Hold my breath anticipating

The golden ring

You give to me

Down on your knee



My heart pounds as you take my hand

Know what you planned

Saying the words

Whispered like birds



“My darling will you be my wife”

Always for life

To be with you

Yes love, I do

there's nothing like being young
and starving,
living in a roominghouse and
pretending to be a
writer
while other men are occupied
with their professions and
their possessions.
there's nothing like being
young and
starving,
listening to Brahms,
your belly ******-in,
nary an ounce of
fat,
stretched out on the bed
in the dark,
smoking a rolled
cigarette
and working on the
last bottle of
wine,
the sheets of your
writing strewn across the
floor.
you have walked on and across
them,
your masterpieces, and
either
they'll be read in
hell,
or perhaps
gnawed at by the
curious
mice.
Brahms is the only
friend you have,
the only friend you
want,
him and the wine
bottle,
as you realize that
you will never
be a citizen of the
world,
and if you
live to be very
old
you still will never
be a citizen of the
world.
the wine and
Brahms mix well as
you watch the
lights
move across the
ceiling,
courtesy of
passing
automobiles.
soon you'll sleep
and
tomorrow there
certainly
will be
more
masterpieces.

I'll remember to eat optimism in the morning,
So that way I can **** excellence by evening.

Maybe one day I'll be as lucky
As the dinosaur bones
Found under the ground.
Instead my words will decay
And rot away
Like our atmosphere.

I pitty those in charge, who ****** thousands of humans
For fossil fuels.

And currently,
I am happy.
Because i've already felt everything else.

My face wears no smile,
My eyes don't tell a story.
I have a heart that beats and finger nails that grow.
It seems to be working out just fine,
And to be honest--
                                  I think it always has.

slipping past conscience actions.
diving into the idea that maybe things will go
                                                              ­                         the way that i've hoped.

now all that is left to do is extract the expectations,
& i'm left stranded.                 my mind is smashing into the bottom
of a self created abyss that leads towards the truth that
to exist is to perceive. i watch my choices extend themselves
into my future, into how i see myself.


no reflection showing worth.

through adaptation i made comfort
in the dark.
the clouds came in, and decided to stay;
lingering in the sky, just barely out of reach.
they are so low, and i'm solo.

i don't.
i don't need.
i don't need this.
i don't need this anymore.

so i'll make up reasons to leave.
push myself further and further away from what others define as love.
whereas my dictionary is full of lies,
and the truth is,
i don't really mind.

i twisted and turned;
running as fast as my bones would allow.
i'm a little exhausted--
but i'm too tangled to care.

and all this time
i thought
except me.
accept me.

465

I heard a Fly buzz—when I died—
The Stillness in the Room
Was like the Stillness in the Air—
Between the Heaves of Storm—

The Eyes around—had wrung them dry—
And Breaths were gathering firm
For that last Onset—when the King
Be witnessed—in the Room—

I willed my Keepsakes—Signed away
What portion of me be
Assignable—and then it was
There interposed a Fly—

With Blue—uncertain stumbling Buzz—
Between the light—and me—
And then the Windows failed—and then
I could not see to see—

some want it, I don't want it, I
want to do whatever it is I do
and just do it.
I don't want to look into the
adulating eye,
shake the sweating
palm.
I think that whatever I do
is my business.
I do it because if I don't
I'm finished.
I'm selfish:
I do it for myself
to save what is left of
myself.
and when I am
approached as
hero or
half-god or
guru
I refuse to accept
that.
I don't want their
congratulations,
their worship,
their companionship.

I may have half-a-
million readers,
a million,
two million.
I don't care.
I write the word
how I have to
write it.

and, in the
beginning,
when there were no
readers
I wrote the word
as I needed to write the
word
and if all
the half-million,
the million,
the two million,
disappear
I will continue to
write the
word
as I always have.

the reader is an
afterthought,
the placenta,
an accident,
and any writer who
believes otherwise
is a bigger fool than
his
following.

Craving

An intoxication over my mind
A feeling like I might be left behind

I have to

A thirsty swelling bloodlust
Another reason that I must

Have you

I cannot stop the forces
The feeling as it courses

Through my veins

It is a passion that will never quit
And I know that I will never stop it

Driving me

My heart beats for the thought of you
Every little thing you do

To the edge

I feel a swell that might explode
Travelling swiftly down this road

Of insanity

I can’t live my life without your touch
The yearning I feel is just too much

Oh please

My heart beat begins to race
As run to your embrace

Take me

Feel how I am on fire
Help me quench my desire

I’m yours

One touch isn’t enough
Without you my life becomes so tough

Forever**

My heart to you is what I am giving
Because without you my life is not worth living