This poem casts a line from insomnia to morning
On the wind of a prayer that whatever bites, holds on.

See I have counted eleven score and ten,
with rainbow like curves of my neck -
contemptuous beasts leaping in formation
each bleating out a preach of vague platitudes;
A narrative for the night sky.

My hands clamour at keys for escape
until I tumble headfirst into a web so vast
it has ensnared the whole world wide -
millennials are living in-ter-net over in-the-world;
a new ultraviolence against humanity.

I beat my words into the screen until it breaks;
shattering scarlet emoticons like confetti
pouring over language as if it were a compliment.
My mind massages shapeless polypous thoughts
like tight constricted muscles aching for release.

3am casts these philosophies into horses,
whipping them into shape and speed
before the eyes of this statuesque ******.
This anxious wakefulness begs my manic self to dance;
suggestively ******* tickets to ride like cleavage.

Sleep is fast becoming a neglected former engagement;
as my mind trips over fallen heroes
wades through my favourite mistakes
in a wonderland unfolding faster than I can fall
while the world beyond my window remains dark.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.

Write, for instance: "The night is full of stars,
and the stars, blue, shiver in the distance."

The night wind whirls in the sky and sings.

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

On nights like this, I held her in my arms.
I kissed her so many times under the infinite sky.

She loved me, sometimes I loved her.
How could I not have loved her large, still eyes?

I can write the saddest poem of all tonight.
To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her.

To hear the immense night, more immense without her.
And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.

What does it matter that my love couldn't keep her.
The night is full of stars and she is not with me.

That's all. Far away, someone sings. Far away.
My soul is lost without her.

As if to bring her near, my eyes search for her.
My heart searches for her and she is not with me.

The same night that whitens the same trees.
We, we who were, we are the same no longer.

I no longer love her, true, but how much I loved her.
My voice searched the wind to touch her ear.

Someone else's. She will be someone else's. As she once
belonged to my kisses.
Her voice, her light body. Her infinite eyes.

I no longer love her, true, but perhaps I love her.
Love is so short and oblivion so long.

Because on nights like this I held her in my arms,
my soul is lost without her.

Although this may be the last pain she causes me,
and this may be the last poem I write for her.

Read to me
while I lie here with eyes closed against the sky.
  Read to me with passion
of the smell of lemon
  and musk wrapped in silk and satin.

  I rest here in your voice and drink
your very words.
  Read to me with lilt of breath.
Breathe me to the brink
  of lasting
as I sink into your sighs.

Read to me gently,
  read softly into the night.

r ~ 27Mar14

What you do best-
Feel love with the deepest intensity
What I do best-
*Keep jolting you back to my reality

My brother saw my cuts
He did not question me
He lifted his sleeve
And revealed his



l.c.b.

memories, they flow

they are the raindrops that
kiss spring and make canapés

they envelop my shoulders and caress my body
the hand that leads me through the billowing sea

they dance on the summer ice
of you and i and we

they write this poem
eternally unfinished

it's 5am
the moon is still awake
the birds sings
and the cold wind blows
over the silence

the rooster crows
and i smell
the sweet fragrance
of grasses
and i don't mind
if it's dark or cold

i have to see you
before you go home
to tell you goodbye

before i'll miss
your lips
your hugs
and your eyes

i hope by 6am
when you go
when we separate
our ways
you'll miss me too