starry night, o starry night
within you I trod alone.
   your placid, yet sheer power
injects hot ember into bone
majestic crescent moon sheds these
      gray and somber lights.
haunted orchestra of bleakness
   led by distant coyote cries

   I tiptoe and I tremble
bare feet sink into soft earth
    from a whispering grove of aspen
an emboldened owl offers words
starry night, o starry night
high ceiling’s darkest blue
open wider your embrace
draw me deeper into you

as a guest within your presence
i'll left all other things behind
they drag me so much further
from any clarity of mind
though i must carry my past day sorrow
i cannot just put it down
the weight bears upon my shoulders
i may just crumble into ground

there hides a secret power
in the silvery silent still
whose effect pounds within my temples
amplifies my power of will
i work to shed these shackles
with every outward breath
and somewhere deep within me
new life conquers death

for you, a simple silence
save sadness, anger, shame.
found shelter from emotions
that roared like hurricanes

for you, a simple silence
without the thirst for more
just a fleeting breeze consisting
of one i once adored

in the peace and in the quiet
i lay down my weary head
inhale cherry blossoms pink
exhale despair and dread

in the peace and in the quiet
each forward step anew
and though i'll journey far away
i'll always carry part of you

That dark December night,
negatively charged magnetic eyelids forced open by a vibrating
assiduous humming brain
machine.

An untidy bed left warm, within the
smoking, choking exhaust fumes. An early morning engine roars.
I find that towering rock in eastern jagged-grin ridgeline.
Peering up from yawning limbs hung from red toothpicks,
frail clouds skirt that dark jutting face as stiff muscle tendon battles mud rock gravity staircase.
All alone, in echoey sloping vastness.

Lunge forward from tree line, sink down, old snow,
hunched old man drinks coffee says something…
Away from that wretched voice! I scramble
upward through white flakes, black boulders.
Wool gloves hinder grip, boots shove rogue rocks to space, hand slips, smash thumb,
eight now seven rocks until summit.

White washed walls of wild winter.
Silence.

In utero of a universe.

Four thousand feet above.
Fire.

Me, my despair, a stone palace, and trail mix. I brought hope.
You brought a shining red hope extinguisher then swung the emptied tank at my skull,
I am not impervious to pain like these rocks I hurl
at whirling gods they watch me
miss. Pebbles drop through glass table
swallowed by dark green limbs.

You do not know you could not know you cannot know it was right,
if you are Right, then I am Left
with aching expectations and a decomposing handful
sticky memories, remnants cannot be cast away, and
these blessed rocks are fond friends no longer call my own because
I’ll never look the same but they always will.

Step down from nowhere and retreat south, your footprints remain.
Darkened face, this line is named you and will stay there.
It is a cold winter rain
that taps my hunched shoulders
I have stopped answering.

You are in everything I see.
It is sickening because you own all and you will not let go but
you cannot own this next day.

Do you ever get a sadness// that weighs down on your soul;
a prodigious burden that makes bright eyes dark and dull?
It yanks up on your heartstrings//  and slices at your heels
When you pray for something, anything/ /that will really make you feel.

I get the feeling often// and wait for it to pass,
but it's in the cargo of this ship and I’m clawing up the mast.
It can feel like an ocean// and I’m stranded on a raft,
These planes fly high above me// but my hope's deflating fast.

Lord, give me strength and courage// to make it through this year
Be the loving Father// that dries my bitter tears
Spare me some of your forgiveness// for my sinful frame of mind
Spare the key to perseverance// I've desperately failed to find

Oh, that I could see you! and feel your knowing eyes.
Oh, if I could just hear you// I’d set my other gods to fire.
For I’ve seen twenty long Novembers// but none as dark as this
So many times I glimpsed the mark// but shot and always missed.

I forced open my eyes and gazed out the 6:00am window. The dense fog outside drew in through my nostrils, into my lung tissue, my blood cells, my bone marrow. I felt lifeless and numb within my treasured goose-down sleeping bag; my thoughts utterly separate from my exhausted body. My spirit hovers above, looking at this depleted bag of bones with bloodshot bagged eyes an ever thinning hairline.
Cursing under my breath, I sat up and rubbed my swollen eyes. My bag slipped from my shoulders and the December breeze took its place, affectionately stroking my back and neck with its sharp icy nails. I shivered, swearing. I was awake.
I stood, my comfort and warmth dropped to the floor, exposing my malnourished, pale coffin. I was proud of my body, my own personal ******* to the average soft bellied spineless American. I inspected the ***** mirror on the wall, confused. Who was the shaggy, slit-eyed disgrace looking back at me? I made a few faces, trying to recognize myself again. I looked old; I got sentimental and wondered where the years went. Then I realized I’d be thinking that for the rest of my life. I picked some brown dead skin off my face, brushed my malformed teeth and tried to spit out the window. White minty bubble **** sprayed everywhere.
In a bit, I was in the kitchen pouring some foul-smelling Maxwell into my coffee cup. Coffee is wintertime *******; my only weapon to protect myself from sideways rain and frozen knuckles. It also killed the morning-hater in me, that dark eyed scowling bitter kid that comes out once in a while.
I slid outside, the bitter wind wrapped around my face and filtered through my blood. My irises twitched with the passing cars, crawling pedestrians, vibrating leaves, and the moving earth around me. I keep my head down, weaving and turning my shoulders, maneuvering to my stop. As I walked, I studied the weathered cracks on the pavement, and related with them. They were weathered; soon, they would have to be replaced. I feel that way sometimes.
Seattle’s masculinity was obscured by deathly gray that December morning. The buildings looked like the ancient tombstones of some ancient breed of megatherium.  The triumphant northwestern giant, bustling with so many brisk Asians, a few defeated  Juggalos, some quite possibly successful businessmen (where do they go home to?) and loads of beautiful women, who walk with quick steps, uncomfortable glances, and brisk movements. Seattle in the morning was something I never loved. Everybody seems to get self-righteous, and forget their humanity at home.
I waited for my bus on a bench, invisibly observing everyone around me. I sometimes felt as If they all felt me inspecting them, knowing something I didn’t, some secret, information that I had just missed. I just liked to look at their solemn eyes. Look into their glazed eyes. I never have to speak to anyone that way. I quickly stab into their eyes and I have their tender souls in my hands.
I didn’t have to wait long until my bus crawled out of the fog and hissed to a stop, the hiss bringing me back to reality. The beast opened its doors with an earsplitting pop. As I loaded my bike, eyes down, I overheard a father making his goodbyes to his college son. I smiled, and wished I could say goodbye to my dad again.
And then the bus jolted forward, and my life jolted forward, and that morning was behind me.