My heart shakes like
The bottle I pour my coffee into.
I remember you and I drown and drink
the ocean trapped inside, brown and
two and a half times lighter than your skin,
two and a half times more than the coffee I should be drinking.
That night was our last in the same room.
You sat beside me to escape your sleepless lonely limbo.
My head throbbed and the way my heart raced then

and the way the storm crashes the air and breaks the trees and blows the rooftops
        and drenches the world -

is the way
I refused to swim in the brown seas of your skin.
The waters might wash rafts and boats and lifesavers
to the shore where I am standing
But I know that before the sand and the trees
there was a sign that said
‘No Trespassing’.

Intoxicated I stumbled and grabbed a raft of brown arms
and stepped on the black stones of your face
and slipped into your sandy smile and
buried my face into your green shirt waves.

No Trespassing.
The words loomed over my head
like the clouds that filled up the sky so much
that there was no sky -
and somewhere out there, like God in the clouds, she was
looking at me,
looking at the way I grabbed a bottle and swam in her seas.

****, I guess my legs aren't working quite right lately.
I'm taking awkward steps you know.
Some big, some small,
and they're all mixed up.
And I don't seem to be going in any direction at all.
Some times I go right, then sometimes left.
And I walk backwards. A lot.
A whole lot.
Some big steps, some small steps,
even when I'm walking backwards.
Just imagine how tough that is.

sway, sway, sway
through the winter wind
bended wings in the snowcovered land
these nights I keep dreaming of the sea
wrapped under the warmth of an endless horizon

on the night sky I chose a light
to break the loneliness of sitting on the roof
more and more faces have faded, lacking time
mirrors can talk, but never listen
shadows creep out of their shape

glitter on the eyelashes melts
feels like going blind
there are many reflections of me
but none of them is true
still they are lasting

living without playing any roles
left out of other peoples' stories
never to show all the cards
you can move on, but never really leave
your heart, like the snow,
-- remembering imprints

"You are old, Father william," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head--
Do you think, at your age, it is right?

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old," said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And you have grown must uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned back a somersault in at the door--
Pray, what is the reason of that?"

"In my youth," said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,
"I kep all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment--one shilling a box--
Allow me to sell you a couple."

"You are old," said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak--
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"

"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eyes was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose--
What made you so awfully clever?"

"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you downstairs!"

Paul Simon says, “There’s angels in the architecture”

I know that they are poised at the edge

Wings hesitant at the idea

That they should not open once the angel jumps from the failure of another building

That babbles the broken laws of physics

Because it could not reach heaven

The angels know now

The only way up is down

Sometime even Angels forget

The only way to make it to morning

Is to survive another night

There was no fire licking their backs

No gun coaxing the plank

Sometimes the chute doesn’t open

Or the wings don’t catch the breeze

Sometimes the fire

Is just a form of depression

The kind that makes you believe

The only way up

Is down

Inside of my throat there is this place I call church

This is how I pray

Through repetition

Of awkward self destruction

The beer in my belly

Bulging with pendulous weight

Adds momentum for fists to strike

Strike walls

Strike steering wheels

Strike faces in bouts of anger

I get lost most days

Inside of my head

And I pray

This is how I pray

On my knees

Inside of a tub

While water washes over me

The steam mixes with my sweat

And takes it away

I don’t believe in god

But I know

With all my heart

That if I did not come from something sacred

Then I could not tell you I love you

And mean it

This is how I pray

With knives in bellies

Cutting out psalms

They look like

Gnarled black tumors

Humming contently

And fade like

Lip shushed fingertips

Begging for the quiet

Listen

This is my church

And this is how I pray

You are welcome to stay

Mostly because I am not fit to judge anyone

I just want you to know

That sacred feels like skin

Draped over bone

Looking like a sad science project

And it’s the closest thing to perfect

Any of us will ever get