There's Chamfort. He's a sample.
Locked himself in his library with a gun,
Shot off his nose and shot out his right eye.
And this Chamfort knew how to write
And thousands read his books on how to live,
But he himself didn't know
How to die by force of his own hand--see?
They found him a red pool on the carpet
Cool as an April forenoon,
Talking and talking gay maxims and grim epigrams.
Well, he wore bandages over his nose and right eye,
Drank coffee and chatted many years
With men and women who loved him
Because he laughed and daily dared Death:
"Come and take me."

with the la la's and the levellers you have a quartet, akin to: two people and two abstracts of the people mentioned; why write love poetry for love? why not write love poetry to make actual love unattainable? just wondering, because that's what you're doing!

well there's me walking into
the woods, muddying my shoes,
taking mud with lace onto pavements
against what my mother asking me
to not do: i love my cat, look
at my autistic bonsai tiger, look
at him, cleaning himself, ah,
cutie pie budgie, i'm having a beer
and i'm saying:
i was the drummer on billy joel's
we didn't start the fire* song...
huh? it's friday, why am i not
in the secular church of crucifix and disco ball
getting groovy like once repentant?
no seriously, i'm surprised it's friday:
here's me air-drumming a thump
to the silences ha ha: you're here too?
but then trying to remember a song,
a journalist writing out all-purpose-defence-dialectics
spotted that i too came across the levellers,
so before you craze and criticise...
i loved the song carry me;
and concerning the muddied shoes,
where you the man in sunset woods,
listening to the wake of owls and the rasp of crows?
where you me sitting on a stump of wood,
with crows and owls, exhausted sitting on
a stump of wood with beer and cigarette in hand...
where you me? where you me listening
to the synchronised claim of the darkened woods
with me and owls and crows? no, you weren't:
all **** free through to the future of me tangoing
with you where civilisation matters.

the internet is getting quirkier than expected,
lucky to be in the age brackets of 20 - 30
and single... it's like a *******
   freak-show out there!
hey, i dig midgets,
and the crass and the oompa loompas:
reservation for odd spelling and vocabulary
also welcome:
i'll wear a ****** on my head
and pretend to be wearing a balaclava
ready to outline a the end of a terrorist
plot if you tell me you're dyslexic backwards:
shrapnel and palette tourists of a broken
shell with the snail asking where ceramics came from?
i sent a postcard from there, i reserved the blank
space with words: i had three wishes, one of them
wasn't here (where's a jinni when you need one?
those scandinavians and gold herrings! /
slavs and gold ferns... well, play my trombone
will you?)

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens;only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

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

of childhood vice
of ice and spice
of whisky dreams
fermented schemes
but in the days of lore
I'd promised me
no liquor no powder,
no smoke-paper-and-wool
i'd lose myself to dreams weaved from words
but lately all the colour in my skull comes from drugs
because when i went from sweet sixteen
to a sour twenty one
all i did every day of the month of the year
to **** you all off,
every single promise,
one by one i killed you,
darlings.

i missed your skin when you were east,
yearned for your touch as we slept under the same stars
and yet you were miles and an ocean away from feeling
my hands touch yours and my mouth love your lips
as we both looked at the same moon at different times,
and i felt cold raindrops hit my face while you
watched as apple blossoms glittered in the sun;
you studied words written long before our time
and called me late at night to whisper flowing stanzas
of iloveyous that were smoke in the blackness of a room
while i listened and we both pretended not to hear my tears
become stains on a pillowcase that did not feel like mine
(for the absence of your scent on it, and because it was not).
at day, i surrounded myself with things that could not be further
from everything you loved, if only to not think of your smile.
i swung scalpels like heavy swords in an eternal war
against the cruel sisters who had chosen to separate us,
as if the miles between us were their scissors to our pieces of string;
and i calculated numbers that told me people's fate
while remembering how you always hated mathematics.
your words were like balsam to my soul, the way i hoped
i could one day be for everyone, and you always
seemed to suffer so much less than me, because i did not know
of the tears you shed after putting down your phone.
you missed my lips while i dreamt of you at night,
and as the atlantic roared between us, i thought how
fitting it was that tears are made of saltwater.

Cold rain pelting on my skin,
city lights reflected in the wet black tar of
a road almost too narrow for the cars racing by -
all this I saw last when you were standing by my side,
feeling the nighttime city live and breathe around us
as we watched people scurry by and call for taxis in the cold.
It has never felt lonely to me before, I never saw
how isolated you are in a city when you're standing in its heart,
watching the blood pump through veins around you
and yet not moving, stagnancy amidst torrents.
A neon light flickers across the street from me
and I am ripped out of my dream to realise
you are not with me this time.
I see you in every street lamp;
around every corner I expect to see your face
to face only myself in the mirror of a dark shop window.
My face looks unexpectedly hollow,
my shape unfamiliar without you next to it,
and I wonder when my life became about you.
I do not belong here, into this city where
lights gleam bright even in the darkest hours
and sirens scream agony all night long.
I am from a different world, one where
dogs run free across wide fields and along rivers
and the air smells of fresh-cut grass in spring.
I am from a world where nobody locks their door
and stone-and-wood houses are made to live in,
not concrete boxes where numbers rule lives.  
All this was once foreign to me, and is again;
I do not belong with the neon lights and cinemas,
the glass facades and cold black tar,
I do not belong with the flashing ads and loud sirens,
the people who don't smile as they walk by.
All these things remind me of you.
I was one of them, one of the souls that made up this city
but I cannot live in it when you are not here.
I do not belong here anymore,
among the thousand lights that remind me of your eyes
and the constant noise that sounds like your breath.
All this reminds me too much of you.

when last have i had a 3am kind of conversation,
with my star like emotions scattered all over the darkest parts of me,
mimicking the sky,
my moon like persona that always returns back to hiding me away.  
when last have i felt safe enough to let somebody in,
to not have visions of my vulnerability being tied to the bed after he locks the door behind him,
his voice like some sort of broken record that keeps on repeating that
"it's gonna be okay."
when last have i had a shoulder to cry on that isn't my own,
for my neck to stop worrying that the tear filled sea on either side won't get waves big enough to drown me.  
when last okay,
when last has it felt good to be me.

i am a wilted wallflower
just across the hall
deadened petals
plucked and fallen
scattered remnants
on cold stone
each discarded petiole
inscribed with simple limericks
like butterfly kisses

                              she loves me

**** the pollen
out from me
suffocating poison
trim my leaves
and shear my thorns
no longer dangerous
mold me into something
safe and harmless

                              she loves me not

rid me of beauty
bid me return
to that same dust
from whence i came
a lust overpowers
and devours all hope
so crush me between
the pages of your
favorite book
let me rest
in peace
not pieces

i saw a dead dog on the median today
its entrails scattered
across sun-baked cement
gore crows perched on
suburban rooftops
cursing the cars
that drove past aimless
separating them
from breakfast

                                                               i've
                                                      been
                             s t r e t c h e d
                       like
            string
theory

an object
e l o n g a t e d
by the pressure
of gravity
gobbling light
black holes
f r a c t u r i n g
time and space

i am jaded
bitter
restless
weary

i snapped today
broke a picture frame
the glass shattered
shards splayed
the photograph remained
temporarily unscathed
i burnt the black and white image
with a lighter that smelled
faintly of old cigarettes

it was not an accident

i wanted to
hurt
break
maim
****
something other than
myself
for once

a fury fills every fiber of my being
infernal ire boiling internally
controlling contorting consuming
i bore my cross this far
it'd be a shame to leave it
unoccupied

Red-haired ginger top dancers, swaying and bopping to a cold ****** of life; foot to foot to keep the dormant chlorophyll reminded and their toes warm.

Appealing to and beckoning the wind-swept frosts of frozen steam, passing, tickling, taunting; both seeking solace in a still flow of life.

Suddenly, dark waves of menacing blankets cover and restrict; jolting the audience into rigid attention.

Tousled hair still delights subjects finding joy and comfort from deliberate interconnection; unison of energies perpetuate the sameness from distant beginnings.

Planted seeds have grown into peeping bleats for nourishment, for remembrance and for return.
All the troupe releases into a frenzy of whirling smiles wafting on the ripples of a gray dance floor, twisting, leaping and whispering chords of satisfaction.

Now the beat of the sparkles illuminates a wandering sense of souls, yearning for a path to continue the journey; seeking destination in a cosmic swirl of limitless float.

Where once were separate entities of thought and perception, there are now images of a unified universal soup; blending our moment into an endless cascade of beauty and possibility.