The alcoholics return
To the chambers that offer oblivion
Their sliver of hope
Is drawn and quartered
While they rust away
In pockets of loneliness

Three glittering
Golden apples
Hang above your head
Good
Evil
Knowledge of self
All where you cannot reach

If we were both light,
we would float away.
If we were both dark,
we would fall into an abyss.
Instead, we are balance.
One being light and
the other dark. This
ties us to the Earth.
Makes our relationship
dusk and dawn
with day and night
between. We
are the most beautiful times:
the purples and blues;
the pinks and oranges.
We are the watercolour sky
that poets dream of
and artists paint. We
are wonderful and sad,
honest and true. At each
tip of the scale, we
begin again.

Balance in all things.
We are kept apart by space and time
but connected through wires and electricity.

You are my living diary.
I whisper my secrets and
you code them into your heart.

I am your living list.
You share your thoughts and
I scribble them inside my mind.

We are connected through wires and electricity
but kept apart by space and time.
Balance in all things.

Within my mind
I see you staring
Wide green eyes
In a too-thin face
Always seeking me in the dark

You are me
But your anger is greater
Your slight form reminds me of what was
Your hair cascades beyond your waist
A symbol of the fire within

I talked you out of the shadows
And into the stories
Your voice whispers in my ear
Pen to paper, fingers to keys
I breathe life into who you will be

For the life of me
I cannot see why
you bring such clarity with
your dark eyes and
laughter.

The tracks,
they quiet with the sound
of your voice. Shutting down
one by one
until the speed of my mind
slows.

On one hand,
a cosmic joke, never truly
to be mine.
On the other,
a gift so rare I cannot
help but find joy
in what we are.

A contradiction in terms
and a sweet sorrow.
We are beautiful
and strange, isolated
and together. There is
a belief, one for the other,
that gives us the strength
to be who we are.

They wait for the bell with baited breath
The voice at the front of the room buzzes about their heads
The nightmare swells as they stare out the windows
Wanting to break the wishbone that will free them again
Ticktock
Ticktock
Ticktock

Far-flung dreamer of dreams, why do you wish to go to faraway lands?
To help the people who need it most.
What if we need you here?
I will come.
How will you know?
I am the Dreamer. I always know.

One day I'll wish upon a star
And see the darkness in-between as more
I'll see the wishers, the dreamers, the thinkers,
Only to find that I am not what they wish/dream/think I am
And we will play cosmic chess on an ebony and translucent triangle board
Amongst the wormholes and exploding lights of space

Silence in my mind is spinning
Looking through the two-way mirror
Staring at the midnight sun
I lose myself outside of hearth and home
...
Smiling as the tears are falling
Never letting my act go
My mascara may be running
But you'll never see my eyes look low
...
Proud and lonely in my heart
Alive and dead in my soul
If I smile, is it genuine?
Do you think that you can know?
...
Do you think that you can understand?
Can you read me like a scroll?
Can you hear me screaming quietly?
Can you see my mind swirling?
...
Old and young in one body
Deep sea churning in my soul
Ancient fear and those newly won
Compete against the pull of the moon
...
My mind is out among the elements
A part of everything and of nothing
In a million directions I must go
If I am to find my soul flung about the midnight sky
...
Smiling as the tears are falling
Never letting my act go
My mascara may be running
But you'll never see my eyes look low
...
Proud and lonely in my heart
Alive and dead in my soul
If I smile, is it genuine?
Do you think that you can know?

Dreams are made of molasses.
They capture you
and make you move slowly
through your brain's machinations.
They are the gossamer webs
of your sleeping mind.
Leading you from one shining point
to the other
and trapping you
in the centre until
the alarm rings,
the sun shines,
or the thunder rolls
you from your bed.

Gentility caresses the lines of his hands
Never rough, though callused
His hands were made to write
To trace out the tiny symbols of humanity
In a form that allows the unconscious free
The rush of a soul's fire

I dream
of a little house with
a black and red kitchen
in a country where
the language
is not my own.

A cat on a chair
and a dog on the patio
as children play
in the yard between
the hedge and
the garden.

A hand on my hip
pulling me in
for a quick hug
and a sweet kiss
as your pan sizzles
and my chef's knife stills.

A teasing pat on my ***
and flour on your nose
signals laughter
and promises for later
as the sun sets
to the sounds of happiness.

In the dark sea shines
A phosphorescent glow
A light for you to see by
To show what we both know

My heart is full of darkness
While yours is truly light
You belong to daytime
I to mysterious night

In memory made pauper
We walk by hand in hand
I look out towards the raging sea
While you dally in the sand

Home is gentle
and soft
and strong
and true.

It is a smile
with dimples
and laughing,
coffee-coloured eyes.

It is the freedom
to be myself
and not hold
back my thoughts.

It is not having
to walk on eggshells
because, here,
my words are understood.

It is knowing that
between us
secrets don't exist
because dreams are shared.

Home is
close to my heart,
but far away
from where I stand.

Hope is a man who
calls me crazy
with laughter in
his eyes and
a shake of his head.

It’s someone who
explains his passions
with joy because
he wants to share
that part of his brain.

It’s the soul that
catches the light
and reminds me
of the sun
on a cloudy day.

It’s the person who
turns tears into
laughter with gentle
words and a smile
like summer sunshowers.

Hope is the man who
I want to plan
stories with and
parties for while
sitting hand in hand.

Sounds of inane chatter and wasted motion fill my ears
I sit still on the chill ledge of a falsely fertile planter
Awaiting the nature that is hidden beneath the cement
And watch the people passing by, ants scurrying
To continue their typically tiny errands of life

Vast, painful nights of not nearly sleeping
Time melts into a bleeding clock face
As the coyotes howl at the midnight sun

I want a crystalline memory of days gone by
Hope to remember me by name
Dreams that conjure up the treasures of the daytime

I want to paint the colour of the sky
To capture a perfect sunset and keep it on a shelf
To hear the ocean call me
To feel the trees embrace me
To see the mountains reach out for me

I want to teach people to think for themselves while they reach for the ends of the universe
My students to know that only they can change their circumstances
To combine their knowledge with mine

I want the twinkle of my sisters' eyes to surpass the stars
A lover as passionate as a stormy sea and as gentle as a summer breeze
To illustrate the book of my life with the love of my friends

I want to seek freedom beyond the sea
To be where nobody knows me and life is new
To know cultures that others find exotic
To breathe in the fog of a place time has forgotten
To live my adventures--not just see them on T.V.

Perfect golden ridges
Waived before my too-green eyes
By a hyper blond boy
As if the world's truth
Is contained within
Speckles of painted spices
Dance pure bliss
Into the spots of color
On the monotone chip
The boy's eyes hold laughter
I puzzle the truth
He already knows

I've got a strange disconnect with today.
Everything is slow.
There is no wifi in my brain.
Even my fingers are slow on the keys.
The words do not curl across the pages.
I woke up and something was missing.

The pain is distant.
The world is clear.
There is no haze.
Time moves like water flowing under ice
or the creep of winter in the ground.

The world is there, but it isn't right.
I can't quite reach my patterns.
I can't touch the words or emotions that colour the world.
Writing chapters is beyond me.
Characters on the screen get no response.
My empathy is me,
but my emotions don't exist.

Pieces are shifting, ponderous and still.
I know I don't do slow.
I know I don't do still.
But I can't find quick.
There is no lightning.
It's like a rainbow gone translucent.
You know it was there,
but all that is left is clear drops.

My brain is like an old map.
There be dragons.
Empty lands.
The nothings not known.

The dreams will be weird.
Medication dreams are always strange.
Shattered glass
Liquid pools.
Thoughts that coalesce and break sharply.
Dreams aside,
I should sleep again.

I dream of flying
Like the caged bird, now free
Of pouncing on life
With the roar of a passionate tiger
Of living to the fullest
And standing like a tall pine against the sky

My desired life is not clouds and fluffiness
It is the ferocity of a storm
I do not want shelter from it
Do not keep me in your menagerie
Thinking you can protect me
I do not want it

The skies call to me
The sea sings for me
The forest speaks with me
The world embraces me

Time slowly passes through the x, y, z co-ordinate point
I sleep with my eyes open as the teacher rattles on
She doesn't know the answer
Blue scrawl on a white backdrop
Khaki walls meant to box in our lives
I await the brrrrring of the bell
It will end my internment here

Attachment disorder
Adjustment disorder
Waiting and watching
Always questioning
Abandonment?
Not this time
Family begins again

The sun uses rainbows as weapons of cheerfulness
Leaving all creatures haunted by their beauty
After they fade and night stalks across the sky
We look for the delicate sandpaper truth they leave behind

Silence of the mind
Is truth in crystal quality
And the patience of a kindred soul
Brought to the human heart
When one thinks they will fall

Stillness of the soul
Is the peace that envelops
The time and space in which we stand
It lingers on for days
Causing us to breathe

Serenity of the heart
Is when all things come together
And the light that is love
Allows you to see
In the dark once more

Your hair a-light in moonshine
Water chasing down
Your curves so soft and simple
That for you, men would gladly drown

Your voice is full of magic
On the isle you rule
You pull the men toward you
You make them play the fool

For you, they'll leave their lover
For you, they'll leave their wife
For you, they'll abandon their children
And in leaving, they are giving up their life

To sit amongst the starry night
To dream of the day past
Whispering to the dim moonlight
Of love you hope will last

Truth amongst the shadows
Light against the dark
Laying amidst the willows
Listening to the lark

Golden laughter
In a silver song
Gentle hands
With a rakish face
A warm breeze
In the middle of a cool day
Every man's son
Every person's friend
Pure heart
Stopped beating
Too soon

If memory and melody flowed together
If thought and speech were one and the same
Our world would be heard as a harmony
Our lives would be seen as a dance
And humanity would save itself
All before Death came home

I don't know how not to cry in my sleep
How to be what another sees
To do as others do
To not feel what others feel
To be as still as a day without a breeze

The touch that bruises
The one that burns
The teeth that clamp on my wrist
Seeping away all emotion
A rushing stream of red
Locking away the concept of
Love

A gentle touch
A drug for the soul
To allow another in
To see without fear
Shadowing my steps like a shade

To ask him to embrace
The darkness behind my eyes
Welling up like Stygian Night
Become the moon
Light the darkness
And allow me to dance
Once more

My head is a maze.
A city you somehow navigate.
Coloured doors and rooms full of pages.
A fountain in the middle that
catches the moments of sunlight
amongst the clouds.
Trees that shade the lanes
no other footstep has traveled.
Where did you get a map?
Did you find it or
did you create it?

A friend asked me, “Why him?”
And I gave the only answer I could.
My friend said, “But your situations are complicated.”
“Yes, but we are simple.”

Words failed me.  
When it comes to you, they often do.

On paper, we’re not much alike.
Separate countries, separate lives.
Complicated histories.
A difference in education, faith, and pasts.
But for all of that,
We are simple.

How do I explain?
I take care of you; you take care of me.

Our understanding is intuitive.
Our knowledge of the other: easy.
Our communication: a gift.
When we talk, it flows like an ocean wave.
When we are silent, it’s the stars on a cool night.
I cannot tell you why,
But we are simple.

Neither one of us expected the other.
Each alone, but surrounded by people.

In dreams, you sit beside me
In life, we are separated by miles and oceans,
Brought together by computer screens.
I miss you daily while you sleep.
And when I wake, with the moon high in the sky,
When everything hurts,
Those are the times I want
Nothing more than to hold your hand.
Because we are simple.

My friend asked, “Are you sure?”
I am sure that you are a pole star, shining bright.

Your smile makes things all right, even when nothing is.
The sound of your voice is crystal and soft
When I shatter and fall to pieces.
Your dark eyes cannot hide your emotions.
You are my inhaler when everything collapses
And you make me laugh until I cannot breathe.
And for all that our lives are complicated
We are simple.

How can I answer?
Our brains go whir and gear and crank.

We are so different…and yet...
We are the same.
I know that we are hard to comprehend,
But I also know this:
I could watch you rant forever
The way your face lights up when you’re excited
Makes my nights better.
I am interested in things that make you shine.

For someone like me,
Who keeps everything inside, you are a novelty.

I want to tell you about life:
The good, the bad, the ugly;
The way my characters drive me mad
Or music fills my inner holes.
I want to share my truth.
All because we are simple.

So when they ask, “Why him?”
I think of your image on my screen and they see.
“Ah,” my friends say. “We see.  It is in your face.
It is because the two of you are simple.”

Tumble and rush
and fall on the page.
Scratching out on paper
my inner thoughts:
the demons that chase me
and angels that sing.
They are too much.
They are not enough.

Words are beautiful,
cruel, and fleeting.
They play in the writer's soul,
devouring the mind.
They tell the stories
that tie us together
and tear us apart.
They are friend
and foe
and frenemy.
They are gifts
given too quickly
or ripped from the heart.
They are
what we wish to be,
what we could never be,
and what we will become.
Bittersweet and passionate,
they exist as
our face to the world.
They are our masks
and the parts of ourselves
that we keep hidden.
They are little pieces
of our inner selves
that we give to the now.