This sandstone sculpture,
soft, ephemeral, unreal,
we create every moment,
just for ourselves,
fighting the fragile nature
of the material, that
       at once, facilitates,
       and equally resists,
       is both memory
       and forgetfulness,
      harmony and dissonance.
      Tongues of time active ever,
      love its taste, than anything else,
      gradually gobbles it up
with relish.
Come, stop by,
and appreciate.
It won't be here,
after some more summers,
but it won't be destroyed too.
It would be the grains ,
in any sandstorm,
for ever.

Four days ago
I was diagnosed with
Mitral Valve Prolapse,

Otherwise known as:
Click Murmur Syndrome.

Oh, life be clever,
that I must take my name
to heart.

This is a long one,
Though just the beginning
Of a story to be told
To you.
Poet, or lover
Of poetry's sweet touch,
Enjoy,
Indulge yourself.
The written word is dying
Sick and Ill
On Time's death bed
Rotting away
Until the day when
All that is left
Is a swift
"TTYL"
And the art
Will be gone
For good.

Scattered as my
brain my be
I see the coming of the
end of all
I love
So dearly as
To share with it my
Deepest secrets.
Poetry is my blood,
Tick and red,
Falling away from the nicks
Of life
And landing softly
In your eyes.
Oh reader,
See and believe
That it is up to I,
And up to you,
To Write
To Breath the words
Of poetry.

This is a long one,
But we're near the end.
So don't let my
Lover
Die.
Oh reader,
Keep the love
Alive.

The words are locked inside me
always pouring out behind me,
you know how it is
trying to pick apart the pieces,
and put them together correctly
the psyche begs to be unraveled
thread by painstaking thread
days when the needle is dull,
and there are no words
and all there is
are words

The sun drips into the horizon and blurs,
always does like that, the last rays foggy and golden,
always goes when you don't want it to go, you know?

when the air spirals shivers down your spine and you
wonder why you are so lonely,
when the world is so alive

Let's talk about the wind
No, the wind
I mean how it feels to feel your soul come and go like that
Look at me, aren't eyes amazing?
Wind on the water of your eyes,
and your hair is a flock of birds

I'm sure there is a pattern,
especially when I see you like this
dumbfounded
in my mind
I am a genius
and you are interested...

Goosebumps on that side of my body only,
and insides shiver with the rippling wind,
inverted shock wounds
chalk on my windblown ideas
stock humans
walking around all the time, cut and dry culture,
I want to learn to paint and I want you to be there.
I want you to be the Titanic
and admit that you are fragile
be ready to go when the iceberg meets you, there


Wind on the ocean
I want to sink,
because the ocean is more powerful than peaceful
and I am fragile

Searching for answers
exploring space
behind lips
not yet
dry

Death is the sturdy turtle
Slow, relentless
Victorious

Life is the flighty hare
Quick, lazy
Defeated