Sleep overcame me
a sleet of snowflakes sent withering
thoughts smiles words frowns
covered up until the same
burying everything in a blank canvas
my mind the artist
adding shapes, adding color, adding life
adding weight
to my eyelids

It starts
in the quiet
itching in the fingers
like new skin knitting under blistered burns.

I have always written.
Before I had my letters
(before the lessons
with stubby pencils
curving sense out of the air)
I would scrawl nonsense waves
folding and boiling
in a crash of senseless surf
onto pages meant for pictures

I scribbled a whole Atlantic
before sense and sound
delivered the waves to reason.

I still find it hard,
when writing,
not to let the rolling sea
scatter into fragment waves
that whisper into the breeze of my fingers.

I have tried many addictions,
I have spent people like money.
I have tied my hands
to stop from fussing at the leaves.
If I ever loved I left it still spinning,
but I have never lost the itch

a pen to scratch its bleed of ink
into a sweet clean ****** page.
To scrawl my feint history
in every broken harbour
of her yielding skin.

i will wade out
                        till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers
I will take the sun in my mouth
and leap into the ripe air
                                       Alive
                                                 with closed eyes
to dash against darkness
                                       in the sleeping curves of my body
Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery
with chasteness of sea-girls
                                            Will i complete the mystery
                                            of my flesh
I will rise
               After a thousand years
lipping
flowers
             And set my teeth in the silver of the moon

Do you ever think about how you are just one grain of sand in the enormity of the universe?

one single grain being knocked around by the ocean of life

and the ocean's sky the universe
and the universe the universe's universe

ups upon ends upon books and books miles thick
of words, like worlds

each sentence a galaxy
spun around to form a coherent blip into existence
of meaning, of thought, of being

a Humanity
among many

infinities and infinities of numbers
perpetually cycling.

If nothing else, even if I will never fully comprehend the nature and complexity of the universe as it extends past the capabilities of me

I will understand another
and be understood in return
and that will be more than enough.

I watched the planets form before me
little hard spheres of light
of Life, pulsating
the fabric of space ripped with stars
like holes to heaven
the noise floated effortless below me
the galaxy engulfing my pores
as if it did not know better
and even if it did,
would I still play the part of the quiet unobtrusive passenger?

I rose up over the oceans of space
dipping, swirling, dense shapes shift
and I as well
I plucked the constellations
made them sing for me
inky melodies finding solace in my mind
away from the shifting noise
and as I fell I grabbed the comet's tail
it shook and I shook it in return
finally feeling like I had found home
but I looked around at the familiar blackness
and I realized I had always been.