A misty sunrise fills the east
With yellow, gold and red.
The bowl of space a palest blue,
Sheds light upon our bed.
The warmth beside my soul, a feast
Of love for only you.

So let the birds, with song, remain
Within the morning hours,
To pour upon the crisp, new day
A hope, like cleansing showers.
For you I send refreshing rain
To wash the past away.

A quiet breeze so warm and slow,
Has drifted ‘cross my face.
It brings the scents from flower climbs,
And leaves without a trace.
It stirred this battered heart, you know,
To love this perfect time.

Like whispers lost at sea, we soar
Beyond the sky of fire.
Together. Lost together, free
To claim our each desire.
Like leaves we float to earth, once more
To close our eyes and be.

"i just wish you didn't hate me." he said,
exhaling the first drag of his fourth cigarette
since we began our verbal wrestling match
two shots earlier.
his eyes always seem to look the most sincere
when i know that he isn't.
as green as the river that delivered me,
perfect.
i make fun of that **** leather jacket that he looks so handsome in
and ask to borrow his handkercheif
so that i can fill it with snot
and spite.
i hate this "talking" buisness.
it's more like a contest to see who can make the other hate themselves first.
he always wins.
and even when i want to drink his existance into submission,
i still just want to grab him by the face and kiss him...
right on his filthy mouth.
"obviously, i don't hate you," i finally reply.
"i just hate that i give a **** about you."
his silence speaks volumes.
unfortunately,
they're penned in a vernacular that i've never understood.
the air gets busy and heavy,
alive with the charge of confusion between insanity and ****** frustration.
the steps to our ****-show waltz are well rehearsed...
we slide over each others jugulars gracefully -
nimble -
on both the tips of our toes
and the tips of our tongues,
crossing lines in the sand with tact.
hit for hit.
shot for shot.
we dance,
in the angred space we share
on the front porch
in the light of the moon,
leaving even the moths afraid to cross us.
some people love without looking back,
and some people look back without loving the crack in the wall in which they hid the sour facts.
i guess that's you and me-
filling the cupboards with what's already rotten,
in hopes that what we don't acknowledge won't be a problem.

for the past few weeks,
my daily caloric in-take has consisted of nothing but caffine,
nicotine,
and a good bit of ****-
if that counts.
i've been bogged down by a few pounds of literary build-up,
clinging to my cell walls.
characters and commas,
just pleading to be plucked from their scatter-brained current state of nothingness,
and be re-arragned-
brought to life by a breath of structure
and fore-head kiss of charm.
writer's block.
an itchy wool blanket of complacent composition blues
draped over my freckled shoulders,
in hopes of sheilding me from a down-pour of inspiration.
i never asked to be pretected from my own thoughts,
so stop,
fickle whispers of failure.
i'm on the rise.
i close my eyes and plunder my brain for the misplaced directions
to the exit of the ball-point duldrum,
i know they're around here somewhere.
i've got thirty three trash bags of pointless memories,
and not one of them can help me.
so i hoist the sails
and viciously exhale,
sending myself out to sea
where i'll be free to raise the nets dragging on the floor,
and sort through the mooshed-up words
to turn them into something more.

i fell in love with you
once
long ago
with my eyes closed
and the dream-screen drawn

we danced
like music notes across their barred landscape
we danced
the loveliest late-night lullaby

you became my hiding place
lilac and lace linens
stretched over a lumpy matress

my indiana jones
waiting patently and poetically
in a long-lost temple of slumber

you come back to me in waves
softly and subtly
while i'm half awake
you're kissing the broken down shorelines of an insomniacs holiday

i wish i could keep you
like an empty bottle in the window-sill
or a heart arrhythmia
this lonely romantics cardiovascular waltz

let me snag you up from my dream-dust
and stitch you to my sole like a lost boys shadow

let me find you in my reality
tip-toeing over an underlined paragraph
of a beer stained paper-back

i'll find you
someday
after a long-over-due nights sleep

perhaps in the guitar strings
or type-writer keys
or at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey in the ever-humming freezer

be mine
evasive valentine
i'll even let you hide in the curls of my hair
or under my fingernails
i'll keep you
if you'll let me

just don't forget me
come sun-up
when you gallup away
from my sub-conscious escape

take my heart-rate with you
tucked into your breast-pocket
like a floral handkercheif
or a photogaraph taped to the dash

come back
to the grey matter kingdom
tucked behind my eyelashes
i'll meet you in the idiosyncrasies of my synapses
writing love stories that never once happened

We lived in an abattoir
On the edge of our abandoned world
Come darkness we would draw
Into cages made of pearl

We swam in blood of beasts
And of each other we ate
Each night, a divine feast
Your heart upon my plate

Though we lived in death
Our appetite would claw
For the other's fervid breath
Within the abattoir

Sangrias on Saturdays,

a better way,

we got sicker,

the stairs spiraled,

quicker than a Winter's day








and a jet plane






is a

dalmatian




in a weird sort of way.




That was stupid



to sa-

vor

one sort of angle

over
another sort
of strangle
hold

would be a mistake,

one of great consequence,

something to wince at.


Keep wincing.


I know.


Red haired,

struttin' down that stage
like the Summer fox,

strummin' that
southern rock,

get me off, get me off!

I'm stuck

in love me mode

so give me

a good


night lullaby

and tuck me in-
at least.

freckle faced teenager, giddy up!
freckle faced teenager, give it up!

I'll be there,

I"ll be the one.

I'll feel hair

and I'll pull for fun.



Snow.


Roses.


Snow and roses,

Fall always forces
and I can never go back to
the cotton my blood was soaking in.

Snow and roses,
Fall always closes
and leaves me wanting.

I can never go back; ****
the rotten fruit our wine was soaking into.

Eliminating madness
Would be to lose my essence
A barbed wire snake sitting pretty
In my belly, his presence
Is what puts that shine in my bright
wet eyes, the look that makes you
want to run and stay and fight
It is the molten gold you feel
In the hollows of my hips, or
Why I go weeks without a meal
and sleep four nights out of seven
Madness-the tinge of darkness
Within the heart of heaven