power song flowing
      like a bat out of hell
(free)
guitar fingers screaming
    eyes burning like fire
find mine
       (cool and wide)
body joined to the rhythm
scream that ****
   i hear you
look here
          (i see you.)

i'm in
   such a
strange place
(hard to describe)

outside
      the construct
looking in

through broken
blinds and
mucus smeared
glass

such a
strange accumulation
of objects
surround me.

though i would like to believe
that you are celestial

you are not.

and that is the biggest blow
to my psyche.

that we are not forever
(of this earth and this body)
when i love only you

in order to
r e f l e c t back
i like to be a m i r r o r

this song
   moving me both backward
and forward simultaneously
and i feel the pull
of a thousand moons
   toward you.

sleep
is perpetually
rounding the corner
                              his
                       robes
          whispering
on the ground

i follow the
        paths that seem
                         promising
          taking measures
ingesting
      pharmaceuticals
            routines in place
                                      cool air
                              soft pillows
            layered blankets
but the path
     is hard to follow
i lose my way
so i eat
i write
i drink
i search
all the nights
                of my life.

a stubborn
    d i s b e l i e f
takes hold
you left me halfway through the wood
and you
      b r o k e
ties for all men
for all time.
the softness
that once encompassed me
is gone,              
and the clingy sadness
reminds me of
what i thought
i knew.

if i'm online
i'm alive

if i'm one line
i'm a life

(and other things i won't say to your face)


i am not
   a thing or
a toy.

i am a
creature,

of this earth
and among
countless men
and women
gone before me,
with me
and after me.

i breathe.
i think.

i do not
exist
for you.

i do not
trudge these
circles on the ground
to clear a path
for you.

i am me
without you,
and i am me
with you.

i do not
make a space for you
lightly.

i do not
let you in
for you to
ransack my house.

i do not write
to make you
golden and bright.

i do it because
i can see you.
i can hear you.
and i love you.

and there is
no way
for me to be
other than
what i am.

so
*******
if you
choose
not to see
**me.

that the moment has arrived
where the original ideal of
the a m e r i c a n  e x p e r i m e n t
has hit right up against
the ability of humanity to reach
that height and create
that reality.

.we have failed.

(heavy)

grief for people and things
that might as well be dead
d
r
o
p
  p
e
  d
off the face of the earth.
tears for
things that may as
well have
never been.

beautiful
beautiful
please believe
my words

i wasn't looking
for you
i didn't mean
to stumble
upon you

if i had known,
if i had known...
would i have
turned my back
on you?
abandoned hope
and tread
my path
alone?

fool that i am,
i would not
i would not.

i fight
this feeling
of
earth-shattering
hope
because i cannot
stand the
pain of it
and suffering
reigns supreme.

i cannot hope.
i cannot.
i cannot.

star in my sky
keep burning
i am here,
*i am here.

i could say how much i love you
but that wouldn't mean a thing.

so instead i will speak to the light in your eyes
   and the warmth in your smile
      that saves even my negative brain,
where memories fade too quickly.

i can only hope that we will occupy
the same time and space
    until there is time no more.

you are very
bad at
notifying.

it's a thing
you don't
have.

so deftly
    you put me in my place
so quietly
    you show me the way
*which is no way at all

a golden 7
with a pink bird.

a blue veil of lace.

i'm getting
the distinct impression
that
i should take my ball
and go home.

certain songs
   suddenly break back
the warm sound of you
   the heavy golden light...
the electric heavenly air
   ...and i just want to go back
more than anything
   *i want to go back.

don’t try to take me
to seasons of nostalgia with you
(it’s the same every year)
and i don’t want to go.

i’d rather there be
an endless summer.

imagine,
            if you will,
that as the first four notes of
       Hits From The ****
   drift into consciousness,
you see ahead,
                      approaching fast,
a beautiful
        upsweep of snow,
a delicate cyclone
     that moves itself
            quickly from
non-existence to
    existence and back.

I'm seeing all these
people having
a sad
about the
women's march.

yikes. thought you guys were tough.

didn't know that a knitted kitty kat hat was so terrifying and offensive to people who don't believe in political correctness. So sad!

see i'm good at
      backing off
falling right off
quiet
quiet
quiet