Because I wanted to try a classic method,
I bought some wine.

As I foster my alcoholism,
Edgar Allan Poe
please hold my hand.

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over, hoping for a different result.

So I guess I've been clinical since the first time I let myself believe you could love me too.

I have yet to find a word that describes the beauty in which an object unravels.
There is, however, infinite words to express the madness one must possess in order to fall in love with destruction.

I do not know why the ruins of hearts I've never known stain my hands like the tar from a fire I never set,
Or why I feel like an arsonist everytime I try to wash the ashes from my fingers,
But I do know that I have said more prayers for the chaotic than for the sick.
I know that while the English language has yet to supply me with a single word to sum up why I find hope in endings,
I can describe in detail the way the walls of my bedroom burn like they are being ravaged by the flames of my psyche,
And how I have never felt more at home than when everything is crumpling around me. 

When I try to explain that I have never felt safer than when my ribs were tearing in two,
Please do not deem me insane.
As if the concept of the deterioration of my own brain has not fascinated me since the first time "we're all mad here" snaked it's way through my consciousness.
I am a white rabbit,
Setting my pocket watch ten minutes fast,
Just to see who will run with me.
Digging holes in my skin,
Hoping someone will fall through.
And if I am mad,
Then you must be too,
For we are all just spilled ink,
Dying to turn blue.

On a cloudless sunny day, last week,



I met a man who could not speak.



Yet he wanted to relate something to me,



So with pen and paper I began to see.







He had been walking, in a hidden grove, alongside a stream,



Full of all the beauty, that only nature’s gifts can dream.



He stopped by a fountain, to breathe in the sight,



The river sparkling a thousand diamonds, in the sunlight.



He was resting on a rock, when he heard music begin to play,



And he espied a nymph in the river, who started to dance and sway.



Her blond hair was covered, with morning glory flowers,



And sunlight bounced off her, cascading into showers.



As the naiad danced she splashed the diamonds into the air,



Then dove under the water, as if knowing he was there.



She emerged inside a whirlwind, impetuous with caprice,



Then disappeared upon a cloud, carried by a silken breeze.



The music then stopped playing, and the man was dumbstruck,



He had a vision of such loveliness, he could not believe his luck.



But from that day to this, he could not utter a word,



For the Nymph had stolen his voice, isn’t that absurd?

I am afflicted,
dreamy,
with vivid visions
like deja vu.
We're seated there,
in uptown Manhattan,
she's sporting platinum hair,
covered in golden fleece,
scribbling
cryptic poetry to me
underneath the table.

Her eyes turn azure,
screaming
daisies
over a plate of alfredo,
I am in a hurricane.

And from the corner of my mouth,
I drool streams,
seeking answers
from outside the box.

Does she feel
like I do?

Who counted hours out of the sky
And clipped the ends off?
Who quantified
Existence?
Who cheapened the flights of the sun and the moon
And put limits on time
Trapping limitless eyes?

Each day
Is one thousand days and each hour
Is one thousand hours, and
Years pass in seconds
While seconds last lifetimes
Sometimes

But my calendar

Has no capacity for this.

A moment
Lasts as long
As the glow lingers
When it's gone

And all the while
The clocks tick on,

I maintain whoever measured
The day
Was wrong.

I plaster memories over faces,
Distant places in the present,
I dominate the room with the constant regrets,
Of yesterday 1978,
I pull the liquid thoughts,
Of what I can & cannot do,
Overlap it weighing,
Out the good & the good,
Don't tell me who I am,
You've got no right to be dating,
I'm your mother you'll do as I say,
Paper rain; origami,
Mailing needs to go to the vet today,
Today,
I'll have to dig her up out of her grave,
Today,
Tomorrow,
Yesterday,
Here & now,
I plaster faces over memories,
Room full of strangers could be enemies,
Get out of my house,
Get the hell away from me,
Daughter, brother, uncle,
Who are you,
It's hard being 20 when you're 93...

I hold your hand
In some ancient place,
In some ancient time
Of exaltation.
We are whole,
Together,
Together we are madness,
We are death,
We are the orange light in the flames
And the reddened heat in hell,
We are sin and corruption and intangible fire.
We stand triumphant and giddy and
With stomachs twisting with a newfound light.
We stand over everything,
Over this splendid city,
Knowing that life is transient
And eternity not forever.

We run,
Run euphoric through streets
Of stone and smoke and dying light,
Tasting the air with our sharpened tongues,
Smelling sin,
Lying dizzy on cobblestones
In the summer rain,
Stretching our hands
Into the storm-scarred skies of death
To grasp the greying clouds,
And laughing about blood
And the metallic taste in our mouths.

We are fires,
We are flames,
We are the dust after death,
We are the ash after refinement,
We consume this city,
We consume our own ignited souls,
We consume everything
In our flames of madness.

And at dusk we sit in cafes,
At dusk we sit in cafes,
Alone in the lamplight
With your face bathed in amber.
You compare me to the moon,
And I tell you I am the sun.
For nothing but the hottest, brightest death
Is worthy of our
Burning celestial momentum.

Die quietly, darling.
Die silently and gracefully;
Die like you lived.
Those flowers they put on your grave are blue,
Those flowers are beautiful like the sea.

But then I remembered
(how could I have forgotten)
Your dislike of that same blue sea.
Perhaps the spray and the wind
And the azure waves
Dampened down your fire.
And now that fire is out and now there’s
Nothing.

Die blazing, friend.
Die blazing hot with fire and passion,
Burn through your coffin,
Burn through the hollow earth and through the ground,
Burn back to me and live quietly.
Live quietly and gracefully.
But do not die.