Blue eyes
Sky eyes, Ocean eyes,
Sparkle eyes, Lonely eyes.

Gentle eyes, Passion eyes,
Loving eyes, Vacant eyes.

Mirror eyes, Hidden eyes.
Blue eyes.
Window eyes.

Walking down a country road
I spot a cow lying on it's side.
Her sides are heaving and blood slowly trickles
out of her open mouth.
I stand under a tall oak, feeling helpless as
she lifts her head and cries out in pain.
I turn and continue walking,
thinking about steak for dinner.

A fork forms out of my path,
one to the right, one to the left.
I stand for a full twenty seconds
trying to decide which way to take.
I have no recollection of this road, though I have
walk down it many times
to my lovers grave.
I finally chose to go left, because it seems
the most familiar.

The trees grow larger the further I walk,
the wind is stronger and leaves hurl around like
small tornado's.
I continue walking, quickening my pace, trying to reach
my lovers grave,
when I see a familiar fence.
I glance out of the corner of my eye and see
the sick cow, but it is no longer calling
out for help, no longer heaving
at the sides.

I cross through the boards of the
enclosure, walking over to the new born
I see the aftermath of the birth all around me,
including a new orphan in the world.

Homesick for a heart
that was stolen long ago,
an enemy that continues to thwart
any happiness, no eyes aglow.
I could keep lying, where to start
when a life tries to bestow
a sense of beauty in the art
of love, horrible shadow.
Attempts to keep me apart,
so as never to heal from sorrow
like a fiends old, black heart,
flecks of a dark indigo
but not enough to rechart
the sickly feeling of love in limbo.

Never, never leaving you,
never, never loving you

I would kiss you
as my only substance,
when again we rendezvous.
I would kiss until the fragments
all come together again,
I would kiss you like you never left

Do you like music? I like music.
I like the way it sounds, the way it feels
and how it can make the floor shake.

Whats your favorite band? I don't have one,
but I love Bread; that old 70's rock group.
They have a song called “Everything I own.”
I don't think it's a realistic song, but it's nice to
think that someone would give everything they had
to get someone back.

They're from California. Have you ever been there?
I haven't. Everyone is always supposed to be high,
but I think that's whats called a “hasty generalization.”
There's also a lot of wine vineyards there. I wonder if it
smells good.

Have you ever been high? I haven't, but my friends are a lot.
They always tell me scary stories about getting high, so I don't think
I'll ever try it. I like to drink, though.
Drinking is fun if you're with the right people. If you're with the
wrong people you either wake up with a hangover, or you don't
drink at all, because they make you feel bad for doing it.

Do people ever make you feel bad? They always make me feel guilty.
It's easy to make me feel guilty, even if what I'm doing isn't wrong.
It's kind of funny, how people can make you feel.
Sometimes I don't like it, but there are a few people who make you feel good.
I guess parents, sometimes. Friends and lovers for the most part though.

Have you ever been in love? I have. It's great, until it leaves.
Love can make you the happiest, or the saddest person in the world.
It's like a really old roller coaster at Six Flags in Georgia. It climbs
up the first hill so slowly you wonder if it will start going backwards.
Then, as soon as you pause at the top you can look around. It's really pretty
up there, everything in sight.
You're on top of the world.
Then, you fall. You rush down the hill a million times faster than you climbed it.
That's how love is sometimes.

Do you like talking? I do sometimes. Sometimes I can just go on and on.
Other times I like to be quiet, listen to people around me, or just sit in silence.
I don't mean to talk a lot, but sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't say anything.
I guess everyone likes to talk sometimes. Everyone likes to talk about themselves.
There's nothing wrong with that, we all just do.
Thanks for this conversation with me, I hope I didn't talk too much.


Do you like goodbye's? I don't.

Late at night her mind comes alive.
Stories, villains, songs more real than any in what some call reality.
Friends more dear and cherished, worlds far better known.
She is much more wanted here.

Late at night voices fill her
head, with adventures wanting to be know.
Stories only she may capture.
One story leads to another,
soon telling her of brand new peoples
who were somehow missed in the lives of others.

Late at night the hero always wins, hearts are always safe,
and none are forgotten. Moon and stars light
the way so she can see the shimmering
road.

Mornings always brings with it the shortage of ink,,
crumpled up pages and burned away candles.
Until night may once again bring her back to her friends,
in this world, in the world of reality
she is lost.

Ugly face and ugly bones,
greeting pretty faces without
realizing that these clones
would rather never know about
a pretty soul, a pretty heart,
only shallow things.

An ugly girl who refuses aid
from the strange men who come along,
who will never see the frayed string
on her soul, placed by the throng
of the beautiful.

A beautiful will never stay,
around the corner lies a better choice.
Forget-me-not's litter the way,
without a whisper, or concerned voice
which would inevitably call for a more
likely unhappy ending.

But ugly face and ugly bones will
always keep, never changing; no more
tired feet.
No more dragging them along, making
all the beauty sleep,
until it wakes and finds itself no more a
precious thing.

Bold as lightening, turned to fire. Splitting in two, never

again to be made whole. Have the gods no mercy for creatures

to feel whole? One side dies, split so far away, but a grating certainty  

is that they may have come from separate seeds.  

Did they become one, as the roots grew so deep, entwining their growth

so that that slowly the disconnected became a living entity.

Bold as lightening, turned to fire. Mutilating flesh beneath the bark,

letting loose the blood of the trees.