there are earthquakes inside
the knuckles that held my hand,
and writhing rivers in the light
blue strands that dip into your
shoulder blades

i am not afraid to say that
i am afraid which may seem
like an oxymoron, but i
promise you it is not

i broke glass over your head
and cried into the shards,
only because i was trying to
make you see how beautiful
it is, how the glittering
light loves broken things

you always snipped the tags
off of tea bags and when i
asked why you said you
were saving for something
that you couldn't remember
but *******
it is important

I wont be censored and I cant be stopped,
I'll be air brushed out and photoshopped.

Forgotten.

There's an energy in this youth,
Kids with blue and red hair,
The world is up for grabs,
but I wont see it,
I wont be there.

If the revolution came tonight would anybody care.

Climbing six flights of stairs
to smoke on the roof, alone.

Cold seeping through your white robe,
thawing ice soaking your feet,
bitter wind whipping your face.
Cursing as even the cigarettes
refuse to light.

Open space surrounding you,
you, so close to being swallowed
by that endless black chasm in the sky.

Feeling little and alone and afraid and lost.

Watching the tiny figures of the people
shuffling by beneath you,
each in his own little world,
preoccupied with his own little thoughts.
Each person a dusty book
hidden in library shelves never traversed
Touching, so close to those around them
yet impossible to open and read.

Remembering your own people--
boys and cuddling;
fleeting moments of joy
that fade after the sun rises.

Throwing out the stubs,
Putting yourself
your self
your self
back together.

Rejoining happy friends
with a sad pretend smile,
Dizzy from the smoke,
heart still cold,
but slowly
gradually
regaining warmth
and strength.

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

i took the ideas
out of my skull
and i placed them on the mantle
above the fireplace
I watched as they twitched
in the orange flame

i am the weary product of destruction
you were just another friend of mine
i once knew what to do with myself
but i soon forgot

we sat on the couch
and observed my half-born creations
you spoke empty wisdoms
into my hollow mind
all the while pretending
that there was something
to admire

before long the distance became
a pocketful of torn ticket stubs
a collection of subway maps
a string of missed phone calls
i doused the living room in gasoline
and dropped a match on the floor

through the window i watched
as the ideas on the mantle
turned to orange flame