what you used to do with those fingers
i look for them in pictures
and wonder if it's you sitting in the background
is it you behind the jenga tower
is it you behind that camera lens
yes, I used to say your name in
many intonations, many lungfuls not wasted
but they are wasted now, every time
is it you behind those blocks in that
black sweater, yes I remember you
from so long ago when
you used to say
i love you brooke

I realized just now that some day you'll
stop loving me for someone, some one
something, some thing,
will creep into your head, with thin fingers and undo the
knots I tied between your ribs with my tongue
she'll hose down the paint inside your heart that i threw
in buckets, angrily and with a vengeance
hang up her own art that will look better and hurt less

you'll slowly edge away and forget why you were
so passionate about staying, with less words that I'll miss immediately
even though I never reply but to you
to you
you're walking farther away, to come back
although at one point the sun will go down, you'll
sleep on a road and wake-up to find
you could go further
you could walk further and
somewhere along the way you'll turn back

because wasn't there someone you were supposed to love?
[me]

when you arrive i'm surprised and
you fail to recall the part of you that was so deeply enamored, he's
gone.



i realized just now that someday you'll stop loving me

Our skin tells more about us
Than most people would think.
So many stories to tell,
So many secrets that hide
In our skin.
Only a few layers deep,
Only a few chapters into the book of our lives,
And already one can learn so much about another.
And as we turn the pages, the skin we see becomes stronger.
Every scratch, every bruise, every scar has a purpose;
With these marks we reflect our battles,
Our defeats and our victories.
Every mark of ink holds a memory,
To illustrate the moments we shall never forget.
But our skin only shows us part of the story.
For the rest, we must dig past the layers
Until we reach the core of our bodies,
The soul of our stories.
And we will find the soul one layer at a time.

hips are farther apart when I sit, hands are toes are
spread fingers like spindles like broken into minute portions of
matter, moving about in this



                                
                            ­             big                            &                        empty




                                                       not mov
                                                              ing but
                                                              breath
                                                                   ing and
                                                                   tingl
                                                                        ing, too

I, sleeping like an insomniac,
fell from the arms of a night
that didn't want me, and into
a day of repetitive flaws,
all of my previous mistakes unnoticed;

I had set a fire in my mind,
the likes of which started
by the sparks in my eyes
thrown up from a gale of ashes
of cremated memories and
fostered dreams nurtured from
a thousand nightmares

And so tired was I that I
barely noticed when I caught fire.

Sharing a bag of chips and scraps
and running from the rain
beneath the band stand kissing
and riding on the main
corn fields and meadows
and walks within the park
spending time like millionaires
together after dark
daisy chains and faery rings
the jewelry of the young
whom sing the songs of lovers
the older ones once sung
cornets full of ice-cream
and trumpets full of scent
accompanying our laughter
as our childhoods mis spent
I offered you the moon and stars
you promised me forever
as we cuddled close together
in the chill of winters weather
so many memories my love
bring you to me each day
and may the simple things in life
forever feel this way

When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.

But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won--
The difference is small, my son."

Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.

Here I am, back on the ground and beaten down. Filled wit love but wear the mask of a clown.. I'll tell you honestly, I was at the top I flew among kings and for a moment I had thought. These angel's with wings, who's soft lips did comfort lonely soul.. Why would it stop?.. Now to go on, supposed to find our roads, to search for my own "beautiful life", a brand new rose? "This clown, this joker, this suffering artist", call me what you will, but kindly I leave with a parting gift- This is not a shout for "help!", I'm not trying to connect, jus that I am like all of you, another clown in respects. It is easy to stumble, it is easy to fall, but we are here for each other, Heart, Mind, Body, Soul and All..