A blank white space of time,
where your words rebound
from the walls of my skull,
bullets in the midst of a
ricochet.

Who am I to give you what you so badly desire?
You, whose eyes are full but dim,
whose laugh is loud and empty.
You come to me with this longing,
this supposed need,
and request from me to drive away
these demons from your
tin can of a soul.

How can a phrase so simple be so difficult to understand?

If I give you from myself,
it will be from the best parts,
and those alone.
The language of my soul
will be yours to decipher.

Can you hear me
from across this drunken spinning darkened room,
or are the flashing lights
affecting your hearing?
My eyes are screaming ****** screams,
the green melds and mixes
and turns to brown,
you say how strange,
your eyes were green an hour ago,
as you sip your beer frothing onto the table.

Do you feel my heart pounding,
my sweat glands opening
in my neck and down my back?
No I'm not used to this,
my body is mine,
always has been,
and who are you,
so special that I should give you a share
forever in me?

Legs open, flowers unfurl,
what's that, you're a florist, you say?
How intriguing.
Hands shaking, eyes closed,
senses on full alert,
and who are you to do this to me,
with me,
this vicious crime against my soul?
Hand upon hand, lips upon skin like velvet,
forehead to forehead and heart rates decrease.
Your eyes are shining poison
and mine confusion.
It's a process to process, I say, and you nod,
and I'm surprised to note that you're still here,
I'm still here,
cars are still honking and the world continues to spin on its axis.

My heart retreats from my throat to my chest,
and then surprisingly,
it stops before hitting my stomach
and falling splat on the floor altogether,
****** and veiny and tired of beating.
No, it stays securely in place,
and as I digest this information again
I notice that you have not gone.

You watch my struggle
and your eyes are so sad,
so full of regret that I forget myself,
my heart,
my stomach,
my fear.
I want to cut out the feeling parts of myself
so that I can say goodbye
to this part of myself calmly and with poise,
leave it to dry up in the desert sun
on a sidewalk next to the dog ****
I almost stepped in earlier today.

You collect myself,
I collect yourself,
what is love without pain,
hello without goodbye?
Fear is a game.

Stand up straight,
tighten your belt,
focus your mind till it's a
sharpened pencil.
Rule yourself and in the process
allow yourself to be ruled.
Feel the warmth
hidden in the frigid air
like a child who plays an
endless game of hide and seek.

Embrace yourself,
allow yourself to be enfolded
into the soul of another.
This is a test of your faith in humanity.
We are good,
you and I.
We are honest, warm,
we are miracles and wonders
walking a planet filled with emerald greens
and far away horizons,
glittery night skies and reflective snowy days.
My soul is aglow,
and yours is as well,
and maybe together we can provide enough electricity
to light a home, a skyscraper,
the whole city of Manhattan.
We owe it to ourselves to try.

So goodbye, fear.

I leave you with a kiss and a sad smile.
You look so lonely there,
naked in the windy night.
I'm sorry I had to strip you down, fear,
and I thank you for what you've provided
until this moment,
but I must leave you now.
I don't want to hurt you but I'm glad
you cannot follow me to the places I'm going.
My soul is home to other beings now,
and I simply do not have a guest bed
for you to lay claim to.
Goodbye, my once upon a time.
My love is now directed elsewhere.

The sun sets the world aglow,
fire on the sand
and glitter on the sea.
It sends kisses down my spine.
The wind is its messenger,
tousling my hair--
it was neat once upon a time
this morning.
Now that is just a distant memory,
my hair is a mess
of fine yarn upon
my forehead,
mussed by sea water and running through rainbows,
where colors meld to my skin
and glow bright
in the dying sunlight.
My back and legs are burning
like onions frying
in a pan,
but I don't care
because my cheek
is pressed into the warm sand,
and my hair
is a fan round my head,
and the wind
whistles merry songs from over the sea,
and they reach me,
a shouted echo in an empty cave,
and I will stay here forever,
with my feet in the sand
and the waves in my blood.
I shall sleep beneath the moon,
and hold hands with
the constellations.
I shall float in the midst of the vast green ocean
whose waves are forest creatures,
rising up high
to kiss my neck
before crashing upon the shore
and stroking my feet.
I shall build here a home,
of sand
and sand alone.
I shall spend every waking hour
building my small beautiful home,
only to watch it dry out
and collapse
at the end of each day.
I shall start anew with the rising sun.

Time and drugs, the binding of our book.
How can I love when my heart beats
like the wings of a dying butterfly?
Hands shake
shake
shake hard enough that the leaves from surrounding trees
fall
and the salt and pepper shakers clang
China notes upon the table.

I spit on you, but I have no right
(nor left)
to do so.
Cut your hair, go for a run, leave yourself behind.
Dance with yourself or dance with the devil,
the two are one and one is zero.

Coffee, bass, thump, stomp,
coffee
coffee
coffee.
Ingest toxicity as the earth ingests the rain,
the rain that once was water-
wasn't it?

Bleeding eyes and tasteless lips and feet that touch,
soul to sole.
Who are you to dance, to drink, to forget,
while I stand stagnant
as a memory?

Come home to tearful cheeks and screams of pain,
come kiss my eyelids with your
punches,
or stay buried within your beautiful haze of smoke and
uppers
downers
all-arounders.

Capture a moment as a child captures an ant,
harmless at first
until the tweezers come out
and then-
oh,
there go my legs.

And in the other realms the time sweeps
through sands of soulless poison,
green and beautiful and stocked in slime enough to cover all of
Jerusalem.
Dance
dance
dance until you seize and your mind is a blank page of
uncried ****** tears.

And as my soul burns upward and the flames singe my
nostrils,
I reach toward the closest substance,
just push
push
push these flames back inside and downward,
before I combust into a ball of hellfire
right here on the grey tile floor.

The wells behind your eyes are hollow and dim,
places of refuge for dark fears that bind you at night,
chains
of fluid diamond tears.

Escape to the outer world as a lion from his cage;
the flavor of your eyes is steel.
Is it wrong to be so cold and tired,
lying on the concrete
in this unending torrential rain?

Connect the dots between soul and body and become immortal,
follow me into the clawing, cloying land of animalistic heat,
the fever
of love and the lie of touch.

The wanton cry that escapes your lips direct from your heart
is alive and breathing.
Come discover with me the uselessness of
whitewashed beginnings and ragged edged endings.

The walls that frame your heart beat in fitting rhythyms
and force me to dive into the recreated world of your mind,
creating anew
plagues of rainbow and
clouds that fill the skies like puffs of smoke from the cigarette
ever present in your bony hand.

Ash stained rivers of words pour from
tar stained teeth,
and there are worlds between our beings,
but I love you still.

Tight embraces in dimly lit buses,
night skies oppressive in the dormant freedom
of brightly glowing stars,
and through it all my mind shatters,
crystal upon stark tile floors;
go ahead, try to sweep it up.

We all know you'll find pieces
hidden in corners forevermore.
Reserve me, conserve me,
trap me in conversations that are real
in their own plasticky way.  
Convention, protection,
radioactive never-ending hunger,
all is fearless until the time for courage arrives,
and then you are still,
trapped inside your own tobacco stained mouth,
empty and aching with only a
theoretical formula for satisfaction.

Satiate my needs (as I covet yours)
and enter my mind
through gaps in my body,
my hands are dry, my fingertips numb,
the taste of them salty upon the cracks in my lips.
Retract, retrospect,
retro clothing and high heeled leather boots,
walk the night through a fog of shame
and search out a gleam of hope,
but wait-
that's just light pollution.

The ground is dry but the sky is crying,
where in space lies the disconnect?
I'm spinning, I'm screaming,
I'm waiting for an end
but every day begins anew,
the sky grotesque in its airiness
and empty fullness
and the moon waiting only long enough
to greet the sun,
bowing its silvery crowned head.

The point of confusion lies
here.
Right.
Here.
Look, I can almost touch it.

The whys and hows,
the ifs and what ifs form impregnable moats around
my brick of a brain.
And I allow it.
I sit back and watch,
an old lady at an opera.

What broke inside of me the last time
I touched you?
I don't remember-
that is, I've forgotten.
And whose face is that
imprinted inside of my eyelids?
When it's sunny out I close my eyes
and see it outlined in fire red.

Go on.
Go on and hit me.
I invite you.
Remember what happened
the last time?
How your mouth and eyes
simultaneously screamed in rage
as you dove at me
clawing?

You ripped my lips from my face that night,
my eyes from their sockets
so I could never again see
the curious red face.
I want to be able to say I fought back,
hurled a good firm punch
or two-
but I can only lie to you in the space
you've created special for me
and my insanity,
and I am no longer there.

Let's talk about things that slither.
Let's talk about ideas that make you cringe
and break down the middle,
a broken vessel that's not quite broken.

Just a little chipped.
Kind of like your personality.
Stark and shiny, and unable to contain.

But you surprised me with your brokenness.
I looked at you and saw your depth.
I didn't know that everything was
pouring out the bottom.

So come, let us try to converse.
I know already that your depth is a lie,
and I will hold myself back from trying to fill you.
After all, I only have so much time.

But wouldn't I rather waste it on you?
Maybe.
Maybe I'm silly to pass up this opportunity.
Or maybe you should read this.

You can go and examine your chips,
and I'll stay here and examine my cracks,
and we can reconvene in an hour.

You'll probably have forgotten by then.
My words will probably leave no mark
on your shock proof reflective surface.
But...

Well, there goes the rest of me.
I'll sit here, waving goodbye
from my wicker rocking chair.
Don't mind me.
I'm just hoping for a second chance.

Deep down, I'm just scared that I'll one day be old with a cigarette in my hand, and not a soul to light me up.

And glaring death into bitter night,
I left my heart on the stone altar,
a peace offering to shadowy figures
clothed in tears and linen,
that they may receive it
and be pleased.

I ran,
I flew down the mountain side,
wind in my ears and
blood on my hands,
hysterical laughter ringing in
the hollows of my skull.

At the foot of the mountain,
centered in the valley,
a well stood, stoney eyed
and heartless
(the well was me and I was the well)
waiting for the rushing noise
to hush and
the shadow gods to be quieted
by the pumping of a deadened heart.

My red tinged eyes
gazed forward, downward,
into the ever sloping well,
and all was quiet.
The blood dripped scarlet pearls
from my hollowed chest,
and after an eternity the splash echoed
from the walls of the cold well.

The sound reverberated
through air cold as ice,
anchoring me in its grip,
soft as a kiss.
I fell.

I let the echo pull me
into a well's unbroken water,
eyelids forced open over empty sockets,
wind burping into my cheeks,
forcing me into an unforgiving smile.