fall in love with the idea of drugs
shed skin and become the person
your parents told you to never be

without ever noticing you're growing
up at the speed of light
seven sleepless days and you're feeling loose

under the belly of a windless night
rorschach tests, bottles and naked america
clothing herself next to you while you scroll through your phone

She tried the fiery reds
like love, hearts
and the end of cigarettes
Like the sun rising on a brand new day
But she's tried too much
and they've become a cold, sad grey

Like an elephant
who remembers acquaintances from the past
revisiting their graves
like an old iconoclast

She once tried all of the blues
Tight ripped jeans and salty rivers
for a lover, their eyes the same hue
She even tried to swim out into the ocean spray
But she's tried too much
and they've become a bleak, empty grey

Like the clouds of a storm
on the Fourth of July
******* the joy from
explosions in the sky

She confided at times in the colors brown
The pitch of her own eyes, of sand
and her old hometown
She tried to sculpt her feelings in clay
But she's tried too much
and they've become a dry, calloused grey

Like stones of a castle
built to keep others out
She's locked away in her tower
with a head full of doubt

I hear that, these days, she dabbles in black
Like emptiness, nightmares,
and crooked witch hats
Not unlike the swan in the ballet
But at least this is one color
that will never turn grey

I shy away from sentences.
In the spaces where words should be,but aren't I can maintain my anonymity,and shore up my unrepentance.
  When I speak in more than snippets, it becomes plain.
I am as broken as my preferred pattern of speaking, of writing.
If you look close enough, you can see it.
It isn't as clever as I wish it was.
And sure, its effective enough at soliciting a fleeting feeling.
But what good does it do?
I like to pretend that I want to be known.
Really, I am hiding just out of sight.
Around the next corner on that daily walk where we sometimes collide.
  In circles of other people you know.
You've seen my face, you know my name,
youd even say you know me.
But if you were asked who I am, you'd hesitate,
with a catch in your throat, and a half reassuring-half derogatory smile.
" well, you're.. You" you'd say.  
And no matter how many times you're asked, you'd repeat it.
For days,months, years.
I've watched it happen already.
I'm not sure if I haven't taken the trouble to really introduce myself,
Or if you haven't taken the trouble to realize that I am not just
Some whimsical syllable
Plastered on my shoulders
From birth to now.
And now, we don't have time to be sure.

Body brimming with sensations.
inhabited by aches built up from ages.
You are only twentytwo.
But you're ancient soul,
And I hurt like you.
You've seen much
And known much beyond what you can speak.
You're bent double in the dirt,
But no pained sounds scratch dry across your lips.
Instead, this drumbeat.
Permeating the air with your presence.
Your ancient cadence and effervescence.
Its ever present
And it lingers
Tingles tinged with nectars sweeter
Converge at your coming,
At your going
They scatter to the four corners of the earth.
At Vesper's whisper, one evening far,
You'll find your star-singed edges
Returning to where you are.
You shall know yourself.

what gravity, and where has the gravity gone?
when yesterday a new year dawned -
I asked myself this question,pained,
and answered with the things i've done.
I blame myself for our pummelling decline,
though in part, it be yours beside -
i could have, but didn't-and did, but could not have -
many things that made the difference.
And i lay there, wondering if ever i would feel as heavily entwined,
as when first your gravity became mine.
and feared - that never again - should i be tethered -
by the few invisible tines that held me to this mote of dust
I fear free fall, up into the sky.
And all i can do is lay here, and fight the lies, while we cry.

Throwing rocks into the winter river.
Ice as thin as a child's soul's skin
Carries not the weight
Of History's oldest weapon.

Like a paperless poem it shatters,
Floating away with the fleeing stream.
Water needs no windows.
Nothing is outside to its within.

And it was there I said I'd meet you.
Under the overpass, your eyes grasping for new ways to say I told you so. And that smokestack heart of mine piled up a few more miles of the most beautiful memories that could fit into my nap sack before the bus left:

When you remind me I'm lip-synching on our car rides to nowhere which is everywhere with you and how I hate telling you I'm wrong.

That smile- and how it wraps around my lips when I try and refuse that lighthouse from ushering me home.

The echoes your laughter makes across the empty dining room and how intentional you spin this sound so I can hear it from the bedroom.

Your left temple- tabernacle and all- leaning against the smoke. Every night.  Not afraid of the fire.

And before I leave you remember that these trips are every bit as permanent as they are temporary. You tell me to hurry home and I remind you that I always am with you. You smile. The Sun screams, raising its voice across your face as we depart and you've never been as beautiful as when you said