I have studied
my head
for my whole life,
and I've read
a little psychology
and a lot of religion
and my head
has been studied
by doctors,
so thoughts
interest me
and it seems
like there
is this voice
in there
who is something
that I could call me
and these other
voices
who I could call
voices
or thoughts
or whatever,
but, you know,
it dawned on me
that all it is
is the action
of electromagnetic biochemistry
in my head,
and I think
oh...
so that's what
I've gotten
so crazy about
for all these years.

If you come as softly
As the wind within the trees
You may hear what I hear
See what sorrow sees.

If you come as lightly
As threading dew
I will take you gladly
Nor ask more of you.

You may sit beside me
Silent as a breath
Only those who stay dead
Shall remember death.

And if you come I will be silent
Nor speak harsh words to you.
I will not ask you why now.
Or how, or what you do.

We shall sit here, softly
Beneath two different years
And the rich between us
Shall drink our tears.

I'm tired of your
Rolling eyes,
Sarcastic words,
And piercing glares.

Why can't you simply
Practice what you preach.
I don't know if you're
An angel
Or a devil.

Why can't you just
Listen a little more and
Talk a little less.
I know I'm not perfect
But neither are you.

Why can't you even
Think before you speak,
For you're way too quick.
I just wish to tell you:

Your words,
They hurt.

I was 15 years old with trails
of white powder dripping from my nose.
I was 16 and never saw a sober day of my life,
I hid behind bottles of whiskey and ***,
bags of molly, and vials of kitty.
I was 17 and growing tired
of this life.
I was 17 and knew this
wasn’t who I was meant to be.
I was 17 with friends and
a pact to move to California and make
something of ourselves. I was 18
and kicked out of my mothers house.
I was 18 and living with a best friend.
I was 18 and found out they
were doing ****** and ****.
I was 18 and sick of
all the lies so I left.
I moved to Socal where
I surfed couch to couch till I
climbed my way to the Bay area.
I was 19 and lost.
I was 19 and went on a 2 month
road trip with my best friend and a guy who tried to ****** me.
I was 19 and
looking for myself. I made it
to New Orleans and back with only losing myself
more. I was 19 and fell in love
for the first time. I was
20 and met a boy whom I never
sought out to show me how to change myself until he broke my heart for
the very first time. I was
20 years old and let him enter my
tunnel heart   like the yellowbird  he is.
He made it out alive but for a second I didn’t think I would.
I did. I was 20 and
finding myself. I was 20 and getting myself
together after a broken heart.  
I was 20 and I found myself for the first time.
I was 20 and no longer wanted death for my birthday
I am now 21 and fearless.

1.
your words are oft like sweet-sour packages in the post
excitement mounts to rend strings yet dread too, peeps in.

songs you play are wrought from famished strips of liquid love
that my wretched soul with face upward, so wanting, laps up.



2.
oh, let me be that tree for your succour
come into me shade

oh, let me be that wave for your restlessness
come ride upon me swell

oh, let me be that light for your needing
come meld within me core

and take what you need.

(and please be mine, too)



3.
I am so in awe of you that I'm angry!

can you just come upon this landing, already?
let me lay you down, beside me . . .
this garden awaits

tomorrow never knows
of what wondrous delights we spake
mine eye seeks thee, always.

let me . . .
stroke your disheveled mind
and allow me to slow-spill into obdurate you
soft and gentle, sweet and kind
your destroyed words
to hear how swift and sudden they really are.

let us fall headlong . . .



4.
when, once every millennium
the tale doth go:
the time-eagle returns
to that diamond-mountain
so far away
to sharpen its beak
     and when, it finally wears down
     that haughty hill
then one mere second of eternity will have passed

yes, the hour-glass of eternity will run its full course.


despite time and distance
forever is a wicked charm that I must wait for . . .
and forsooth
the weight of it, I will bear.


S T, 14 May 2013

she's six years old,
and every morning
her mommy would sit in her room
and braid her hair for her.
she's six years old,
and her mommy and daddy
both got home before six,
and the family ate dinner together.
she's six years old,
and her mommy and daddy
still love to cuddle
before they fall asleep,
their limbs tangled together
like twisted tree branches.

she's twelve years old,
and she braids her own hair now,
her mom doesn't get out of bed
early enough anymore.
she's twelve years old,
and she eats dinner alone in her room,
only to lean against the door
to listen to her parents fight.
she's twelve years old,
and her parents sleep on opposite
sides of the bed.

she's fifteen years old,
and she leaves her hair down
so it will hide her face.
she's fifteen years old,
and her parents rarely come home
before nine.
she's fifteen years old,
and she doesn't eat dinner anymore,
squeezing at the chub in her cheeks
and on her stomach,
the nonexistent gap between her thighs.

she's seventeen years old,
and she doesn't know where her father went.
all she knows
is she hasn't seen him since her birthday
last year.
her mother rarely works.
her hair's even longer.
she barely remembers
what dinner is,
and sometimes
she just gets
very,
very
tired.
she's seventeen years old,
and she's completely certain
that life
is too exhausting
for her to go through.
she's seventeen years old,
and she's ready to give up
and make it easy for herself
once more.