seeded and watered
down deep
earth gives up
her children
from a blade of grass
to a Termite mound
a man walked footsteps
into the dust of a Moon

a lot of dreaming is not meant to be shared
not out in the open, kept in the silent sphere
where dreams come alive under your skin

You do not love him.
For ****'s sake: you do not love him.
You are scared of being alone-
we all are. You are scared of being alone
despite your claims of freedom and independence;
all those hours you spend alone
in the comfort of the screen,
or else in the haunts of all the tracks
he has trod or stumbled over before
in the meadow of your memories.
You do not love him.
You love the happiness that has passed between you,
like teenage *****; like childhood sugar;
you outgrow everything
that was not built for your needs.
You know that I am.
You know that I am.

when you have worn the mantle of the scapegoat so many times
there comes a point where you banish yourself
- and disappear from all the familiar haunts under your own steam

I cannot write poetry about earthly lovers
mainly because I am not in that kind of love
but I give you my feeble words freely
and its up to you whether they contain any loving

silence hangs around waiting at the altar
the exchanging and giving of oaths
pledging a forever love without the words
and silently leaving hand in hand for the stars

her mouth becomes smoke
says, "                     ."
(outside a bar;
somewhere there is a siren
mutely i remember my
hands and putting them
into my pockets)

curls and splits
up into quickly
nothing vapor

between 2 cherried
lips–dissipating.

(it is hard and quiet
from the alleyway
smoothness emerges
a cat )

into which bathes
the earth in neon

and the night yawns out
into starlight warm air
and
the thick smell of jasmine
and beer

the water dreams,
wild as a sea,
tranquil as a star.

The body of any
written work
is unimportant,
the key to it all is
in the eyes of the soul
of the reader.

Everyone went
the embankment was full,
the river raced by the
slow clouds in the sky,
the pull of the crowd
the smell of the day
the way that we went on
the embankment when
Summer sent wings for our
feet.