If I flew around with laughter
would my mirth infect the living dead?
Would their groans resound an answer
to the ceaseless gossip in my head
that never seeks the things that matter
but wanders in the gardens of the stead
where discordant rounds of chatter
mimic every paragraph I've read.

If I stumbled through this sorrow
would the sky paint poems out of cloud?
Would the heavy shroud of false tomorrow
find a moment's solace in the sound
that was summoned from a hollow
outside the paved confines of a town
where shady specters tend to wallow
in poisons growing from the ground?

If I was frozen stiff with terror
would the sun spin a coat of warmth?
Would the threads singe or scald the wearer
if he's not filled with righteous worth
that was meant for someone fairer
who roots their comfort in the earth
where not a step is made in error
riding blazing comets through the north.

If I was sick with worry
would there be the comforts of some love?
Would wind push these sails to hurry
and bring some air back to the lung
that was emptied in a spoken slurry
heralding the hurricanes above
where cause and effect go running, blurry
and no one knows what will become.

If my temper cracked in anger
would starlight soften every blow?
Would the lightning clap with thunder
as it rouses the sleeping secrets of our own
that fill these kingdoms up with wonder
and kindly show us how to grow
where we're feeding all our hunger
with the seeds of hope we've sewn.

I'd love to see you swimming
in a sea of ceaseless bliss
where adventure waits beginning
in the fading echo of a kiss,
where life and death start to stall
long enough for us to pass
and understand that through it all
this interconnectedness will last.
If you look up from your basking
and see my shadow standing true
don't be too afraid of asking
"Boy, what's going on with you?"
I'll meet you straight with honesty
and say sometimes I'm uncertain
in this movement to the apogee
but my work is no big burden
for when I finish with the climb
I'll see your face in the eclipse
as the questions of a lifetime
flow answered from your lips.
I'd love to see you lying
in a field of scattered flowers,
not concerned with frantic trying
as we whittle through the hours.

With a wave of my pen I morph cobras into locusts as the myriad creatures shift out of focus. I surf a million empty channels on the wings of a prayer before I get fed up and vaporize into molecules of air. Then I suffer through the turbulence of empty-headed, vacant eyes and twist among the falling leaves to the palace of the sky. But who am I? I'm the archer tripping ******* the flaming arrows of Apollo. I'm the soldier who finds no joy in the enemies I've slaughtered. I'm the passion for the precipice and the thrill of falling of this. I'm half of a tenth of a femtosecond from leaping off these rafters with no real concern for what may happen to me after. I'm waking up at 2 a.m. from fevered dreams of mushroom stems as the room shifts black and blue and everything's illumined with the wisdom of the moon. I would rather be a de-fanged monster rolling in a ditch, fantasizing about facets on the gem of Might-Have-Been, starving for nutrition and the comforts of a friend, dying from this fatal case of gut rot than parade around with people pretending to be something that I'm not.

I went for a walk in the comforts of night,
determined to finally set all my problems right.
I got lost in a daze when I took a wrong turn.
I'm finding my way by the bridges I've burned,
and now I'm low.

I reached up for something that was just out of grasp
and I slipped when I touched it, and fell on my ***.
I was laying and praying, sprawled out on the floor
wondering what on Earth I was suffering for,
and now I'm low.

I went to the mountains to breathe the fresh air
to rejuvenate my senses with an infusion of care.
Then the avalanche came rushing, being set free.
I got caught in the glaciers crashing around me
and now I'm low.

I went to the valley and I looked in the stream
and I saw my reflection staring back at me,
saying "What is that you are running from
that has you so beaten, so rough and so glum
and now you're low.

I wish there was something I could do or say,
but everyone has to make their own way.
What were you doing, in God's holy name,
juggling matches in a world made of flame?
And now you're low.

Get out of your pity, get out of your mind.
The future's uncertain. It could end up fine.
Get back to your work and don't ever stop
'til you've filled your being back to the top
and you're not low."

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.