Show me how you cry.
Show me how you drink red wine
and pass the time.
Show me how you freak out,
how you clasp your palms
through moments of doubt,
careful to let nothing slip out;
let nothing recede the paint on your face-
I know that your careful eyeliner
is the borderline to help you find your place.
Show me how you sleep.
Show me how you
fall into routine;
show me how you have learned to stumble through life
and look as if you have not missed a stride.
Show me the freckle
on your inner thigh,
show me how you drink red wine,
show me how sometimes, you want to die.
Show me how you cry.

We all have shared our shelter
and pulled each other back.
Back from too near the fire.
As we watch the flames of life
flicker and wane,
our love the bigger flame
will keep our hearth forever welcome this coming autumn
as she will inevitably turn back to winter
our hearts will keep the fire burning.

You rock my very being
and leave for tomorrow.
Yesterday I thought I knew
today would end.
But all now is a oneness
a squeezed lemon
yellow ripe and juicy
tangy on the tongue.

I'll hold you and find a way someday
kiss your indulgence by the plucked strings
of a blind moon.

Where did you put the nails?
The wall cries desolation for
some art pieces my heart can't
be sorry for.

What you along for? been looking hard
for the second part of heaven, we all.
This life closes with every second
you allow to run to gutter, to waste.

I was unprepared for your lack of self-awareness
and the way you approach life like a
kid running the wrong way with the ball
Sometimes I feel like your mother
sending you to your room so you can tantrum
Other times I feel like your daughter
when you lay out my pill as if I can’t take it myself
There is a difference between being creative and indecisive
between sensitivity and overreacting
You have to find who you are, and stop lifting so many lids
your anxious energy is clinging to my calm like a parasite
eventually, you need to find a calm of your own
take your spinning outside inward, where things are still
I want to help you, and I will, because I love you
but rarely, rarely, do I feel like your lover
partly because I don’t want to anymore
I don’t want your touch, I don’t want your kiss
your hands are annoying me, please let me sleep
I don’t want to gag and choke on your tongue
just rest for a while, so I can figure out how to do this

an infinity of predestined roles
an inclusive experience in totality
as every fiber, thread, and patch
in the quilt of being that is god

serial embodiment in all matter
animal, vegetable, and mineral
earth, atmosphere, and aether
purposeful suffering and solitude

new souls emerging from the cycle
comprehensive awareness fulfilled
a nebula of creative expansion
from a supernova of spirituality

novices grasping for comprehension
floundering with loving compassion
welling tears of confused recognition
from a source of obscured recollection

collective consciousness in transformation
the cumulative effect of genuine connection
to appreciate the strength of a star
to respect the divinity of a weakness

.































































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"Let's put it this way: if anyone was
actually honest all the time you would
hate them–you would deride them,
you would do anything to disbelieve
the things they told you. Honesty
disgusts us. Only someone who was
insane or hated themselves would
always be honest–absolute honesty is
the same thing as insanity."







































.

The teenagers smile through their misery
as they learn to love the taste of beer.
I learned from then on that no actions of ease
are ever sincere; that we all struggle to keep pace
with all that is expected - a grade-mark percentage,
an overtime enthusiast; a steady-state consumer
who is always bright, bright, bright and on time;
who is never bleak and twisted, or overcast and out of mind.

I see the couple's silent feud
as they hold hands across the road;
I see the womanizer pop a zit in a wing mirror
on his way to the latest *******.

The sales assistant yawns through the breathing spaces
of professional enthusiasm, scouring the pages
of the company magazine, whilst the radio sweats
in the corner of the room. Last night's words
are on her mind as she signs the papers
with today's date; today's place in time
amongst all of the others that dominate her life,
whilst leaving scars and no memories,
punching the clock and throwing the fight.

I see the hang-man wince in empathy
after his dog had died last week;
I see the expert in the hotel mirror,
feeling sorry about his ****.

The Beautiful People are walking the ugly track
back home, amongst the rubble of Snapchats
and bad scratch-cards; the cardiac nurse
meditates in the restaurant corridor
before going to meet a woman.
I learned from my lofted position
on top of all the walls I have built,
that no matter how vivid the flower in sunlight,
in the darkness, it will always come to wilt.

Each vibration

especially in stillness

either helps or hinders

the creative impulse.

She returned

to her silence

contemplating

the love in her heart

still beating.