Celery, raw
Develops the jaw,
But celery, stewed,
Is more quietly chewed.

Lines
Not lies
I would never
Be anything but
True
To you

You followed sweet temptation over the edge
into the dark, warm water.
You tried to climb my body to save yourself.
Even once you had been lifted out,
damp and shaking and frightened
you swooped down
on that bloated, abandoned mass
of oatmeal and raisins
and gulped it down with the frantic abandon
of a dog that has just ****** in the face of death.

I banished my muse
to mute-happy land
erased what I felt
and wrote what I knew
an epic that would have compelled you
to ****** my hair and undress
my identity girdled in crisis
something that would have unfurled
the fist of your heart
and pumped it with pulse
I wrote what would make you speak
But how many epics are there in our world
exiled in drawers and attics
versed in the ominous dust of the right time
maybe unearthed past the prime of their worth
if only to lure the lucre of royalty
to the unearther
With destinies lost in each others' translation
loneliness penetrates me like a ****** needle
for you'll never read
the epic I wrote for you

02 21 11

The ink sinks through
as our sanitys brink, burrows
Deeper, deeper.
Into a world where blood red pain
shatters the moments
we tried our best to hold onto.
Scatters, across the reminders.
Lest they forget
to come forth and find us.

Love tears at flesh and shatters souls
yet still we seek it's sweet unending agony.

when it rains, are the heavens crying?
sometimes I think the land itself cries
for all the torturous ways in which
we destroy it.

I wish I could converse with the trees
and learn from their experience,
the wisdom of being rooted to a place.

rain drops fall to wash away ***** city streets:
blood, *****, spit, trash, and lingering pain
all wash down to the sewers.

all water return to the great ocean
and we, even urban dwellers,
return to the earth.

don't cry sky, we're all returning home.