One mile down the drunken river
I lost my mind in her midday yellow haze.
Residues of the river-wind-kiss lingered saline on my face,
Wild sun on the wild river scathed my skin copper,
And I glided upstream in blurred eye sweat
Losing and finding the river’s mangrove shore.
My mind in delirious mess wondered
What it was that wined the river, made her a swirling detachment,
Bearing all with the endurance of a drunkard
But embracing nothing like an all foregoing monk.

I dreamed adrift one more mile and then another
Till I was windswept and wined like the drunken river.

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.

we dice
and hold the upper hand
with fortunes won hard but
life is a dog and we are curs
with fates befit a mutt

"why don't you,"
said the Lofty Man
warily considering me,
"sing of the Sublime
the Grand, The Divine?
Sing you of the Uncommon
the Mystery
of the Spiritual, the Religious
of the Incomprehensible -
why don't you?"

"Cos,"* I said,
pushing the toothpick
between my teeth
(the ****** food bits always get stuck in between),
"I've been  
to the mountain top there
and I've seen the Sublime
is just O so, so Common
so battered Trivial"
(Then I spat out the food bits -
O it was Divine Bliss, just like in post-******)

Silky smooth syllables
Sliding away into silent passages of nothingness
Never dreamt of
Never to be summoned by the crevices in one’s own soul

Romantics and dreamers would sigh in sweet, melancholy sorrows
Craving gratifying sugar coated contemplations
I carry the solemn news
Sorrow fogging over their eyes

My soul cries out to them
“Don’t you understand?”
“It means nothing”

My heart hears me whisper
I mean nothing
I am nothing

No one is listening to my silent sing-song words.

I watched what you did to me
In the hotel’s bathroom mirror
I didn’t want to run even though
I had nowhere left to go
As you delivered a fist
my naked stomach received your fist
I was trapped between the sink
And your hands
one two   three      four              five
Like the amount of rings you wore
I dropped, my face found the counter's edge
On the way down
Your grip found my neck
I couldn't make a sound
White turned grey turned black
The hotel floor was so cold
I woke up
To gift shop flowers.

On the ride home
I placed each over a bruise

Light is more important than the lantern,
The poem more important than the notebook,
And the kiss more important than the lips.
My letters to you
Are greater and more important than both of us.
The are the only documents
Where people will discover
Your beauty
And my madness.

TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.

If every painter, poet, voice of reason were to die,

How dreary would be the world without art.

Just take all source of light and smother it,

And let darkness suffocate us, and all there is.

 

If every moaning lover, were to be silenced at this moment,

How dreary would be the world without desire.

Equivelant to taking all fires and putting them out,

And letting waters run deep, deep enough to drown us.

 

If your breath were to vanish, causing you to fall to your knees,

How dreary would be the world without you.

You could take every painting, every book, every song,

And drown it in the waters that washed away desire.

 

Bring forth to my eyes all the darkness in this world.

Bring forth to my skin all the fires that burn brightly.

And bring forth to my nerves all the pain there is to bear,

For how could I continue, in a world that is so dreary?