A canary flew
in my
window and sat at
my desk with
me.
It said,
who are you?
I replied,
I'm a base
poet that's been
dropped on
his head by life
a few times.
Eyes like a
kicked dog, and a
beard that doesn't
grow straight.

It chirped like
a Bach concerto, and
said,
ah yes, we are
all just dead
birds at the
bottom of a cage, tiny
lice crawling through
our eyes.
No song.
No light.

I said,
you're a strange
little fellow.
And we sat there,
like that, waiting
for 6:00 am
so, I could make
a beer run.

And your neck is the dawn... 
And your neck is the dawn...
I will put your clothes on you;
  The call to prayer is raised;
I've woven the new adhan for you...
Like all your stories
And your shoes, my son...
All the buzz of branches and grape leaves are in your eyes...
And I will kiss...
All the white buds of sambac jasmine...
All the red buds of sambac jasmine...
From your heart...
your legs,
your arms,
Become golden...
The bud of the claw of your larynx turns green...
And your neck is
The tall white palm...
Your neck is the long rainbow...
For the butterfly to come through the walls...
For the coming of my flesh into your voice...

Life wears me out with its
twists and turns, and
hairpin curves.
I keep waiting for a
long, peaceful stretch
of highway, bathed in
the rising sun.
A golden wheatfield to
to the left, a moss covered
pond with dragonflies to
the right.
The road turns to gravel,
and climbs rapidly uphill.
There are signs along the
way that promise the world.
The road gradually turns
to dirt, and ultimately
disappears.

Every pattern is a cudgel to pain
Every equation rings out your reign

Its on the whispers and tirades of the wind
Its in the ripple of water and crashing waves of the sea

Each sinew tugged at and tortured
Frayed nerves screeching and screaming at me

Begging for the holy oil,
the balm of relief
The anointing of peace

Yet even that hope lies shattered
in the broken pieces of usefulness  

Dis-ease
distorted harmonics resonating agony
where once was perfect and sound cohesion

Each moment now a taught tension
a pugnacious trap for excrutiation

Every device is a loaded trigger for wretched pangs all I want to to do is merely write
Of beauty and hope to soothe

What sabotage for a poet
Whose pain enscription was a grateful muse

I find nothing of comfort
Because, every idea breathes nothing but signals heralding yet more and more pain

Just like the photo of us dancing in the rain
I feel like it might never happen again

Memory is a Pain upon a pain
Mnemonics are the seat of my suffering again

And your mighty reign of anguish
An insanity that devours me

But I will not succumb
I will remain

I will come through this somewhat sane
And you'll be that forgotten memory
I refuse to let inside my brain

The rent will be sky high
And I WILL BE ME AGAIN!