People and bodies
Lay, stand, sit, walk
Some run.
Clamor makes
the room silent.
Chattering voices.
Muffled, scratchy intercoms.
The phones
ring, ring, bleep, bleep.
Children laugh
they cry
they scream.
Impatiently angry faces
wait for departure
from their lives at
hand.

But who are they?
Mothers, fathers, and children
of course.
Perhaps the obscurely famous,
Agents or senators,
artists and daredevils.
A solider on a two-day leave.
Models, maybe more.

And where will they go?
Some go to more stress.
Some go to say goodbye.
Some go to places unseen.
Others to love.
Others to home.
No matter where
they just want to
leave here.

When she sleeps
there is no sound
all which worries me
but when she wakes
her smiles melt my soul
princess i love you
and you not yet one year old.

One's and Three's

Grammatically obscene
To be one and to be three
To be it and to be them
A me and a we

A lonely *******
Natures experiments gone wrong
The beast dances with man
And the man cries in awe

But the man shows the soul
And the soul feels it all
But cannot take it in
It’s conscious wails within

The beast thinks he wins
But without purpose is he
To the soul he will reach
But with the hopeless he sleeps

So the animal is free
The man lets us see
And the soul makes us wonder
But all three suffer

For each others role we fiend
In silence i scream
So jealous are we

i used to check my windows
each night for UFOs,
convinced that aliens were
going to take me away.
i rejoiced for rainy nights,
because i knew that i
would be safe.
in the summer i longed
for the winter months
ahead, knowing snow would
keep them away.
would lie there sweating,
in the hot, humid night air,
my window locked tightly
to keep out the cool,
refreshing air-
and the monsters
i knew were
coming to get me.
i heard my mother's voice
below me,
and cautiously crept
down the staircase,
peeked out silently,
wanting to make sure
it was really her,
there,
not an alien
luring me to
the pits of an
Unidentified
Flying
Object
with her voice.
didn't go
outside alone,
wouldn't step away from
the safety of my home,
all because of a
'UFO sightings' book i read,
(a witness to the things
that fear does to your head).

How Idiosyncratic yet so Brilliant

How Intricate yet so Wide

How Baneful yet so full of Bliss

How Insignificant yet so Meaningful

How Empty yet so Full

How Arduous yet so Compelling

Life, how it is the longest event, a living thing would ever experience, yet branded short

The world we live in is a juicy yet dry Ironic oxymoron

In South America, truck drivers are paid collossal amounts
of money, to deliver supplies between towns on
roads, no wider than the width of their trucks.

When you turned up on my doorstep that sunday in the rain,
your eyes told me before your lips did.

Sixty three hundred days is a long long time to wait for someone,
but I would do it all over again,
if it meant I could fall asleep in your arms one last time.

Next Autumn when the leaves turn rusty and fall from the trees,
I'll remember the afternoon we spent in Victoria park,
where you waded to the middle of the duckpond,
just because I said you wouldn't.

Your mother always told me when we stacked away the good china after Sunday lunch,
that your stubborness always got in the way of what was right.

You've been gone eight hours and still nobodies reminded me how difficult I can be at times.

Eight months later and everytime the phone rings I imagine your voice crackling down the line "come get me from the supermarket, I have sugar buns. "

I will make of you a face. It will turn to me in the night, breathe a sweet sigh of a dream and pose unanswered questions to hang above us in the moonlight. Your lips will be marveled, your lips will sit upon the greatest words ever told, and on your lips i will hang my soul , and on your lips, i will hang my soul. I make of you a bridge for your nose up on which your forehead will sit, it will stand high and heavenly upon your nose, and i can place my toes, grounded, bit by bit. Your nose will ***** downwards towards my whispers and silence my monologue and soliloquy, upon your nose will i bear my vows, and my vision, like a precipice hanging over the sea.

I will make of you a face. It's chin will cup my hand, and it will hold my bones and fingertips, your chin will stroke my face, as it stokes a fire, poker in the wood, drinking fire by the sips. Your cheeks will be broad and tight, and hold my defences and my punches and blows, it will move with the wind, and catch the first light, and catch my tears and absolve my woes. I will make of you your jawline, a structure so bold by any a man, it will proudly stand fierce to gain some ground, battle hardened by the burning grass, and cutting efface and rock hewn, without a ink of a sound.

I will make of you a face. Your temples will be where i worship, my prayers will be my hands, i will send you bidding of heaven and watch as they grin and bear tight across my rough seas and dry lands. Your eyebrows will be a gourd, they will frame and catch the sun, they will shadow the morning, day, noon and night, they will find catcher in the rye, a thief on the run. I will make of you your eyes, my irises are yours my sweet love, I will cut them from marble, coal and the universe, i will chisel them with great care, for these are mine, the glory and the power, the greatness and the worst.

I will make of you a face, my dear love, for if i make for you this great vestige of vision then, my powers  they are yours, as they see me, only me, and they will understand my ever expansion of succinct precision, for in the making of you a face, my greatest work that has ever been, i see your face, as it sees me, and perfection is gained from something wholly, and magnificently unseen.