I can hear the tears in your eyes.
Is that right?
I can hear the tears in your eyes?

I must be mistaken.


Then you said,
"I can taste the thoughts in your head,"
and I knew we were the same.

The rain that dripped
into my brain,
also stripped away my pain.

The light that danced
into my eyes
also sheltered me from lies.

The sound that echoed
in my ears,
also pushed away my fears.

The sound, the sound,
the lovely sound,
of vibrant life,
all around.

If I but
get up
out of my chair and leave,
I will have defied
natures will:
"do nothing,
and let me cover you with moss."

So I will leave my chair, desk, and house,
defying nature.

But if I
leave everything, and go to nature
as a willing and feverishly searching servant,
have I defied it,
or obeyed it?

His face in the mirror
was not his face.
It was clean and seemed out of place
It's mouth too wide and its nose too small
It was not his, no, not at all.

But,

the more he looked, the more he stared,
he wondered why he should care;
it's just a face made out of skin,
a face does not even begin
to define a person, that much was certain,
so he left his face,
by the bathroom curtain.

His eyes are red
he should have said,
"Goodnight" an hour ago.
His hands ache
he's about to break,
from the sleep, he feels below.

He needs more time
to take what's mine,
and put it on a page.
His head falls
while the night calls,
and the room smells of sage.

The night loves me.

Its hands are soft,
open,
               inviting.

I love the night; I might just take hold of those hands one day.

I love the feel of my heavy eyes
tempting me,
yet I remain awake: pure defiance.

The silence I keep lasts for hours, and will bring a smile to my face
when I think of it
in the morning.

my gravel-headed daydream,
or
is your head a cloud?
Your eyes must be water droplets.
Behind tired eyes, I see you
and
the sun is breaking you open
exposing your inner fog.
Why did I think you were made of
small pebbles?
You can be nothing but
the morning clouds drawing their lines
across the sky.