Dowson wrote,
"They are not long, the days of wine and roses:
Out of a misty dream,
Our path emerges for a while, then closes
Within a dream"

And at this stage of the game,
I think,
I think I believe him,
screaming for more,
more tender-love
& more,
more
euphoric-drink.

show me where it hurts
and I will point out anothers greater suffering

the boys of summer were vast and many
they were long distance and down the road
they were temporary as they always are
but permanent in their scars
the one on my leg and the ones in my heart
none were deep just little scrapes
barely drawing blood
the boys of summer don’t bring pain
just stinging when they’re gone

I haven't ever looked into the eyes of an animal or a bird

And seen sin there!

I sought a small space called quiet
and silence found me
wrapped me up with comfort
held me gently with the strength of a mountain
healed all the way through me
loved me as a child
married me like a spouse
rejoiced and danced
carried me into eternity

The quirkiness
spewing from your drunken lips,
so bohemian,
those electric fingers punching keys,
I stumbled on the ****
you dropped on all of us,
the true believers,
exploding &
rapidly colliding,
hiding our faces in sorrows,
traces,
traces,
traces.
Whiskey breath.
Motor word-demon.
Wild bird.
You ****** me up Jack.

His love is for those whom others write off.
His love is for those whom are condemn to prison.
His love is for those that no one else care about.
His love is for the lost soul, that hurts badly.
His love is for those that live in hopelessness.
His love is for those that are dying from cancer.
Without any hope of overcoming it and surviving it.
His love is for not just the ones who obedient and saved.
But for everyone that he has created for we all were created
in his image.

I think that I shall never see
A leaf as lovely without a tree
When it falls upon the ground
So gently placed to be found.
A child gathers it in her hands
Carefully places it on the sands
Hoping to grow a brand new tree
For all the world new life to see.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it