Day late...
GSurfD;
I let the roach burn the snips of my finger-tip tree.

Slept all day,
Woke up to eat,
Put some clothes on, made my self some noodles and cheese.

You don't care,
I do not either,
I write this thought down, put it out there to appease the piteous.

I send out praises,
Hope you receive them:
Float on in the flux of life...that ocean which we brave every surf session.
Amen.

Our feet are in the water, we exhale the semester away, and kiss the moon goodnight.

A sporadic membrane of white motion paves the way for daybreak...a moonset for the books that feigns the horizon's onlookers for a thirsty tangerine.

We tread back...slow and steady. Music sets the mood, too loud perhaps, but we are outside after all, so who cares.

I settle heavy upon the sweet and salty cushion. I fell the tremble as the earth inhales and exhales.

I look up, that endless span of spilt milk prompting reflection--my gaze upon a picture that my brother, a thousand years gone by, too admired.

We think that we are so much smarter now. How often we laugh at our naive predecessors and how quick we are to praise our clever selves. Isn't it so much easier now? To cook? To sleep? To dance?

But we are no better off now than ever before. We fail to recognize the relative ailments that ******* our generation same as plague and epidemics past.

We must humble ourselves...must realize how truly insignificant our little speck of an existence is in the grand scheme of happenings and play things.

To compare the human condition on earth with that of the blink of an eye, on universal terms, is only to begin to understand how little our time here matters. So get over your affliction, you poor you-you. Stop your anger. End your sadness. Feel greatful that your person was important enough to matter to you for a moment. Feel even more greatful if yours was the genuine concern of another.

Mind your gaze, please and thank you, find the sun, and say your prayers.

The clouds rolled in,
My sickness fled.
I brushed my grin,
And climbed in bed.

Off I go,
I wonder where,
My eyelids know.
I say my prayers.

The silence,
Over-comes my sense,
Reliance,
On the light is spent.

Breath is steady,
Heart rate slow,
Body ready,
Mind and soul.

Slow I drift, deep,
And dream,
Surprises creep,
Within the seems,

Of my lashes,
Stitched so tight,
REM shield hatches,
Dream each night.

I never could,
Quite recall,
When sleep overtook,
My wakeful fall.

BUT TONIGHT:

Deep in thought,
Ever still,
Escape will not,
Be found until,

I die, I'm dead,
But still I try,
To rest in bed,
To shut my eyes.

To rest in peace,
But peace won't come,
Least not for me,
The restless son.

My parents always,
Would remark,
My youthful follies,
In the dark.

Too afraid,
Or hyper to sleep,
I never made,
An effort to keep;

Keep track of time,
What time is it?
The moon has climbed,
The sun has slipped.

It must be that,
That time to sleep,
Pull down my hat,
And count some sheep.

I heard that's best,
To quickly sink,
The time-held test,
No need to think.

Just count away,
One sheep, two.
Goodbye long day,
Hello dreams new.

Here I lie,
Upon my bed,
Wondering why
The day has fled.

Around this time,
It always seems,
I find myself,
Alone to dream.

This same routine,
Night after night,
Alone I fall,
Alone in spite.

I wish I had you,
By my side.
I feel your body,
I see your eyes.

I taste your lips,
Soft and sweet,
You always nibbled,
It made me weak:

You always knew,
The subtle tricks,
That drove me mad,
That made me tick.

I close my eyes,
And reach for you,
But by my side,
Cold space in lieu.

It all comes back,
The day you left,
The things you said,
Your fading breath.

I wish I tried,
To speak, say more,
But silence spilt,
Across the floor.

You waited, and,
You waited still,
I missed my chance,
And now I'd ****.

So through the glass,
I look and lie,
Wishing that
I'd said goodbye.

Or anything,
When I could,
But now you're gone
And gone for good.

And somber silence,
fills my hat,
Keeps me warm,
Helps me forget.

Across the river,
The city glows,
The lights shine out,
In waves and rows.

I look up at,
that same old sky,
And wonder if,
You also lie.

Upon a bed,
And look out too,
And wonder if,
I think of you.

I'm sure you don't,
You were too strong,
No doubt at all,
That you've moved on.

But just in case,
Please know I'm here,
And think of you,
Still my dear.

At the beach or at the park,
So serious...
Lips tremble,
Back in an arch;
You try your best,
So concentrated
To stifle your moans
As whispers break through;
Breathing hard,
Shaky gasps
And thoughtless words:
You say my name,
And I say yours.
Knuckles white
Leave yours and search...
Caress the earth, search,
Something to grab,
To connect with;
They trace,
Up, your sides,
And up,
Around your halo,
Fingers crawl,
And up yet,
Something to grab,
They dig...
They need the weight,
So down, into the earth:
Whether sand
Or grass
Or locks of something else...
They find and hold
And squeeze and tremble yet.
From feet, to thighs,
To ****, to back,
To shoulder, to neck,
To eyes,
You're a taut cord.
We climb higher,
Faster, and higher...
You peak
(We peak);
You scream...
Let tingle, shaky tingle
Turn to numb ecstasy.
And love fades in
And logic sieves out.
Emotions spasm
As spine relaxes...
And now,
I'm just a friend again...used again.
My payment:
Your moans,
Your ecstasy,
Your moment(s) of triumph,
Your high...your happiness.
Used again...
But who's counting, not me.
My sadness [your happiness] is
My happiness.
Little did you know,
Though not perceived,
We were one,
Connected, joined,
Through the earth [earth's ground],
And you and I were us.

An apology to Limes...and all plants where respectively applicable for that matter:

Dear Limes,
Please allow me to speak on behave of of all my human counterparts when I offer up this most sincere apple-oh-gee [apology]. You see, we humans are quite simple creatures which and so forth more often than not we assume (and quite falsely I assume that we most ironically assume) that you limes have little or no feelings. We humans seem to glorify those tough callous individuals who exemplify what it is to be invulnerable, so naturally with our simple (and quite innocent, on the whole) mind sets and your ever-existing condition being what it is--that is, your rough exterior shell (or thick dermis, if you will) combined with your unceasingly surprising, sour, pulpy organs--we tend to assume that you creatures do not mind when we humans use you, use you for such tasks as bearing the brunt when we...say, take shots of tequila. And poor you, with no protest but your silent, ****, bitter replies. But tonight, I heard your cries; I saw your faces. I felt your pain, and I am sorry...and we are sorry.

She’s with her now…I know it.
She even tells me so.
She drives me freakin crazy,
But I can’t let on as though.

Why is this one different;
To prompt a push of trust?
Risk is pain with people.
These things—they always bust.

Malicious to their core,
At least so long that’s how it’s seemed.
Will this one be so different—
This girl, she came to me!

It started slow with smiles…
And winks and subtle things:
A back and forth of messages
And hints at sound with rings.

Excited ambiguity:
“I wonder how she feels.”
We played the game:
“Do you…?”,
“How long…?!”,
And answers seemed surreal.

She’s into me! She wants me!
She cares, she really does!
Naïve is my perception,
And tomorrow still it was.

I know the truth; it tortures me:
This one—this other girl,
Am I so low as jealousy
to plague my head a twirl?

A teenage love—
infatuation—
truly names the day.
A superficiality
Time always fades away.

But still, I can’t help but think:
Are such pains not for trying?
Experience that must be had
Just once before dying.

…And those who claim
Have missed such fate
Surely must be lying.

A high school cap with summer love—
Now that’s nothing too new.

I see ahead
How this will end,
And yes,
It’s grim and blue.

But still, I must—
A bout with lust;
She’s got me,
So I’ll try.

I know
I’ll end up getting hurt;
It’s only a matter of time.

(But since when have I cared about time…!)

I want this girl—
She’ll hurt me…
Yeah, I know she will.

And, I’ll have this poem
To look back:
My gut-mop for the spill.

So when that fateful day come,
And part at last we must;
All will have been worth it,
For a young man’s
Try at trust.