From my window, I stare into the blue,
Without the faintest clue why,
You never come.

Time drips away.
My soulmate gone,
I’m not sure, she was ever here.

Lonesome George,
They used to call me that here,
Before I became the last.

The island fills with our empty shells,
I don't know how to escape it.
I dream of visiting the caves in France.

But I too, will soon become dust;
Perhaps, I already am.
Though when I taste the water, I do remember,

The feel of Fall's fluttering leaves, together.
And while the island washes us away,
My heart never forgets you.

Let Our Love

Let our love not be a war
Not played out on battlefields of mindless ****** revenge
Nor one of splendid victories followed so soon by crushing defeat
Not one of heroes and villians for i no longer summon the desire to play my part
Let our love then not be a war
As all wars end in eventual separation and follow an uneasy peace

Let our love not be a game
Not bound by rules nor by instructions to play
Nor possess a Jack of Diamonds to steal your Ace of Hearts away
Not one with winners, losers or cheaters with only ***** tricks to wage
Let our love then not be a game
As all games end in finite time so as only to begin once more

So come now and let our love be art
One of shimmering  colors, daring abstracts and brilliant hues
One formed of sophistacted melody, soulful voice and driving beat
One of perfect prose, eloquent verse and the purest words of a story never since told
Come now then and let our love be art
For its art as our love for all its flaws that shall live and breathe for ever more

transparent seeds
nest in winter hollows
the future reflected
in all-knowing eyes
an internal compass buried
in each golden heart

dappled forest light
on the natal stream
memories of salt
ingrained within
the latent lure
of open ocean

our destinies are silver
a return to clear waters
transformed revenants
glassy-eyed and gasping
on the gravel bed
that birthed us

Into a poem
Feel the wetness of streaming prose
Wonder
If love shall be the towel
To dry away your tears
As one goes from here to over there
Young to old and old to wise and wise to demise
When the wine bottle tumbles from the table
Jump!
Catch the wine
If there are two hands entwined
Even a poet knows
Lay down the pen
And share that one glass of wine
Touch
The romance of time

Last week, Cortney moved into a four story apartment
with seven twenty-something year old roomates, all boys.
The men share the first three floors.
while Cortney has the enire top floor to herself.
I spent the night there saturday night.
And around 10:00pm
a twenty-three year old boy
Blonde, baby faced, named Kevin Smith
stumbled drunk into Cortneys penthouse room.
Kevin smith removed his pants, and crawled into bed with us.
Kevin Smith nuzzled into my face, pulled me close, and rested his hand,
firmly on my ***.
Kevin Smiths breath smelled of ***, coffee, (and a man who regularly brushes his teeth.
Good Job Kevin Smith.)
At first, Cortney and I assumed Kevin Smith was each other.
after further, mostly-unconcious, inventory of our limbs,
we gathered this was neither the case, nor a hallucination.
Cortney flopped dryly for her cellphone and shined it's light at Kevin Smith.
"What the ****" Shouted Cortney.
No response from Kevin Smith.
"What the ****!!"
We got out of bed and put clothes on,
laughed at how ridiculous it was
that a drunk stranger just grabbed my ***,
while an unconcious Kevin Smith laid in Cortneys bed.
Kevin Smith sat up
"This is really telling. I uh..."
Cortney cut him off
"Get out."
As she turned on the light.
"Can you guys call my phone?" Asked Kevin Smith,
"No." Said Cortney
Get out of my room."
physically pushing Kevin Smith out of her room.
Cortney held up Kevin Smiths drunk zanax filled body on the stairs.
preventing Kevin Smith from otherwise falling down said stairs and dying.
Kevin Smith showed his appreciation by saying,
"High fives all around"
I watched Cortney strattle drunk Kevin Smith awkwardly, yet also motherly
down the stairs.
I leaned over the railing and high fived Kevin Smith.
"I just want you to know," mumbled Kevin Smith
you guys are my friends.
You don't need to.. I got this".
"No, you really don't" said Cortney,
"if you fall down or throw up on me
you owe me $20"
Cortney delivered Kevin Smith to his bed.
Kevin Smith mumbled something, and Cortney returned upstairs.
"What the ****?" Laughed Cortney.
"What the ****." I replied.

the scent of something
familiar punches you in
the gut
and
you know that smell
very well--
some cheap detergent
on someone's clothes
that hurts your nose
and you try
not to fall down
nostalgia lane
again and stay there
for seven days
doing nothing but
writing and rewriting
wishing things were
different.

you're three years
older now
and you're still paying
for things but there's
no change yet.

you've heard theories
saying that time is nothing
but a concept,
that it is a mere creation
of foolish humans.
you close your eyes
and think
no no no no no no no

maybe if you repeat it
enough times the power
of suggestion will work

no no no no
     no no no
no no no no
no no no no no

time must come
and heal you

She's crawling these days,
And it's a joyous throwback to
The wordless days, when the
Eye reflects sunshine instead of tonic
And there was someone,
Always someone                                                 up
To take over when it was too much.         up
                                                               up
She's crawling in her own spit-up
And learning how to drown.
There's a certain effortlessness
To a downward spiral
And she's mastered it with the
Dedication of a carnie's mid-night
Reflections in a backdrop
Of cotton-candy and ****** expulsion.

The world has painted itself white
And she's the little blemish
Of hangnails and spilled cognac
When Atlas would rather decorate
With her broken winter smile;
Teeth to match the whites of his eye
And shattered eggshell.

She's crawling these days, amidst
Broken bottles that reflect such starry eyes
The way puddles muddy the sky
And house the most optimistic birds,
Unheeding the poolside signs saying
Shallow end.
The water is dedicated to darkness
And she's dedicated to falling.