I could not be with you so I became you.

III
your third eye opened when you stopped telling people to align their ******* chakras

II
if you only ever stopped to look at me, if you only ever opened your two—

I
never loved you.

It's not morning sickness if it only happens when I wake up next to you,

baby.

I have no room for new scars.
My heart is more glued seams than pieces of
Hope and muscle.

My smile is as pale as the back of a
Dalí painting; all canvas and
Dirt.

I have opened my arms for a hug and
Stood accused of impersonating Christ.
Meditation rendered me unsocial.

As misunderstood as Latin, yet
I yell at the walls of common reality with
The dead language of my innersoul,

Cursing and blaspheming for the attention
Of deities. Some may listen; not one needs
To reply.

All I want is to break down the wall
Between myself and any creator
Listening,

And say Thank You. The Love
Of my Life is
My life.

What I love the most about my
Life is  
It.

I have been writing songs of escape whilst staying inside.
I have become sexless; young bones but an old soul
Painting in caves, and shielding eyes from the sunlight.

There is no *** in self-pity. The new Casanova on pills;
Hands clamming over a glass of whiskey and ice,
And eyes plastered to the sports news for the next tragedy.

I remember the chestnut hair of my childhood.
Rubbing potatoes over tree bark to show nature’s artistry;
We need not create, when creation does it itself.

Now, there are just photographs of corpses in the clouds.
I walk the same route each day, expecting a different outcome,
Going over old ground, yet striving to feel new again.

Your skin pale from
Winter. Smooth as
Female Nature Herself; as silk,
Yet warm as young
Motherhood, electric
As newlywed love.

I whisper improvised poetics
Between lips that know each
Pore of your perfect person.
I kiss clichés on your cheekbone,
Nouns on your nose.
Bury my face in your sweet
Eternities of seraphim scented hair,
And pray that the poem
I leave on your parchment skin
Remains unread by
Other readers.
You wrap your covers around
Me, unfolding, then folding,
               Unfolding, then folding,
Like a slowing butterfly mid-
Butterflight.

And I add a poem to everything,
As always.
A poem the exact size of a
Lady loved, -the sound of
Waves of Wish upon Thank,
And the weight of
The world's only
Actual
Church.

Up North, by the Russian border,
It gets so cold your breath
Freezes and floats to your
Feet in a fountain of
Sparkling microsmithereens.

Sibirians call it
Whispering Stars.
I swear on my name it's a
Sight beyond description, with

Northern Lights coiling like
Mating snakes
On a sky so full of moon and
Stars it's almost alien

Above you.
Easiest peace.
The sound of Gods
Meditating.

Silence itself opens its
Quiet eyes and looks into yours
Like a living abyss you look down,  
Looking back.

The purest of Existence's
Everythings.
The now cry in
Snow Crystals.

Zen in

Frozen.

The most interesting person
I have met was the one
Least focused on being just that.

Paper beats rock.
It never tries to rain.

I have travelled the world
Enough to know
That those who say water
Has no flavour
Haven't.

World of code;

riddle,
and a brand new
language.
I hold you close my
dear, as you stumble on through the dark night,
this knowledge
is hastening to bring my demise.
You sit within my pentameter,
so where did
I lose my peaceful mind?
I'm still struggling with poetry, in finding art
amongst the burdens of the street. You're applying sunscreen
to your back and shoulders, and then
you're basking in the heat of my astral beach.
I'm stranded here
alone now,
sending my postcards
to nowhere at all, I have grown tired
of this mere existence,
of fading in the city sprawl.
Now Mathematics
is the language of the universe,
and will speak for
centuries to come,
gravity making sense
out of chaos, and will talk forever over
the atomic bomb.
I'm learning
my sums again darling, I'm going back
to a clean state of mind, hoping to discover
an answer, to why I'm

constantly falling
behind. When I find the equation I will
call you, and profess them unto the stars,
a love never lost
in
translation, a love where you'll always be the source.

Concentration is limited and
Still the phases of the Moon
Insist recognition.

Someone fell into your eyes.
I cannot replace:
or erase them.