We are all
just lifetimes
searching for
       infinities.
     And the broken
    parts or who
we were
      should never
          be excluded
   from the beauty
of what we
are.
     -Andrew Durst

I want to write again
I want to feel
Like I did back then
When my day depended
On the words I had chosen
-- The life I put
In my poems

I want to write again
I want to feel
The thrill of the pen
The delight that rushes through my veins
When the right words blend
The pain I endure
Once my thoughts
No longer make sense

I am exhilarated
When I start
Scribbling on paper
My heart at peace
As soon as I polish it
On my typewriter

I write again
I write
Like nothing ever happened
Like not a thing prevented me
Months at an end

I write again

I write
Because it is who I am
Because in time,
I always return
To my essence
-- That in the end,
Nothing feels quite right
Unless I am writing.

I've come to accept that all of my worries about tomorrow and how I'll be remembered yesterday
has manifested itself into something far greater than stress.
And I know living with this
            state-of-mind
can only make every situation worse instead of ever getting better.
But right now,
       in this moment,
                     I am okay.

And that is good
enough for me.

In the midst of my confusion-
             I find peace,
Even though I haven't slept in weeks.  
              -is it justified?
I'm always asking questions like
           "how?" or "why?"
Because believing in something
      is just too **** hard to try.
             Can I compromise?
Please, can I compromise?
                Is it true that we only ever
              practice what we preach?
         And that everything in life
is simply based on our beliefs?
         Is this all a dream?
                 Is this all a dream?

when Whitman wrote, "I sing the body electric"

I know what he
meant
I know what he
wanted:

to be completely alive every moment
in spite of the inevitable.

we can't cheat death but we can make it
work so hard
that when it does take
us

it will have known a victory just as
perfect as
ours.

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.

one flies
off.
then
another.

one is left,
then
it too
is gone.

my typewriter is
tombstone
still.

and I am
reduced to bird
watching.

just thought I'd
let you
know,
******.

I wanted to thank you
for being everything
to me whenever
I had nothing to
call my own.

You didn't just
get me out of a "rut."

You saved me
from the empty,
soulless shell in which
I was about to
become.