Here and suffocating
or gone and homesick
every shade of grass knows
that a sense of loss is certain

I know trust is made
through the bonds we pick
like you know when your mast sails
you're casting your sense of purpose

I'll let you at mapping your unknown seas
you'll leave me to swim in mine
ex marked the how we got here
after I lost my sense of time

You told me from the get go
back then it wasn't hard to hear
Baby I can't be enough for you to hold
while I'm lost in learning how to steer

I knew it wouldn't last when
you were unfamiliar with just lying naked
but sometimes a fox in the lion's den-
his outta place just feels so sacred.

(I had a lovely time.)

'If and when I don't write
it's usually because I am afraid of or ashamed of myself.

Wanting to take it all back instead of put forth anything else
Take back the time, the energy,  the hoping
the mistaken sense that I was finally making sense
of a sense of something.

There is not a lot of it in this beautiful world
and the bit there is I don't get a taste of much.
what I have many times savored as such turns out to be poor or lack of common.
Non, sometimes, maybe.

As I pour myself into these forms and spaces and times,
time and time again
I am forced to acknowledge in retrospect
that again I spilled my being haphazardly into another mold.

Dripping over the edges,
drops of myself carelessly spilled all over arbitrary surfaces
in the excitement of trying to get it all into where it belongs
In that one sliver of a moment, a place where I belong.

All that I possess,
all these atoms of stars in my veins and all these old truths,
these explosions of thought and left behind trademarks and scar marked beams of light,
all these cold nights and deep meaningful thoughts,

and trip ups on my own people I sought
and you love me forget me love not forget me nots
I keep myself tethered to paper,
sooner or later the one thing in all of this that could make sense of what I came for.

(i had a lovely time.)