We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

It’s been a dark corridor for a while.
I was hoping I could go into one of those beautiful picture frames
But I was never one to appreciate photography.

Can I disappear out of a window;
Even if there is a drop?
Sometimes I prefer the drop, some days I prefer it a lot.

Could I float into the sky?
Or would I be stuck in the ground?

Can I become one with the orange of the sunset horizon?
Could I become one with the blue of the day sky?

I’ve became one with the darkness of the night, and I think it’s about time to change the light.

I'm flying on the wings of a dove
on white wings
we're flying in the sky above
dipping to get a better view
we're moving so fast
I want this ride to last
and, last....
Oh, it's so blue
blue up here in the sky
where we're flying
Oh, so high.

Now is forever
Was never a faith for me
When you're free,  if ever
We are free
And if I appeal to you
In some broad way
Then we will prove
That something gold can stay

Glimmering simply
Glimmering? Nay
If free we are ever
Then gold cannot stay
Cause staying is forever
And faith is by day
But by night
It is light and
Flame that we crave
So stay if by candle
For shadows remain

Are the shadows as important as the light,
In the future that we don't mention outright?

Shadows are the memories
The ones we've yet to make
Shadows are the forever
In the faith you claim to hate
No, not hate but
Never pray
Shadows are the moments of ever
When candle by breath met death
And took my breath away
So yes
Think not of light
But what is left
In darkness and your lingering
Breath

We do cling to this breath
But why I cannot say
Being neither the mind's heaven or hell
I know little of shadows
I only live by them
And once over then forever over?
Then while we live, we'll live in clover
For when we die we die all over

To wake again by candle's flame
For that's the nature of this game
To love and lust
And linger here
In shadow's breath
And tangled hair
In clover fields and bales of hay
Lovers always, never stray
Ever always
Though they go
Back together
It's all they know
And so my love of little faith
Of never forever
And doubting place
Gold though it glimmers
Dulls with age
But broad
Your appealing memory
Stains
My heart and my mind
My soul does so claim
This glorious reason for angels
Insane
Hell and its fire
Your mouth is my rain
Kiss me
And ever
Forever
Proclaim.....

A collaboration with the lovely
                Joseph Paris
© (stanza 2,4,6)MV
© (stanza 1,3,5)JP

Stop badgering the witness!

Love is a mysterious thing poker face
Even though we tend to think of soul mates
as a symbiotic union, we have to be open-minded

Marriage is a business transaction
We've all had nights we can't remember...
or wish we could forget
as we all recalled it was the mindset
that triggered strong emotion into an explosion
that separate the thing called love.

It’s have been more than twenty odd years since
the Weeper's victims left over tears, that never faded.
the dead  never felt neither pain nor anger

The jury is still deliberating long and hard with miles
  to go on the public views, so once again
if the gloves don't fit you must acquit
  Stop badgering the remaining witnesses America
Love is a mysterious thing, poker face

i've never let go of your hand, even when you don't have the strength to hold mine

so many kinds of writers;
some with stars in their eyes and
souls on their sleeves;
some, with stony stares
and a voice that thrives in silence.

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I wish that I could climb up on a roof
On a spring day
And lie
In the shade of a tree

What a refugee that use to be
Just me
And the quietness
Of the day
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She says she is lesbian
I fix a cup of Oolong tea
I just needed someone to talk to
She is looking straight through me
She says her heart is broken
I see the pieces all around
I just can't be alone now
Your the only one I've found

So the night made up a midnight
And the music made up songs
And she built up her castles
Before they came tumbling down
And she looked just like an angel
One without her feathered wings
And I wanted to kiss her
But she collected only Queens

The night turned into daylight
She said she had to go
But she wanted to thank me
Most people would've said no
And then she hugged me
like a big brother to me you are
Then in another second
She was driving off in her car

And she looked just like an angel
One without her feathered wings
Still she flew on without me
An angel without any rings
And my heart was breaking
Fool you can't be this way I say
Still she was an angel
Without a halo to display

Unprecedented poetry,
   newfangled conception in
      idiosyncratic transparency
perceived by the hierarchy
    to be the garb of peons,
thine command accepts nothing
 less than the likes of sonnets
   penned deliberately archaic
        in Old English tradition,
figurative language
  of the huddled masses
      is strictly forbidden,
  contradicted,
     ostracized,
        anesthetized
           and possible grounds
               for poetic eradication