as you gripped with pearly whites
my lying flesh,
and my lips touched every truth you'd never known.

Only god could ever know the pain of now.
Only I could ever wish I knew your heaven.

Hello love,
I've been away for a while,
contemplating this degraded earth,
putting different things into place.

I know you've moved on,
but I still think about your lips.

The sweetest joy of an impermanent heaven,
and the messengers of hope.

I took too much time loving you,
too much time holding you.

Our bodies were the worlds
separated by eternity,
your eyes
the distance
I could not bridge.

Wishing I could make you mine
was stupidity
marching in time,
and off-step.

Pearlesque moon played the lighting,
in our drama,
as I held you on top of my car,
lavishing in your plums of delight
and your wettest ******
of ecstasy.

Don't let me go now,
when I've just begun to remember
you.

It's that time of night when i get feverish
in my dreams, ******* girls with **** loaded,
thighs gloating and supple, pressure of *******
in between us, when I hear the thump.

A slamming; a jarring; a catapaulting into never.

Carlos lost his wife, she dipped in the middle of the night
when he'd passed out, she'd slipped out, gripped the kids
over their hidden mouths and whispered something about tipping out,
Pop had gone insane now.

Carlos broke a month later.

Told me and Ash to take everything. Exhaled a marlboro,
shucked his shoulders, ripped open that tiny Celica
and shifted. Gone.

Burns black-eyed into the carpet, bottles on the sill, pacifiers thrown like condoms--
haphazard, but carefully placed.

Now the people living there
throw the girl around,
she cries.

Foolish roiling Krakken,
go back to your basin. old-timer,
No wit, no heart,
just energy enough for that last breach.

Old timer, schemin'
in the swirl,
wrapping those loose arms around me so tight.

It's hungry again, thirsty.

Krakken crackling through
all the fluid in my body
And making my lungs
howl in hatred.

I've seen your eyes in the mirror
again
not to deep below.

Hungry for oxygen.

someone left a letter
for you,
it's at the front door.

it talks and talks about
breaks; beginnings; ends;
beginnings.

you were never comfortable
in the first place.

behind the door
hatred stems
from the pill of ignorance.

the letter was sealed by a tongue
of both
fire and futility:
a big fear that someone wanted you
to be there's,
but you never would.