These thoughts are a curse, they leave you feelin' worse.
It's when they descend that I see scenes of the end.
They've got me pinned to floor and I can't take any more.
I wish I could liquefy and then merge with the tide.

I don't know what I'm doin'.
There's nothin' I'm pursuin'.
I just kinda float without aim.
I'm feelin' kinda hazy.
I'm all bent up and crazy,
and I know that I am to blame.

I think about the sea, that hypnotic mystery.
Those times we've met in dreams, I wonder what it means.
I've seen  ecstasy blowin' through all the trees.
I've heard hidden hymns on the midnight winds.

If I'm not mistaken
it's when I awaken
that I'll see your face and I'll know
that there'll be no foolin',
no more push and pullin'
and we'll have a place to call home.

Maybe it's the scent of your hair lingerin' on the air,
or it's the sound of your words echoin' unheard,
but when I look in my mind, it's you that I find.
Your image I could never forget in a sun silhouette.

Love, I'm lost in typhoons scattered
to the fiercely rising wind,
where currents flow together
throwing my heart into a spin.
Now my mind is getting dizzy
from loops of ragged thought
as I follow what I see,
but what I do is not enough.
Go and strip me of my senses.
Scrub this essence to the core.
Deconstruct these walls and fences
with ruthless promises of more.

Love, I'm lost to tidal tempests
with emotions as the sea
crashing huge and reckless,
flooding every part of me.
Now my resolution's blurry.
I don't know what I've got.
My stomach's churning worry
to a frantic endless knot.
Go and ease this journey.
Build an island from my bone
reinforce it with some mercy,
where no one has to be alone.

Love, I'm lost to wildfires burning
up and down the golden coast,
destroying years of learning,
consuming what I love the most.
My lungs are getting heavy
from sighs and acrid smog,
from preciousness gifted already
to ungrateful, petty mobs.
Now I'm getting cold and numb
to the tragedies I see.
I'm stunned deaf and dumb,
and that ain't how it should be.
I'll go and get the shovel first.
Then dig a hole somewhere within.
Deep enough to be immersed
in the fountain 'neath my skin.

Love, I'm lost in my own universe,
and don't know if I'll see you again.

I've lost myself to noises
uttered mindless in my drunkenness,
but what was spoken I cannot even say.
For now's the morning after
and the undertaker's laughter
reminds me that I'm not worth
the sweat he lost to dig the grave.
I could lie and say I'm fine,
but the truth would stay the same,
'cause I'm incapable of tryin'
when everything I do is lost in vain.
There's always someone better,
someone bolder, someone smarter,
someone committed to their arrogance
that makes you think they know the way.
I know that I don't know
the inner workings of my soul,
and my body's slowly rusting
like a clock out in the cold.
I could cry out to the heavens
but my calls would be ignored,
for they're too busy flowing sweetly
through the kings and crooked dealings,
spreading like illusions on the floor.
I think I've withered in the sunlight,
dying for relief, for someone who knows
the hidden, hopeful things to say.
Things that lift you by your spirit
so your heart can know and feel it
and, love, I know that someone isn't me.

Fire burning on the horizon.
Rising smoke eclipsing the sun
riding on the wind without an aim.
If nothing changed, it wouldn't be the same.

How many words can you fit into your mind
telling you what you'll lose, what you'll leave behind?
You're tearing out your roots trying to find food
but it'll be much sweeter if you wait for the fruit.

How many days can you fit into your life
sitting in a sweaty room trying to stay on time?
Are you losing your days in the arms of the night?
When the stars are all shining are you bathing in the light?

How many times have you sat in reverie
rejoicing in the moment and letting it be?
Lately I've been thinking how I seem
to only be as real as the eddy of a stream.

Fire burning on the horizon.
Rising smoke eclipsing the sun
riding on the wind without an aim.
If nothing changed, it wouldn't be the same.

Aye, that crescent cuts the cloud
with golden slits of predilection
for the fog's encompassing shroud
and a parasol's protection.
The sun's spring-time blooming
auric light nearly blinds my eye
because that beauty's all consuming
with eulogies woven through the sky.
I contemplate the blazing fires
along the razor edge of the sword
slicing thoughts with solar spirals
eliminating the errant, straying word,
and cast back the black magic
of numbed-down confusion
while sharpening my moon sickle
on the whetstone of illusion.

I wonder if I'll see you again, or if you ever tried
to send a coded message everywhere that I am blind.
I hope you know I never had an eye for reading minds.
Maybe it was written in a language I can't read
between the hidden syllables of words I cannot speak.
Or maybe it's in the way I constantly long to be
somewhere in the redwoods umbrella'd by the canopy
in a drizzle of rain,
fog creeping into mist,
while owls read their poems
with nothing to do but to exist.