Do you ever feel that voice?
On the edge of your subconscious,
That haunts your every choice,
And stings when you're not honest.

Not a Demon or an Angel,
To sit perched upon your shoulder,
To make you act unfaithful,
Or to turn a new leaf over.

It doesn't ask for Victory,
Fame, or ***, or Wealth.
It's a deep internal liturgy,
That demands you Know Yourself.

For when you tell that single lie,
That 3 jellybeans is 4,
You've opened up a wound inside,
And can never shut the door.

Our voices are not voices.
Stop talking to yourself.
A subtle sign of your insanity,
When it only says, "Farewell."

There once was a Rabbit who lived by a stream,
She supper-ed on salads and drank up my dreams.
She fed on the promises painted with oils,
But salad like dreams in the long winter spoiled.

Princess, I need you; you know where we've been,
I must dress you and press you and rub you down clean.
You are that girl, Rabbit, who sits among Royals,
You live as my breath, and this life's mortal coil.

She rolls in the plover and soft grasses green,
The Willow folk watch her, they laugh and they lean,
Then it's off to the garden, and therein to toil,
Pluck out Four Carrots and set them to boil.

A soft little life is all that we both need,
You're an end to my wandering, my suffering, my greed.

End a man?

Sure why not.
Show him to me.
Let me bury a sword in his chest or a bullet in his brain.
Let me feed him secret poisons and beat him with blatant fists.
Let me choke him snugly so I feel this whisper of his life as it departs.
Just let me at him.

Oh.
You meant, "Have you ever?"

In that case...
No.

I'm drunk.
I'm drunk on a rooftop.
I'm drunk on a rooftop overlooking the city.
I'm drunk on a rooftop overlooking the city at peace.
I'm drunk on a rooftop overlooking the city at peace and in love.
I'm on a rooftop overlooking the city at peace and in love.
I'm overlooking the city at peace and in love.
I'm at peace and in love.
I'm in love.

The Lady is a month to me, A title and half her name;
Her mask sustains the mystery, the beauty beneath the chains.

The pompous men explain, about Christ in all his passion,
But they know not the pain, of a life spent folding napkins;
To serve and serve in silence, with no whisper of complaint,
The quiet of a painting and the patience of a saint.

Hold her petals gently, lad, but the stem you must grasp firm,
My Rose, a perfect pupil, never shy to grow and learn.
I'm sorry if I crossed you, it was only with respect,
As every rogue treats treasure, we must mark it with an X.

I could only give you words, and sadly I have known,
In truth what you deserved, was a kingdom of your own.
The maid will get her palace, and her carpets crimson red,
Fine wine in her chalice and gold ropes around her bed.

But first, we'll to the ballroom, along paths with gems inlayed,
The bedding will come later; there's other games yet to be played.
We'll dance there, Miss December, On the garnet tiled floor,
And every stance of mine will render, Love incarnate; underscored.

I know I wasn't perfect. No, your Highness, not the best,
And though I haven't earned it, for your kindness I was blessed.
So now lend your Bard his drummer and he'll sing for you a tune,
Compare your eyes to summer, if your name was Lady June.

Yet, I think the winter fitting, and I do not mean the cold.
For I'm on concrete city benches sitting, dreaming of your soul.
I sit beside a western shore and look at western seas,
The water has no more joy for me, the Lady's in the East.

The poem turns to rambling, but I'm half-drunk and it's late.
I only hope she's understanding, what my garbled words would state.
You know your Master's only letters, not a thing to see or feel;
And though I can't do better, at least for me, the words were real.