Put out my eyes, and I can see you still,
Slam my ears to, and I can hear you yet;
And without any feet can go to you;
And tongueless, I can conjure you at will.
Break off my arms, I shall take hold of you
And grasp you with my heart as with a hand;
Arrest my heart, my brain will beat as true;
And if you set this brain of mine afire,
Then on my blood-stream I yet will carry you.

Ignorant before the heavens of my life,
I stand and gaze in wonder. Oh the vastness
of the stars. Their rising and descent. How still.
As if I didn't exist. Do I have any
share in this? Have I somehow dispensed with
their pure effect? Does my blood's ebb and flow
change with their changes? Let me put aside
every desire, every relationship
except this one, so that my heart grows used to
its farthest spaces. Better that it live
fully aware, in the terror of its stars, than
as if protected, soothed by what is near.

The sky puts on the darkening blue coat
held for it by a row of ancient trees;
you watch: and the lands grow distant in your sight,
one journeying to heaven, one that falls;

and leave you, not at home in either one,
not quite so still and dark as the darkened houses,
not calling to eternity with the passion of what becomes
a star each night, and rises;

and leave you (inexpressibly to unravel)
your life, with its immensity and fear,
so that, now bounded, now immeasurable,
it is alternately stone in you and star.

Maybe we're from the same scar.
Maybe the same galactic gutter.
Maybe the same pulpy punch.
Maybe you were my sister
or you were my brother.

Maybe there is a place
where we used to go
to plant our feet
in what we didn't know.

Maybe there is a place
where the whistle grows,
the voices chatter,
the stillness slows.

And maybe, somewhere
or the whistle grows,
the voices chatter,
the stillness shows.

And maybe, somewhere,
or this place, you said to me,
"I hope you remember
that this is a false memory."

P* erception of perfection you peep through,
Pasty pallid skin, polished and hairless too.

O rifices overloaded with objects inserted,
Onus on organs contorted and inverted.

R ated R for restricted but,
Revered in every racing, raving heart.

N o escape, never real, a never-ending reel,
Note now how it is the act and the squeal, never the feel.



I t is its own doom, on a breakfast platter, glittering,

S erving your imagination an unforgettable, unfulfilable fantasy.



A lways present to build a prison cell and still calls you free.



T rue to itself but a lie nevertheless,

R uinous rapture you have there, rupturing a future,

A way from the light to higher heights of depravity fly,

P ursue a mirage, put on its chains now.


Did you fall too?
I was hoping you'd give me a hand.

Bar politicians and hobo drawers
This town smells like bad history
Oh mother cancer you're growing on me
You're my favorite stock holmes disease

Everything was a breeze, when the earth was spinning for me
Till the coriolis changed its pace, and the horizon seemed constant
Never to be touched by me
Something to reach for, but never to see

Spare me your sympathetic tendencies
I'm sick of replacing me with please
And acting like every want is a need
When happiness is just a mirage
Good thing I don't have a car
Because I'm using that garage to store all my old memories

A box full of unanswerables stacked up on top of my anxiety
On top of the box full of the blood and tears I bleed
And the forgotten hypocrisies under my apocryphal tendencies
Next to the karaoke machine that screams infidelity
How far back do I need to hide those suppressed memories for them to never surface again
What's the point if the boxes are transparent?

Get tucked in
close your eyes
all warm with in
the day is over
the dreams begin
stuck by fear
trapped by sin
knocking hard
but can't get in
stuck on luck
bound to win
sleeping with one eye open
laying there just hoping
if fighting the good fight
with all of your might
is really worth the fight?
for a world that can't tell the difference between wrong or right.

Have you seen my son
He was to return before the dawn
He told me that he loved me
But there was fighting left to be done
His eyes are hazel burning bright
His hair as dark as ravens night
that is perched on yonder tree
His croaks say that your son is gone
And again you will never see
But still the misty morn she walks
With crystals rolling down her cheeks
Cold and gone
is how she found the sun this morning