Such a complicated thing.
I just want to write of how the waves move me,
How I have slept for years to the cricket’s song,
When my eyes flood as the fields did the same,
How my hips move when the horn begins to play,
The feeling when the eyes are heavy and the belly full,
I’ve been trying to learn the most direct path to these complexities
But the roads always blur, and my throat does not know the words

I had to leave you
So I could prove to myself that I can be a go-getter.
I made something of myself and it doesn't seem to sit well with you.
You're drinking with my enemies and telling tales of my little beginnings like they're yours to sell.


I could have stayed and let you ruin me,
I should have stayed and masturbated while you watched and spoke to your other lovers on the phone.
I would have stayed and let you keep feeding me,
But I'm a very proud fabric,
Softeners can never weaken my fibers.


I could have stayed and been unable to write this message to you;
I could have pegged my life a repeated error-message and decided to give up;
But I realized that you desperately wanted me to do so,
So I walked away broken so you could have your happy ending.

Summer morning.
Recrossing the borderline from the afterlife,
the dreamer is expelled from sleep, the dream lost.
I am a dream’s shadow,
heavy with transition, jagged from sleep.
Light gathers me from every room I have ever slept in
onto the shrinking island of the bed.

Someone cues the poetry. Unquiet lines.
The past was worse than you thought,
voices say.  Your life is a weighted skin.
Stop swimming against the tide of loss.
Sink.

Yet gloom is porous.
From the sky’s cracked mosaic,
Daybreak seeps in.
The light reassembles familiar objects,
which replace mere longing in ordinary darkness.

The things of the world resist but return
to radiance, resume the work of existing.
We are all day laborers.
It's my shift. Summon the coffee.
The world yawns before me.
And I am, therefore (I think).

A young man
Uncertain of his talents
Seeking glory in former poems
Scared of failing his own expectations

The hardest critics, given by himself
Afraid of lacking quality in midst spotlight
He can't meet up to his former pieces
New poems remain unpublished

Uncertainty
Detaining him from creation
Letters remain unaligned clusters
Wasted potential all along

If only he was more confident
To search that spotlight once again
Maybe he could be an impact at last
Influencing other poets

Since I was old enough to speak,
i promised to love you till the end of time;
and now i'm praying for the end of time to come quickly,
so i can stop loving you.
Why?
because i dont break my promises.


Some part of me got lost in your apron;
Where you hid your cigarettes.
No I’ll never forget, cigarettes lit,
pots blackened by the thick smoke from the stoves.
Your majestic pose over the cans as you churned your latest recipes to life.
I just wanted to be like you.

Now you're there,
as fragile as a worm in a brine pool.
Laying in that hospital bed,
the white sheets stained by your spews of black blood.
The doctor said your lungs have given way,
I still cant believe that you're leaving me.

So this is my story -
My life's tale.
I am a strewn, temporary divorce seeker;
Fierce when the missus asks for a penny,
Silent when she sets food on the table.
In the winter, I complain about the cold
But in the summer, I complain about the heat.
When the missus asks that the leaking roof be fixed,
I simply laugh and set out to mock her every action.
But this spring, pneumonia has caught up with me.
The room is flooded, the mosquitos are livid and the fleas are my most loyal acquaintances-
Asleep while I'm awake, awake and ******* fast away at my blood while I'm asleep.
The missus has left me.
I am no longer a temporary divorce seeker.
I am a sad, lonely, bitter nobody.
To keep the tears away, I lay directly under the dripping roof.
As the rain washes away unending flowing tears,
I become aware of my condition.
Condemned to hades, long dead by the pages undone,
My only hope is that it be without the cruelty that is rain and spring over there.

It's times like this that I believe there's no such thing as love.
How can an emotion so wonderful be destined to be accompanied by emotions most tragic?
At one moment your heart is so full and sure...
Then at any other it's beauty is stolen, and your left lonely with only pain and tears.
What a cruel way to live...
With faith that your love is genuine.
You feel as powerful as this love is, that it can't be broken.
But the very person that makes such a miraculous feeling possible is your enemy.
Now something so fragile has become hardened and cold.
Revenge sits in your heart with those tears and rather then drown in them, it basks and laughs.
Maybe only I am cursed.
That would be fine, for something so special shouldn't be stolen from everyone.
Surely other's deserve this amazing comfort, undisturbed.
And not even my damaged heart would wish this trick on anyone.
But karma is my friend, even though revenge fights to be freed.
If only I could be as ugly person as he...
The public would be amazed at the treachery I'd blaze.
And the devil would smile with pride.
If only I were a little weaker...
I'd thank Satan for his very existence.
And I'd make myself home in hell as this so called lover is shattered as I have been shatterd.
If only I were weaker...
I'd be the perfect storm.
I'd shadow my every thought with evil and release such a rage.
It would be glorious and such a film it would make...
All of the viewers could watch him watch and run from his faith.
And they would shed tears, because they would feel his heart break, like my heart once broke...
Still I'd be such a monster with tremendous ways of destroying a heart...
No person could look away...
My pain would be art.
If only I were weaker...
If only it was true...
If only I never fell in love with you.
If only I were weaker...
The things I'd do, if only I could be lower then you...
If only love didn't exist, or at least if I knew nothing of it.

When I think of the south,
It’s Coltrane by the river,
It’s the sweat on my neck,
How her arms hold me
like a mother with her child,
The smiles of strangers,
It’s not knowing where to be
but welcome at every door,
It’s the music in the breeze,
My warmest of beds,
Oh how her sweet songs
breath life back into my chest,
All of her bridges,
The waters beneath them,
Carry me back to the beginning,
Back to the orchards
and the light between the leaves,
What a wonder this place is
How could I ever flee.