to be held by you
on a night where the rain can
be heard on the roof

whilst cradled in the
soft sounds of your breathing, oh
that would be the bomb

...the bomb

how gentle it is
in its detonation, how
soft your shards breeze past

my skin

i found my best friend at the lake
down in the swamp, wading through
knee deep mire, for the sake of sustenance

i watched him for a time, as he plucked
frogs and small fish from their homes
with the trained eye of a seamstress

eventually, once i had caught his eye
he let out a cry and left me
sitting in my small lonesome boat

that was the only time i ever saw him,
but as he left me he whispered to me all of his love
his wisdom, his knowledge, through the tips of his outstretched limbs

and i never forgot him

i used to patch
the holes in your pants
that you tore while climbing rocks

i always used to think that
plaid jackets and plain jeans
suited you best

now your temper is short as well as your hair
and your fire eyes look off in to the sky
rather than crawling up my arm in to mine

tired eyes
weary sighs
empty checklists and picket lines
hands that ache
lips that quake
statements and proposals that i cannot make
calculations, calculators
stairwells and elevators
cold cement
old lament
spring leaves
endless seams
single mothers coddling crying infants
millions stare at the monitors, entranced
worn out books and worn out lies,
these are my final goodbyes

--you pushed me over.
your hands collided with  
my shoulders, firm,
forceful,
and I fell in to the pond.
all around me I felt but muck

murk and mud
my hands searched for solidity,
and only found solitude
coiled inside the russet.
frantic I searched for something to hold
maybe, your hand,

but nothing came to me.
water burnt my throat as it
forced its way through my nose.
as If I’d shattered the sun,
all around me,

colors and flashes of light captured my vision
and stars, in the hundreds, thousands,
millions yet,
overtook my eyes.

they were quick to move to my fingers.
my hands erupted in a light that I could not comprehend
as my skin shattered like glass

as horrible as it sounds,
it felt like lying in a downy featherbed.

a mattress under ten feet of the worlds’ finest pillows.

the days when
the sweet violets charmed the money out of men's pockets
just to hide away
the days when roses were proud and used their thorns wisely
snakes bathed in the sun where they were warm and welcome
spiders had simple lives of luxury with their homemade hammocks strung out
snow didnt alarm the masses
because it just meant sharing their homes with those who had
nothing besides the open air