The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to the ocean—
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.

The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple’s a rose,
And the pear is, and so’s
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only knows
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose—
But were always a rose.

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling finger-tips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

1654

Beauty crowds me till I die
Beauty mercy have on me
But if I expire today
Let it be in sight of thee—

los vacíos en uñas
como pozos de alquitrán
roban el foco
de dedos delgados
hechos para tocar el piano

codos como el mío,
     como gotas de rocío,
      y como pulpa redonda —
    no conoces la pared ni la espada,
pero esas en hombros herniados.

y las alas, alas
como el día
que aletea
nubes mostazas
a través de un campo

envuelveme
en plumas
así que yo conozca
solaz soleado
siempre

permanece vigilia
encaramado arriba
en tormentas
transformadas y
contenidas dentro de
las cavernas vivas
del espectro.

I am no stranger to darkened rooms.
The sun may be shining
but I'm in love with the moon.
She's full of sympathy for my lonely plight.
I am no stranger to the night.

She hides behind clouds, but I'll see it through.
I wax and wane with her many moods,
and when she's full, I'm filled with hope.
She shines on me so that I don't feel so alone.

Doomed to forever be concerned with the things that most won't notice - let alone take an interest in.
Fated to state the rules of a game of which most don't know they're playing - whether or not they may be winning.
Always curious.
Ever grasping.
Despairing when they realize that the quest is everlasting.
What is it that makes it thus?
Myself,
the world,
random floating motes of dust.
I'll assign them meaning just to see it fall apart
in the face of a smile.
In the face of indifference.
Caught up in a desperate attempt to recapture one's lost innocence.
A few misplaced words can turn you into just another madman scribbling on the walls.
What keeps it going?
It's the hope that someone,
somewhere,
will understand it all.

Is it sad that I think you may be all I've ever had?
Does it make you mad when I feel like I couldn't give two *****?
I've only ever just been living my life.
Sometimes I have a hard time of it.

Is it tragic that I know we won't make it together?
Is it sociopathic of me to mention it?
I want everything or nothing from you.
You make me feel conflicted.

In the resulting twisting mental state, I find something compelling.
I like how you press me for the answers,
though I'm not one for telling.

If you only knew the impact that you have on all my dreams.
It's the discrepancies of our feelings that makes me hold it back.
If you ever make the mistake of giving me a chance,
I swear,
I'd give you a heart attack.

Bitter.
Enfold me in it.
Steel body and diamond crusted ears
So I can feel no pain
And hear no outer influences.

   Hard.
   Turn me into stone.
   Infuse me, weld my cracks
   From a past never to be renewed
   And too stoic to ever feel another's warmth.

      Bold.
      Let myself take whomever I want
      Whenever I want
      Without consequence of being
      Anything but concrete.

         I'll be the manifestation of a developing polaroid
         Only to be swayed and
         Persuaded to come into focus
         By the tickle of murmured wind
         And golden embers of light.

             Black and white
             Color
             Negative
             Sepia­
             I could be it all.

I used to climb onto the roof just to feel closer to the stars,
and tonight I climbed a ladder then wondered where you are.
Sleeping safe and sound in the warmth of your bed?
I wish I were your pillow,
to know the thoughts in your head.

Do you ever dream of me?
To know would be too much.
Instead, I'll climb to greater heights
and wish on stars for luck.