I can hear you crying through the walls,
the muffled, choking of your feelings.
you're falling apart before my very soul,
and all I can do is knock on your door.

did i ever tell you about
the dream i had where
your name was on
every page of my phone book
and all the numbers were wrong
what about the one where
i'm in the hospital
and every doctor that
checks my pulse and takes my blood
has your face
or how about the one where
you're dying of cancer
and you can't stop yourself
from living life too fast?
and you swear the answer to
every question is a
significant something from your past
like
cigarette smoke and diet coke
and the weary tone of your grandfather's voice
as he spoke about the end of all things
and we had to remind you to stop
saying such sharp things as
words sliced your throat
and we all choked.
what about the one where
you roll your eyes at me
as we're flying through the windshield
your spine snapped as you
told me it was my fault
we crashed the car
i spit my heart up on the pavement
and watch it beat.
how about the one where
you keep sticking your fingers
in my hair to warm them up, and
every time you pull away
my mouth falls open and fills the room
with a thousand reasons to stay
or how about all the bad ones
where the only time your eyes hold
any color is when they aren't
locked with mine
the ones where the entire world
goes silent when you speak
and i can never quite catch
what you're saying.

Assertion
Clammed-up
On the relay
Second guessing
The shrunken head
Of old therapies

The clock says
It's time
To nod off
Greet the morn
With withered fist
Rationalised fury

Trying to
Replace the
Pimply face
Of ******
Angst baseless in
Content
On the tether
Of just another

Addiction in a
Succession
Of spiritual
Vices perpetuated
By the nonchalant
Visage of a world

Uncaring
In derision
From calloused hands
Caused by
Hard work
With little or no
Monetary avail

Hand to mouth
Foot in mouth
Hand on crotch
Crotch saddle sore

What's the point
Of a worn-down point
Dull but
Double-edged  
Just to prove

The sword of Damocles
Is still hanging
Over the head
Of your enemies

Who pop
Their heads
Up over
The hedgerows
Like pictures
In a shooting gallery
At the carnival of
A battlefield distant

Filled with relics
Of another
Dead-end
Ill-purposed war
Of the worlds floating
On the crest of
Mine-dotted airwaves
Prompting viewers
To drown negativity
And to salvage
The positive

A broadcast from
Bipolar formats
In living colour

Double-edged          
Double-standards
Double-dealing        
Double-meaning
Double-minded      
Double-jeopardy
Double-troubl­e        
Double your money
Doppelganger leading
Double life

All propagated in
Double-time

Best
Double your efforts
And tune out!

i the wild seed blew in my youth
floating on the comfort of any wind
that would carry me high for a broader view
and a little closer to answers of truth.

no direction is sometimes a beautiful thing
responsible for what only concerns you
not landing long enough in soft sweet earth
to put down roots that always longed to grow.

i had dreams of a constant love to put seed into
but the high winds blowing outside roared like the sea
enticing me to be carried on the easy breeze
but the easy way is often a cold hard rain.

the wild seed was called by the high winds
blowing inside warming me with wanderlust
caught between two lovers was never a hard choice
because the high wind was my first love.

i blew thousands of miles and light years away
landed in the soft sweet earth of a girl
a childhood sweetheart often remembered
partly the reason I blew in that direction.

the seed lingered too long in one place
the roots got a foothold in the soft sweet earth
the high winds tried to pull up the roots
causing pain in me and the soft sweet earth.

the germination of the seed caused more pain
seed to maturity isn't the easy way
each stage causing new dimensions of pain
though pain can also be the sweetness of love.

through decades and millions of light years
I have grown in that soft sweet earth
two more seeds and deeper love stemmed from it
as I ignored the tempting lure of the high winds.

but I still listen as the high winds call
sharing this pain with the ones I love
waiting to one day fly high as I once did
though it could never be the same as before.

she too was a wild seed flirting with higher winds
now waiting with me to one day fly again
as we watch our children sail in their high winds
both of us feeling the roots being pulled
and the winds starting to lift us to blow concordantly 
in a higher wind than either of us have ever known.

in the icy swirl
          of deep-inhale
            I reach down inside
                      to darkest
       heated flesh-fabric
removing the clothing
of my soul,
feeling the layers
                slowly  undone
                      the flay
                        of my own fleece
                          the peeling
                    of my own pelt
            penetrating
                through tissue,
                     a journey to the
                          deep heart of me,
                         cut in one clean move
                         and yet, like a miracle
                  there is
             no pain
                   just magnet-connect
                     beyond the cusp
                            of words
                              that curl from our
                                             tongues
                                      rising up in
                      latticed affirmations
                    a cleansing in frost
a constant, aquamarine renewal
and there is no past
no future
      just this prism
           of crystal liquid jewels
      flowing in
gentle,
         cellular music
             straight into the strands        
                    of our veins
and I miss you
like you have gone
on the long winter hunt
my longing splayed out
like an animal skin on
                    four poles
its tendons stretched
beyond measure
yet holding fast
with a roof over my head,
                    I acknowledge
             my restlessness
I am my own
       hunter-forager,
         both searching and found,
                     gathering up bits  
               of velocity
stroking the ribbons
of passion
stoking the fires of my
              heart and hearth
protecting what is us
like a lioness
for we are overflowing
with both strength
         and tenderness
              our own bones
ingredients of the wild soup              
of our feral union
of our constant rebirth
our very dna
          weaving itself
like heartstrings
               in the rush      
of
       time

I've stood in the lobbies,
Drinking crap coffees,
In churches, schools and theaters.
There's mingling talk of the topic
Involving a paradigm shift,
A segue too smooth to resist.
A new diagnostic, a new way that's better,
Although the old one's not gathered dust yet.
A new guideline, a revised playbook,
An updated prayer book,
An all new look, an all newer look;
And the newest look's coming out next.
Closer to platonic perfection.

          I should feel slighted.
          Babies shouldn't rock sideways.
          Bacon tastes good, is good.
          The surgery is booked.
          The schools are over-cooked.

The dais is lit. The crowd shuffles to sit,
The auditorium dims, we're all in,
And everyone knows the speaker by name.