I write "you exist"
on the fragility of my wrist
because I need to remind myself
that this isn't a nightmare
and life has good parts too.

I need these words to fetter me
as if I were something solid
because I haven't felt that lately

I am the dead leaf
detached from branches
broken off from life

I am the echo in the mountain
too late
belonging to no one

I am the carving on the tree trunk
a reminder of a love already gone
fading, unnoticed

I am the falling star
burning, blazing
dead a million years.

I am nothing
but I exist.

I exist.

I sigh, my soul bubbling up from between
Rose petal lips,
Silent arpeggios of emotion falling from
Eyes, mouth, ears
Shimmering like heat waves on an empty road
I am in a mood for words
Deep words, warm and silty as a
River bed in summer
Quiet thoughts sinking like stones
Through endless evenings, barely rippling
The still, glowing sunsets
Soft words, like my grandmother's creased hands holding out
Smooth bits of sea glass for her granddaughter to smile at,
Clapping her grubby fingers
Dreamy whispers glide across silver lakes,
Reflections of dark velvet and diamonds
Stretched over the bones of the universe
I am in a mood for words
Heavy words and light words
Separating heaven and hell, I float betwixt
Drifting aimlessly in front of drowsy fires,
Pages littering my lap, books spineless from re-reading
My slow breath, thudding heart becoming a dictionary
My mind sleeping under darkness, softly
Gentle whispers of labyrinthine poems
Infinite, eternal

Forget his name
Forget his face
Forget his kiss
His warm embrace
Forget the love that you once knew
Remember that he has someone new
Forget him when they played your song
Remember him when you cry all night long
Forget how close you once were
Remember its someone else he perfers
Forget how you memerized his walk
Forget how you love to hear him talk
Forget the things he use to say
Remember that he has gone away
Forget his laugh
Forget his smile
Forget that he stayed awhile
Forget the way he held you tight
Remember that hes not alone tonight
Forget the time he loved you still
Forget he said he always will
Forget he said he'll leave you never
Remember the fact, hes gone forever

I want to read a book
That's never been read
Hear a gentle word
That's never been said
I want to sit back
And close my eyes
When I open them up
Everything is alright

I want to ring a bell
That's never been rung
Sing along to a song
That's never been sung
Pull back the curtain
With all of my might
So I can expose
Everything is alright

I want to see
What has never been seen
Take a long walk
In the hands of a dream
Reach as far as I can
The highest of heights
And pull down to earth
Everything is alright

I want a spot
Where I feel I belong
Take all that I've got
Before it is gone
I want to shine
The brightest of lights
So I can find
Everything is alright

Cut to the quick
With bluntness

Put down several hundred pegs
Where I languished
Shredded, unravelling

Until the fabric
Of my being
Was reshaped
Resewn

Dear mr. Cole.
I allow myself
"Joe", with the deepest respect
For a man I barely know.
But I know...

You contain
Multitudes, no less than
Whitman. Supporting posting
Writers with the warmth
Of an all-loving Allfather; raining
And shining on seedlings sown
By poets of varying confidences.

Larger than any poet
Ever read
Is he who encourages writing.

Joe, yours is the hand that swats
The one that holds back the
Pen of the uncertain poet.

Your poetry reflects
Your garden, God's Creation,
The beauty within wild things
Growing...

And all that glory and grace
Of which you write,
My friend, our Joe.
Is all a mirror
Reflecting
Its beholder.

From afar
Seated busdriver
Patting little, old man
-In a rediculous hat
That once wasn't-
On the shoulder.

I lipread
No problem, just take
A seat, ol'-timer
Answered with gratitude
Like a little, old sun
On his little, old face.

Letting him in
Free of charge
As all should be for
Any senior.

Love. Your every
Guise
Charms me.

Between the rocks beneath a mountain
the calmest dark upon her chest
where eyes don't stare or fingers grasp
the sleeping queen, she rests.

"Oh, to be found in the shadows
by a prince of unknown grace.
To be taken to his castle
with the sun upon my face.

"Perhaps a farmer or a youth
then cleaned by ***** hands
and brought as a gift of wonder and awe
to a love in humbler lands.

"Perhaps an artist, -a troubled one
whose craft is life and duty.
Whose heart is filled with heavy burdens
and art is filled with beauty".

Tectonic plates, they rumble
she gives a lazy yawn
as a glimpse of light now reaches in
to reveal the naked dawn.

And with the dawn an arm extends
to lift her from her bed.
The bony fingers carry gently
the queen that never wed.

"Perhaps an unlucky homeless man
whose clothes are rags and tatters.
Whose sole possession is me, a diamond,
and I'll be all that matter".

In a village in the deepest jungle
a travler finds a treasure
in the hand of a homeless man
beyond all Earthly meassure.

He says: "Do you know what that rock is worth?"
The homeless says: "I can't,
I lost my sight in the war, you see
but she feels good in my hand".

And he worshipped her all his days
untill he passed away
and in his humble will he asked
she be placed in his grave.

Still she dreams, that sleeping queen
of princes, farmers and artisans.
But she always shines her brightest
when she dreams of the homeless man.

"It didn't mean anything"
I said the first time.
Rubbing the hickeys that battered my skin
(I refused to call them 'love bites')

"It didn't mean anything"
The second time round.
But the fumble this time was heated.
(I refused to **** in a shower block)

"It didn't mean anything"
I said once again
When you raised your eyebrows and sighed.
(You refused to accept my claim)

But the bite on my lip
I can feel it still now
And the trace of your hands can burn
"It didn't mean anything."