Traces of you line every moment silver,
     even in my darkest day
Traces of you can make the empty linger,
     the second you walk away

Traces of you are my hidden treasure,
     a joy that is all my own
Traces of you are too fine to measure,
     yet brighten my darkness alone

Traces of you make life worth living,
     the birth of my very smile
Traces of you make ease of forgiving,  
     though memories tend to beguile

Traces of you turn hell into glory,  
     then turn back the other way
Traces of you rewrite the story,
     every second of every day

Hand holding,
Cigarette smoking,
Spiced gin drinking,
And bare flesh touching...
Y o u  h a d  m e.
(Only for 24 hours,
But that’s more than most get)

24 hour boyfriend,
The perfect relationship.
One complete day of undivided lust and adoration.
It almost felt like I loved you.
Sharing souls and secrets and your king sized bed,
I  h a d  y o u.
That loving gaze, the sweet whispers;
It made me sick

In an early morning, half-drunk haze,
Your skin wouldn’t let go of mine,
Your smile asked me to stay,
And your sleepy eyes told me you wanted more…
You whispered you loved me,
I clenched my eyelids shut and pretended to sleep.
I could never love you.

I’m sorry,
But your 24 hours is up.

i was afraid of them
until i found her in a flower
and found she was the flower
buzzing little soul
colour shifter
dream
      c a t c h e r

autumn nights were cautious
the songs we sung
were the songs of those stung

in the winter we built
a secret warm glen
and she taught me to dance
   (in the way that bees do)
so that snow wouldn't weigh down my wings

sometimes she flies unseen
but she always comes home
her heart beats in my chest
and mine, her honeycomb

we don't belong here
   (i think we came from the sky?)

we belong to each other
     my flower bee and i

in dreams i met the fox again
this time i asked him to use words
grabbing sandcastle fistfuls of his fur
until the tide swept in
and i howled.

i asked him for the essence
secret ingredient
that made him a fox
as if it could be answered
= fur. paws. snout.

so we built a den of bricks
and i seal it over and over in vines
-just hold this together-
in thin flora we both know he could tear down
(if he wanted to)
the fox and his mystery mortar.

one day, the fox opened his mouth and said:
"wait".

do i ask for his appraisal
or do i riddle me for mine?

tearing down the wall to qualify
my own little bits of stone
twist my silver hair

because maybe i'm not half as scared of knowing the fox
as i am of knowing
the wolf.

I get out of your bed with the fire escape on my mind,
First I must put on my clothes. But I have to do it beautifully
The tables have turned, It looks like I’m headed out early
Rather than you seeing me out, walking me to my car
“You’re leaving?” you say, “This early?”

I make up a horrible excuse, halfway on purpose
Truth is, I’m trying to skip the part
Where you rise up from the tangled sheets
And say “I’ll walk you out darling”

This time it’s me prematurely walking out on you
I’m not supposed to be here anyway
In this house. This haunted maze of a house
With you and your roommates

Who quietly walk up and down the stairs, wondering
What is it between us, that keeps me coming back
Truth is, I’m not entirely sure either
It could be the taboo of it all

But I think the reasons are much more simple
Letting go is impossible

I alight upon the ivory garden
tended with accents of wine
and elegant gates of grey
I call your name: Poetry.
Hello, poetry.
then I hear it, the warmest reply
like the scent of lilacs and ocean salt
***, my monitor is supercharged with it
A myriad cry
From the baby-bird mouths of the heated young
From the sensitized woe-lines of the veterans of love
For a bolt of lightning and carnal tangle
Rendering memories of the trembling inside you
I click through the poignant, the broken, the raw
syllables weave pixels into cotton sheets
They twist under the keys as I type:

"Hello, poetry. What simple beautiful animals we are."

My name is Murmur. I have a Funk.
My Funk is bright purple. My Funk smells like skunk.
And sometimes my Funk can act like a PUNK.

(And I'll have you know now, those days really stunk)

You see, your Funk always knows when you feel sad.
When you lose a job, or when things go BAD.
This is the stuff that makes Funks glad.

But since your Funk follows you when things go all wrong
Maybe you should just invite him along.
Make a new pal, sing a Funky Funk song?
Embrace your Funk, he can sometimes be wise.
He's usually honest even when in disguise.
He might even help you fight monsters round the bend.
By the end you may just have a new Funky Friend!

It's okay to have a Funk. And sometimes you will.
Sometimes your Funk will hoist you over a hill.

Sometimes Funks will help you. And sometimes not.
Sometimes they remind you of the good things you've got.

Sometimes they will take. And sometimes they will give.
And sometimes Funks remind you to just get up and LIVE.