I'm getting better,
slowly, a day at a time.

I still think of you but not as often.
I remember the good times,
but they're always marked with
an aftertaste of longing.
Longing for what?

Friendship.


I can't listen to No Doubt
anymore without thinking of you.

I cried last night,
for the first time
since the day before.
I was thinking about the best thing to do
and i decided (as I have a hundred times before) that it's to give you space
and let you come back,
if that's what you want to do.
I cried because I don't want to lose you
but I don't want to push you away.

I faked my death
in a hotel room
when I was a kid
and I have been
with this family ever since
I have a brother I love
with whom
I grew up with
and all of these beautiful people
I call family
and friends

I am
the creation
from a star
mother earth
is a hover car
and people like myself
die on the windshield
too busy thinking
instead of paying attention

life is just a flat stone
that we skip across
the vast universe
that we call home

I am sitting outside alone
with a blown out arm
and thoughts of a telescope
in freshly cut grass
I am watching the heat lighting
turn the distant sky from black
to pink and gold

I am walking
not sure where I am going
I have some ideas
but they are not growing
though I water them
constantly
not knowing
that my dreams
are becoming weeds
and vines
wrapping themselves around me
keeping me from being
who I should be
and this should frighten me
but it does not
I enjoy the company

and as the heat lightning rolls on
I wind back and toss my stone
out into the unknown
and watch as it sinks on the first throw

First Night (First Dream)

She is warm and she is soft.
She is a warm soft place that I like to be
and want to continue being in/around/with.

I dreamed of the first time her and I made love,
except it was different.
Everything was tinted blue
and there was less blood.

Second Night (No Dream)

Third Night (Second Dream)

You are warm, but I cannot remember your warmth.
I remember the touch of your hand
in likeness to the color of your hair;
orange and sun streaked.
But now you are gone (or leaving, I'm not sure)
and I'm begging you to stick around.
In my dream we were sitting on your neighbors porch,
kissing as we were that night.
Only this time, I was out of body, lingering around the Christmas lights,
screaming at you to stop,
because I knew I would not listen,
but you might.

I have not seen a ghost
since new years
and it is July
the absence is
beginning to
bore me
I almost miss
the feeling of regret
when you see a ghost
somewhere around town
the grocery store
the park
maybe the gas station
or maybe in your house
sitting on your bed
you believe it is real
and you have had some bad dream
but when you lean in close
to hold what you think you have
it is gone
vanishes into the air
like a mist that did not exist
that feeling
the feeling of rejection
I love it
deep down
I have never really wanted
to belong
never really wanting to
be accepted
I just want to accept myself
for who I am
that is why I love ghosts
ghosts remind you
the past was real
but is no longer here

Take me to the fields
where memories form
in rolling banks of bonfire,
torchlight, and dead-end riverbeds.
Pass smoke in a kiss
across the group,
blowing wind up your skirt
to satisfy a dream.
If I could afford this life,
I'd live it; where everything
is so endlessly free.

I am bitter in pills,
as they clench my jaw shut.
I'll feign a good listener,
if you'll brush your hand
against mine. Our high-wire
existence is based on lies;
the lie is out and now
we're all too tired of *******.
Just hold back on the cider,
if it  makes you feel sick,
or forget how to live.

What happened to
London? This new wave of thinking?
It turned to drinking
and a healing bruise;
waiting for trains to break
my mind-silence. I can't feign belief
in some new lover's meeting,
or a cure for dementia.
I'm sure I'll forget you
in a lifetime of drink.
I will hold you immortal,

as I set you in ink.