I am the poem, the naked poem
Feel the poetic tone. From the moment
you laid eyes on me.
The break lines and the awkward feeling,
you get throughout each stanza,
represent my beautiful nakedness

Then comes the unprovoked aggression of my actions,
Never blanket my words,
let my audience feel the power of my strength
I am the poem that can never be ban
I rather you wouldn’t strip my words from the truth,
but embrace it with an open mind

the enfeebled voice spoke of hopelessness
the inflamed flesh told of a spirit subdued
shrunken and felled by a creeping weakness
her sightless eyes  were a sign of approaching demise
yet she said she would see me in the morning
and next day under the winking sun i was at her mourning
keeping a promise made a long time ago under a cork tree
to sing about the beauty of a true heart that loved well
and how there was a place and a time for sundown trysts
in the world of articulate shadows beyond the endless blue
and there an enigmatic silhouette she waits in expectant vigil

Dear October,
Bathing me in a full moon
Supersized and the colour of
McDonald's cheese.

Bright through the thick curtains
Of my bedroom, where I rest in
Sober solitude.
A dim red, even through heavy

Eyelids.
Dear October, breathe your faintly
Frosted scents through my open
Window, leave my stellar

Night light on.
I need no fingertips caressing my
Face goodnight.
I have friends like little planets.

The smell of firewood. The
Sounds it makes when burning.
Yellow light dancing on the
Paintings I made for my
Livingroom walls.

The ghost of my cat curled up
By my feet on the sofa.
Outside, the wind grabs
Branches and brushes them
Against the house.

I sit like this for hours.
Barely thinking; just being
Part of the room.
A song. A poem. Barely hidden
In the air.

Under over, below above
Upturned a downing silver,
Tossed up to fall to rise to prove
The wayward godly river
Churned this to that to thin to fat
Until the one eye opened,
Where singles dwell in mingled swell
And woe to woo is ripened.

He sat down and wrote
Complaining of his exclusion
And the life of extreme seclusion.
You must be surprised if you suffer
A danger that I cannot name.
I am the chief of terrors so unmanning.
Lighten this destiny.
Respect my silence.
The Dark Influence smiled
With the promise of peace of mind.
His life, so great.
A change of words must lie
For some deeper ground

I wanted to be a poet,
so I creased myself into
a bright blue envelope,
addressed to the moon,
and asked the Old Man
His thoughts about how vast
mountain ranges are contained only
by the bones of his ribs.

And He sat quiet, opening His crusted,
ancient mouth only to ask
"Do you love him?"

I stared, doe-eyed and small,
as the stars dimmed their chatter.
My cheeks lit up like comet tails,
but He nodded His head,
shutting the half moons of His eyes,
not asking questions, or rhymes,
or reasons.

"Then why do you stare up
at the stars at night
when the brightest one
lies fast asleep in your bed?"