I see your lines.
I read between 'em.
Look in your eyes
And I want to drown myself
In the depths of your soul.
So close, I feel, to this dream of love.
I want to wrap it around me.
I want to wrap my arm around your waist.
Could I talk you into a moment?

I feel you against me
As we begin our sacroiliac dance.
We move to a rhythm of a slow song.
I want you to nuzzle my collar
As I feel the slink of your silky slip against my bare chest.
I want to let my breath
Be felt against your ear
As I whisper your name.
Could I talk you into a moment?

I pass my time
Reading all your loving lines.
I think you may be writing back to me.
The possibility that this is real
Is enough to make me shake with excitement.
I want to hold you forever,
Or maybe we just have this day.
It gets confusing sometimes.
I become disambiguated
With every line I read.
Could you love me, too?
As much as every morning's new?
Could I talk you into a moment?

My eyes are closed.
I am daring to dream of you,
And all the things we'd say and do.
Write to me another poem
And post it on my page.
Every time I read the love,
I can't help but hope
This is more than a flirtatious game.
I'm like a nervous schoolboy,
I'm giddy all over again.
I'm hoping one day
To show you that I'm a man
Who really loves you.
Could you love me, too?
As much as the sky is blue?
Could I talk you into a moment?

I am cascading through myself,
and no one can save me.

We’re outside some gig.
A light rain.
An almost mist.
My knees are cold, and there are too many people,
and I have never felt more alone.

You’re waiting for me to reciprocate.

Everything is white noise.
I’m caught in the eddy of your words,
watching waves flicker into being,
before dashing on the cobbles beside my feet.

All of my existence has been an ephemeral becoming.

I’m in a car.
My flatmate screams at his window for a single second before apologising.

I’m climbing out the side of my apartment,
because I’ve locked myself out of my room,
and I no longer fear death.

The other day I thought I heard you singing.

I watch cars pass.
They bleed into the city.
A breath without beginning or end.

Reality loses definition,
or perhaps I do.









My knees are cold.

I have an infection
I can't tolerate imperfection.

I've lived with it for so long,
But now I'm caught up in its throng

In elementary,
I cried when I got a B

In high school I took control,
And now I'm paying its toll.

Worrying, studying, crying,
As I feel the inside of me dying

Concerned about that extra mark
I ruminate on one percent in the dark

My self worth is tied to each grade,
97.5% and I am dismayed

This feeling's not right
Towards myself I feel spite,

I need to learn to be free
To reduce this anxiety

My thought patterns need to rearrange
With hard work and time I have no choice but to
change

There's an ancient, ancient garden that I see sometimes in dreams,      
   Where the very Maytime sunlight plays and glows with spectral gleams;  
   Where the gaudy-tinted blossoms seem to wither into grey,              
   And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday.        
   There are vines in nooks and crannies, and there's moss about the pool,
   And the tangled weedy thicket chokes the arbour dark and cool:          
   In the silent sunken pathways springs a herbage sparse and spare,      
   Where the musty scent of dead things dulls the fragrance of the air.    
   There is not a living creature in the lonely space arouna,              
   And the hedge~encompass'd d quiet never echoes to a sound.              
   As I walk, and wait, and listen, I will often seek to find              
   When it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind;              
   I will oft conjure a vision of a day that is no more,                  
   As I gaze upon the grey, grey scenes I feel I knew before.              
   Then a sadness settles o'er me, and a tremor seems to start -          
   For I know the flow'rs are shrivell'd hopes - the garden is my heart.

There is snow on the ground,
And the valleys are cold,
And a midnight profound
Blackly squats o'er the wold;
But a light on the hilltops half-seen hints of feastings un-hallowed and old.

There is death in the clouds,
There is fear in the night,
For the dead in their shrouds
Hail the sin's turning flight.
And chant wild in the woods as they dance round a Yule- altar fungous and white.

To no gale of Earth's kind
Sways the forest of oak,
Where the sick boughs entwined
By mad mistletoes choke,
For these pow'rs are the pow'rs of the dark, from the graves of the lost Druid-folk.

I am 14.6 billion years old. I am energy traveling at the speed of light,
I am a single proton with one orbiting electron, perfectly balanced
With quarks and bosons and higgs inside
And pieces of matter yet to be understood by man.
I am every star, every atom of Hydrogen fused to Helium.
I am a massive object of molten rock, cooling and fusing.
I am trilobite knee and dinosaur tooth,
Wooly mammoth hair fiber.
I am Permian Extinction, I am Ice Age, I am all surviving species.
I am most distant brothers of man, I am first language and first songs.
I am Bubonic Plague and Death
And life out of new molecules from old.
I am the Industrial Revolution,
I am Depression and Holocaust and oppression.
I am titanium and assembly line.
I am Perseid meteor shower and Halley ’s Comet.
I am every black hole,
Inside, another whole universe of me.

I am seconds young, and I have much to learn of
The multitudes of the universe, myself.