inspired by e.e. cummings’s 'into the strenuous briefness’

how many hellos
has the earth heard?
how many beautiful beginnings
has she seen?
how many roses has she bloomed,
and how many of them have been gifted?
how many hellos
have given way to friendship and
love,
how many of them have turned into light?
she keeps them all,
the roses and hellos,
turns them into poems
and turns them into time,
sunrises and sunsets,
beginnings and farewells,
you and me
in between it all.

you wish to buy my meat.
the butcher's cut is ripe and cheap;
a fresh-faced lamb of london streets
and everybody craves a piece.

*******. ribs. thighs.
money is no issue and they'll all see you gloat:
"my spread-eagled angel will be gnawed down to bone."
(god knows there's no heart in the matter.)

you wish to play the maggot.
you want your prey half-dead.
my flesh rots and decays on your tongue,
bloodied on the slab of your mattress.

Your eyes are my *******.
Your kiss leaves me breathless.  
Your fingers are my toys.
I submit my body and my heart
For your abuse or adoration.
With you the red bag stays zipped.
Don’t you dare give me a blindfold
Don’t you dare gag my mouth
Don’t put leathers between us.
Only one thing does it for me.
Call it a fetish or call it love.
I just want you.

I'll wake up
Mundy morning
dead tired
from restless
dreams about
the forbidden sound
of fish on ice,
a harmonica
full of ants,
cat paws that fall
in the night,
the breathing
of waterfalls,
the depth
of mountain roots
and falling soot
from the fires
of Viking pyres.

The human condition
Is longing to take charge,
To make your own mark.
Make the world better,
Make the world brighter,
Shine in the dark.
But these days it's all I can do
To get out of my bed.
If I were the Chosen One
The good guys would be dead.

I'm mundane.
I'm ordinary,
There's no breaking out of this mold.
I could fight back;
Not take this lying down.
My life's spinning out of control.

The villans condemned
The heroes are sung
Their mem'ry goes on.
I fix up my coffee
I do what they tell me
I'm only a pawn.
I'm much too lazy and unkempt
To find where the action's at.
If I don't go out & find some friends,
I'm gonna die alone with my cats.

I'm mundane.
I'm ordinary.
There's no breaking out of this mold.
I could fight back;
Not take this lying down.
Put a stop to this rigmarole.

They make big discoveries
That become their legacies
Their sign on humanity.
I can't even function
Just living my own life
but I still have vanity.
All I want is to change the world,
to have my name be heard.
There are just so many dreams
But all my plans are blurred...

Because I'm mundane.
I'm ordinary.
There's no breaking out of this mold.
I could fight back;
Not take this lying down.
But I won't escape entropy's pull.

My life's spinning out of control.

Poetry
to me
is taking
my pain
and making
it sing.

I often wish I were a gentler man,
pruning flowers from thorns
in the garden of words;

but what a small nuisance
as clouds eat the days
undulating cathedral
of red and blue sky

I devour my life to the bone,
is enough to not covet
much more than the dawn child of sunset.