The whole night watched by starry gaze
Thou never ever dare to faze
The sleepless wanderer. Through the night
He slips as Time and Space enswathe
All shattered memories. 'Tis his
Endeavour not to let them fade
Into the blackness. He's like the warden
Of all the outrageous grace that nothing does
But only waits.
It waits. He wanders. They don't fade.

I'm starting to dream in color
swimming in Silvia red night gowns
and dancing into silhouettes of purple and crimson.
psychedelic actually,
if you take the time to think within that perspective.
it's like a toned-down rave set in slow motion by overdose.
and where are you?
are you passed out on the lawn in front of some closed down swapmeet?
did the flicker of insomnia turn you off like a light switch you hadn't paid the bill for?
who now, will answer your phone or pay homage to your quips
or late night phone calls to God?
I wish I could say that I relayed the message
but my nerves never were enough.
I wonder if the angels ever picked up on the twisted games you played on their names.
Many people never bothered to decipher it all.
But on occasion I did.
When the time was convenient,
when the moments were dull.
I delved into it.
I tried anyhow.
Forgive me for never letting you pass.
For standing arms and legs wide apart to halt the inevitable.
I wish for so many seconds
that I was there to do something,
to show something,
some inkling of understanding through sarcastic grimaces.
To you, who will read this and play dead for flair,
may you call upon me from the imaginary casket when you get this.
Fore I do see that you could never leave like that.

Twelve shirts and six
strings to feel like home

responsibility slipped over
my head like a cashmere sweater, warm
and welcome

and I drift off to where you
are still sleeping, reach out
to brush the hair from your eyes
and wake up, refreshed and
yearning

you are my sunshine, my only
sunshine

and I am the graphite, I am the
ink beneath your fingers, happily
joining words of life on the horizon
to the fresh, green-growing present

the cozy, the comfort, if not soon then
later but ever closer in my eyes, ever
brighter in yours

remember,
         you are
         my sunshine with
laughter like rays and
   thoughts like hugs,
                             our
                           love like rippling
                           glass, ever beautiful and
                           all our own, a wonder set
                           firmly as a fiery and true
                           gemstone in your golden heart

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

At show and tell
my teacher used to
tell me
that what you tell
about a person by
what they bring
to show and tell
all they’ve got
is who they are
and they’ll show you more than tell.

She used to say,
‘Don’t be afraid
Of who you are,
Of what you’re made
Is comparable to some
But to the great’

'cause we try to shake
what we were given
so 'they' wont see
how different we are
from them who decide
the fate of our lives,
so here we are with
open palms giving
you our fears.

So you decide
Because I’m afraid
of who I am.

I sensed distantly
the cold encasing my bones,
as I suffocated in your lost moments.
A forced witness
to the baying of your blood.

The pin drops
the streets closing on you,
As your eyes are closed for you.

Chasing the chance to feel
Something-
anything-
but you cannot be the cure
for the demons in their blood.

So slip into that quiet place,
Imagine us back into that quiet night,
before you were extinguished, to fall,

and we all fell.

In the hour of death, after this life’s whim,
When the heart beats low, and the eyes grow dim,
And pain has exhausted every limb—
  The lover of the Lord shall trust in Him.

When the will has forgotten the lifelong aim,
And the mind can only disgrace its fame,
And a man is uncertain of his own name—
  The power of the Lord shall fill this frame.

When the last sigh is heaved, and the last tear shed,
And the coffin is waiting beside the bed,
And the widow and child forsake the dead—
  The angel of the Lord shall lift this head.

For even the purest delight may pall,
And power must fail, and the pride must fall,
And the love of the dearest friends grow small—
  But the glory of the Lord is all in all.

This girl gave her heart to me,
And this, and this.
This one looked at me as if she loved me,
And silently walked away.
This one I saw once and loved, and never saw her again.
Shall I count them for you upon my fingers?
Or like a priest solemnly sliding beads?
Or pretend they are roses, pale pink, yellow, and white,
And arrange them for you in a wide bowl
To be set in sunlight?
See how nicely it sounds as I count them for you --
'This girl gave her heart to me
And this, and this, . . . !
And nevertheless, my heart breaks when I think of them,
When I think their names,
And how, like leaves, they have changed and blown
And will lie, at last, forgotten,
Under the snow.