some days even when
everything in my life is in a crescendo
a part of me feels numb

a small part of me is numb to all the love,
all the joys, all the sadness, all emotions
all I feel is this numbness that comes out of
"a deep emptiness"

I know I cannot fill this vast emptiness,
so I cry out to a something greater than myself,
eventhough I don't have a clue what that might be

I embrace my numbness and accept that
life cannot be lived in extreme highs and lows
I want to embrace stability and not reject it as boredom

But some days I just want crawl into bed and not wake up
I feel so numb, and I have to remind myself that
"feelings aren't facts."

So I get out of bed and go through the motions
hoping against hope that someday my "deep emptiness"
is filled with an abiding love that will fill me to wholeness

we were older then. you with your horn-rimmed glasses
sleek as Hermes, resting on your button nose; dazzling.
your eyes were smoldering echoes, far off on a quest for
visions. mine
were nowhere
to be seen.
we poured over volumes of antiquity, blazoned with rich
art. Faustian marvels, leather bound and noble.
we traipsed the gallows of Dry Humors, lording it
over the gremlins of our isolation.
we had not been formally introduced and everything
was formal. we haunted the halls; our school of fish eyes
sparkling; weaving like serpents in the heather on ether.
we roamed the hallowed ground on secret missions
without Love.

then i asked you out. and changed the world.

Addiction is a real thing
South of the last thing... a grim dope
in the hopeless soap fiend
of a washing; where a mind dreams
but a head, thinks -
where a heart
stopped.

and we live
Unseen.

the crude graffito bites
and my mind's eye ;
to bonsai the Venus trap -
becomes the fly
on the gall... where cinder blocks
crop my stroll with an odd
wall.
and i stare at the industrial
pittance of delinquent scrawl
punk spittal blistering
the bland strip mall.
i ponder the grit
and the feral **** of the blue nymph
with no bra. her two left hands
harassing her cannon *****.
a can of spray
where paint had been
now at my feet
faint and spent. just seen
as i stepped back...
i verify it's emptiness
by the tenor
of it's
clack.

i walk away
savoring the irony
of just
that.

The little bones of clouds
I used to keep; Lethargic Dynamos of odd begotten piccolos...
dainty mint of pish and tosh
a dandy lark
ellipse and farce, surpassing strange.
Are you then, a ' withering fiction ' ?
an addle carp of Cain's insurrection !
Or a less offensive Icarus
who hails from Sweden?
You, who sold me the bones of little clouds
and kept fair all frost and longing...

Hither go, encased in Larceny
a prince of deep wish
and ill-favored, disjoint Harmonies
Soiling Time... Adrift-
Our mad Geppetto
in waning light

But not quite
as redeemed.
For Hell's Bells have brushed
the tips of my wings
and I'm off -

and aloft

And away.

Is that your plan ? you move mountains and maraud daffodils, draped in purple and gold ironies.
forever splendid. roman roads dream of your feet. are you always this beautiful ? are you mad ?
how many butterflies would it take to hide your smile ? that radiant starvation made ebullience
and alabaster. is that your plan ? you're simply gonna waltz on sunshine, only to pirouette pining
one love ? are you sure about the halo with graffiti ? when i saw that, i was yours. do you even
remember a life i didn't Love You ? i didn't think so.

why so quiet ? don't you have something to say with your lilting voice ? i have stalled
your riotous beauty .I have your Crystal Silence. it feels like dying wealthy. was that
your plan ? are you always inevitable ? just because that would be great and you know
me. my schedule is wide open. but i just clocked in. was that your plan ? was all this
love yours ?

good plan.

when your joy is not there, and the angle of your descent is the stuff of legend
be advised. you have but one soul to squander; so wander the better ferals of your naked truth
and be lovely. when you despair, you have a habit of dread. you ensnare the vertigo of your plummet
and rummage through the rancid
with no maths for Happy
all day.