In the absence of love,
feeling heartily whole
in the cavernous loss
I make home of the hole
fill the space with the grace
and the feelings of feeling the loss.
Breathtaking the space between fingers,
enfolding in empty
artistic creation in jagged lungs
no longer breathing Them in.
How lovely to be loved,
but all the more in the lonely
to see both sides and survive
standing and shaking
and to love art all the more,
to grow in understanding
I'm understanding.
Left shaking,
still standing.

I  used to put the feelings in jars,
wrapping them with corresponding ribbons depending on the day
and lining them oh so neatly onto the shelves that line my cortex and home.
Never to say I wasn’t organized in one way,
while others cracked and flew apart in every which direction
hubris was a cheerful  hand to hold as I glided in and swept up the mess,
loaning out jars and advice like cookies.
The back of the head always tells the truth,
I had always known that the shelves were uneven and cheap,
the jars themselves feeble in constitution just like their buyer
and the ribbons were only for display and the whole system functionally flawed.
She is gone;
when the earth became somehow heavier in the loss,
the shelves cracked and crumbled,
the shelves loosened and lay askew,
the shelves were never mine to assume.
The jars came down in a fury,
the force sending shards in every direction and into every part of my brain,
shrieking from the direct hit yet continuing to plead ignorance to the whole **** system.
She is gone;
feelings used to make sense but now nothing does,
nothing is how is feels
nothing is what I wanted to happen
and something is Here,
Something was always waiting,
Something has toppled my jars and shelves
and left me alone on this earth to clean it all up
while She has joined the Universe and now can only be reached
in pictures we took on better days
and the dreams that keep me awake.
Something has come,
Something may have gone,
but Something has also changed me.
Without the jars I feel more free,
without the jars I am open
maybe it was the jars all along
that have always made me feel broken.

Justifiably empty as they leave,
and they do
frequent and few.
There was white I wore in photographs,
when I was careless, unaware of this
now even that has faded too.
Accepting contentment
takes root in place of resentment,
there is beauty in accepting the inevitable

i have not felt my hands
for a long, long while
the snow slaps my face
then gives a tender smile.
this seasonal depression
will linger in my lungs
long after the sun returns
to leave my hands no longer numb

I can see the flaws etched into this withered heart
along with a name you carved.
When I was small I would watch with ideas,’
and it grew within me
reaching out to stretch at the sun
they grow under the skin
ideas,
ideas of love and loss of which I was one.
Now I dream in parkways,
landscapes spreading out behind the lids of tired eyes
I only feel halfway
if I ever stopped,
I may die oh,
staring down this life like the barrel of a gun
yet I can only wonder
if you always knew me best,
watched me become old while I was still young

Whispers you’re no good for me
In the corners of my mind
Everytime i come back we fit so perfectly
But i’ve wasted too much time,
Stuck in orbit around you
The gravity around here
Just isn’t meant for a pair of two.

Every Time I crash back down
I run back into you.
Seasons change,
They rearrange,
Somehow we never do.
Frustrating, you’re intoxicating,
Shape up or ship out,
Just figure your **** out.

My love it rises with the sun
in bursts of brilliant color
it softly sings in breathless words
the praises of another.
My love is wild like the woods
and full of life and wonder
Through every day, through distance so dim
I know we are made stronger.
My love is never hurtful,
or only to myself
when a love so grand, so beautiful,
wasted with someone else.
My love it gives
until nothing remains
My love is a thunderstorm,
and darling, you are the rain.