so has been the comfort of the dial tone
where i hang my hopes as if i were
a body in the grass somewhere golden
i hang them on your voice as if your voice
       was something solid;
i am tethering everything to your voice,
with stubborn determination
your smile so aphrodisiac, the edges of your eyes
       speaking volumes
suggesting close intimacy so claustrophobic
to unite; the reocurrence is vespertine
and i ache! - for you are missing, missing,
gone from here,
     where you should be
and to anticipation i owe an ode for there is much
to be said about yearning, yearning
growing desperately impatient for the edge
of your neck somewhere close to my mouth
        where i so need it
to sing an ode to your body; electric in impulse
to spill, every yellow secret of mine, every shade
of blue and red and golden; yours to keep forever

to dreams inside that mind of yours
so impossibly aligned
still when you speak of us together i ;
i seem to lose my mind-
once silent, then spoken, now sacred
we trace these coloured lines
of space and time in which
we now are intertwined

to dreams inside these minds of ours
that we gather in our heads
to go wherever you may be
and call that home instead;
from stormy shores to mountain tops
to wake up in your bed
to draw a line from yours to mine
a single golden thread

to dreams inside that mind of yours
to these visions that i share
i can see exactly what you mean
when you talk of home somewhere

once more, it seems;
so soft i have become
and the day be that i hold you
cannot come soon enough

and so impatience swallows me
i cannot whisk away
this bittersweet frustration
eats at me everyday

let time, warped and troublesome
let it hurry by;
that i may hold my gaze in yours
and trace your lips with mine

i go in too far and too loud;
i see the train of thought
it could take me
where no one else could go
further and further where they make more sense
the last final logical conclusion and yet
so far in from a distance i am a madman
too far in to comprehend

oh were i to have ventured further
if i had followed through with every
spasm of great and holy ideas,
what pleasures unknown
called them up had it sorted; it was 2 or 3 a.m

i don't know what i was thinking
i mean i was thinking i needed to be touched
i was thinking i was needing to be ******
i mean i was thinking i needed to be reduced
to air, to be made to be nothing, i am nothing
its always 2 or 3 a.m. i am made to want to feel nothing
went to bed in a cloud of sheltered, painless oblivion

i go too far and too loud and it is
never nearly enough; I See The
Liquid Sphere Waltz, oh i must
tread so carefully and lightly
for i am always on the verge of something
i will not be able to redeem

i care about no one
i care about me
that i may slip into something
i cannot relinquish

from my vast dreams i am awoken and tongue tied;  
that in ten years my teeth fall out and i am left with nothing
but bleeding gums in my mouth, dancing to pictures
in my head; no sense of ground to hold on to
texture of ****** plumage, broken wax and shattered bones

you don't have to believe yourself christ incarnate;
water dripping from your lung like proof he is
god's son made of flesh; "I Am thirsty", he said
there is much less to be said about delusion;

i am icarus myself not for flying towards the sun
out the back of an eighteen story building thinking
i can fly fly fly land so softly by the grace of god
i am icarus myself not for feeling some other soul
inside me; he shared a birthday with jim morrison
thought that was him inside him, i am brought to belief-

i myself thought the world could end if only i willed it;
that you were made to love me if only i willed it;
that i could make you love me if only i willed it;
that the world was made for me and me and
my journey which lead always and inevitably
into your arms

i meditate on these past two years
i am made to see things backwards
through a lens. i could not grasp
time as it flew by me but i am dexterous
now. i am versed in pain; slipping scriptures
from my tongue like an amphibious creature
i regurgitate; water and blood from my stomach
i sort out the stones in my gullet
i make sense of time even though time
has slipped besides me and left me so
daunting and haunted i am
trapped in a black void i can think
of nothing else-

i contemplate the last six months i am
so dedicated to making sense of the inexpressible
the incomprehensible , unfathomable, impenetrable
i stay awake until my eyes are red and powder,
i jot down these words and i call that survival
might i trace my steps back into the snow where
the wolves in the night never find me;
unbeknownst i drip blood
i fall into the void where there exists no such thing
as a whisper; for things are either never uttered
or yelled upon the mountain, there is no in between
and i cannot alter my eyes
that they might see as they once did

sapiens, sapiens,
unable to comprehend stimuli you are
so blind. i am
so bored with you
you simple man

miniscule fruit fly:
the thought of comformity a nuisance
the cul-de-sac does not tempt me
you can lick the soles of my feet from
where you are at

you might think i, being endowed by
drastic opinions and drastic moods,
would be keen to take drastic measures but alas;
the most persistent thought is apathy

so if it please you then so be it;
there is no room in my mind
for chasing after
ants and flies the size of bread crumbs

and that you may read this gives me no
thought of joy or pain or anything;
if the crown fits then so be it
that it might sit upon your head
and i a jester in perpetual, nihilist laughter