my muse is my sorrow,
if it did not exist i would not find beauty in the rain nor solace in my pain.
it'll always find different ways to manifest,
but at least it is safe to say
it is no longer my unwelcome guest.

She can walk
          between
             night and day
               never letting either
                  get in her way.
She learned this trick
                     many moons ago
                                by
                     going deep within
           and never letting it show.
Her soul is innocent
her heart is pure
she’s gone through more
than most could endure.
            She’s an angel of light
                 an angel of dark
                 you never know
              what you will spark.
                      You want to hurt her?
                         Please, go ahead and try
                           she’ll be the one to show you
                                  just how well she can
                                                              f
­                                                                l­
                                                                ­  y.
                                  Her soul innocent
                    her heart pure
      but never think for one minute
that she’s not secure.
                                Say what you will
                          please, do what you must
                       but your jealousy and hatred
                             won’t waver her trust!
~

reaching the back of you

not sure I could.      not sure i would.
       scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered

the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
         pleasured mercy
                                         the remaindered searchingly
                                                                ­                                 suffices

you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize


playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time

no exit. no back of you.  stuck in a longingly heaven

this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM

She was the poet, her hands stained with ink
He was the soldier, his hands stained with blood

The gentle hands of a dreamer intertwined with the rough hands of a fighter.

talk to me, willow tree
tell me of the life you lead.
does the wind cool you down
when your leaves fall to the ground,
or do you like the sense of relief?

can’t tell at all if these thoughts are even mine, smoothing my hair out
on the lawn while the sun kisses our skin and we lay around
Spring is getting swept away and the asphalt is as hot as you
heat circumventing every shade of skinny leaved trees
and our truant is every bit of rebellion i need to escape myself
these neon signs are open and i still want steal time with you
just like the weather did and be full to the brim of light
want to dream again if this day is one, and daydream all the stinging away