i never ran out of words.
i'd see the night sky and i could describe it in a hundred ways --
i could say it was the ocean reflecting the twinkling lights above;
or maybe a moonlit path now visible through the waves.

i'd feel the wind brushing my cheek
and write about how it tousled my hair into messy tendrils--
how it plays with the leaves one moment
and the next leaves them astray under warmly-lit streetlamps.

oh i could write for endless hours
about disasters, impossibilities, probabilities
and i never ran out of words.

there are twenty-six letters in the alphabet and they never failed me.

but then i saw you.

There once was a little mouse
Asleep in his own little house
Cosy in his own little bed
On his pillow is his little head

Dreaming of getting past the cat
Creeping past with pitter pat
Trying not to give away a sneeze
Climb up and steal the cheese

Because that cheese is so yummy
So nice in his little tummy
Has to be quick and brisk
When he awakes, he will take the risk

Break me down.
Tear me apart.
Tired of being..
A wall..
Made of concrete
with reinforced steel.
I want to be a green hill
and an old Oak
Where people sit,
read, think and feel.
Where I can see the sunrise
and the ascend of the night.
Where I can welcome you
in my world
and shield you with my branches
and leaves
from the cold rain
in the midst of a starfilled sky.
Where resolve is strengthened or refound.
Where selves are again centered
and doubts dissolved in morning mists.

What chance have we to know each other no matter how intimate we are when we do not take the time to know ourselves, intimately.

What cannot be found alone certainly cannot be discovered together.

The journey of two must begin with one thus though we travel together we remain in many ways be apart.

I cannot speak for you yet I can say that I do not yet know me.

river poets meandering
through stacks of golden hay
water rolling over jagged rocks
as night turns to day
pen to paper, written later
reeks of means to hesitate
ocean writers flicking lighters
humming through to meditate
when your chest is getting tighter
smoke through cigarette haze

Mathilda is brutally murdered
Udolph is the obvious suspect
remembers everyone how she jilted him
David her last lover is inconsolable
Evan’s appearance raises suspicion
right before the ****** he met her
Ergot the butler had seen him going out
Rocky was with him could be an accomplice
Inspector Brown finds it a tough case
so many suspects but all with good alibi
Dr. Thomas isn’t sure about the cause of death
autopsy is necessary for the confirmation
visible though are the abrasions on her neck
Inspector Brown interrogates all the suspects
dogs are brought to find smells of trails.

i want to build a home
                          i want to frame every goodbye
that's ever left my lips
                         with a sigh, and hang them on walls
built from good intentions
                          i want to lay a foundation
that doesn't crumble beneath a heavy heart

I've always been
a bit of a miserable ***,
prone to black moods
and apathy.

There is so much life
in anger.
So much passion
in bitterness.

Hate
is so clean,
so simple.

Clear
as glass,
and twice as sharp.