Poetry is my voice when my lips deny my speech

when all is but gone,
books, words,
reduced to dust and
arbitrary faces I
will remember -
cats.

the absurd
pretension in
every line of
an ee cummings
poem.

every
numbered capital
letter.

and I
will
remember
birthday parties.

the little drummer
boys that made
them.

and the
gibberish that only
made sense when
you read it at night
beneath
flashlights.

and I
will
remember
rickshaws.

make-
believe pavllions.

and tucked away
homes hidden in
ol' Kansas bluegrass
half-
asleep.

we,
still somewhat up
at two
in the morning puttering
away at stories so
easily
forgotten.

it is here
where our
rooms stopped time to
break free of metaphors.

where the metaphors
become symbolisms.

where the symbolisms
become you—

I guess
I’d just like to say
that I
will remember
you.

and thank you.

I'll lay my head upon the sky
And slowly let my thoughts untie
I've troubled one too many cells
It's time for me to walk and tell
I'll speak you what you want to hear
The truth will have us disappear
But only we can make it be
If I can go then you are free
We're in this heavy place again
Where nothing's really happening
It's all the past inside our bones
Committing us to what we've known
So hard to move these shoulders now
The ones you held without a doubt
A song has learned our story line
The final note: a slip in time

Funny how writing can have more meaning than speech.
Funny how a bit of ink on a paper can have more effect than words spoken out by yourself.
Funny how a pen is able to say every single word your mouth can't.
Funny how a bit of paper with some words can make people interested in you when people couldn't care less about you by words.
Funny how this world can become a different place by writing.
Funny...

I write when I'm asleep, not about counting sheep. But sheets & tangles, & screams. Long live the choked up words in my throat. You mean the world to me...