I suspect you already know this
but i’ll mention it anyway
I still long for you every day
I sneak into your dreams and speak poetry
like a winged owl, i fly
beyond reason and touch the sky of longing
gone are our shadows
lost are our fears
all that remains are tears
and magic
which are here only for a second
until they too must disappear

******* before the mirror of your soul
the tired throne of confusion
burns the illusion that we are all alone
what can compare to the hairs of the earth
is it a purse made from old shirts and words
as birds and feathers fled the forest's shelter
the burning embers head west
into the zone of the setting sun's dismemberment
are you perplexed or just scared sacred
death wasted on the fences
you shy away from sentences
that we both know
are just a little too close to home for comfort
i am a lonely poem portrayed
by an infinite number of frames of reference
so i claim my place in the heart of infinite wonder
as the thunder states your name
and screams your secrets into the stars
our hearts were always made from art
and we are being charged with negative ions
like the lions and dinosaurs that have come before us
our women lie freezing in the warmest of holes
so we comb the sand for diamonds
and try to make the land grow again
I am reprimanded for standing on one leg for too long
and begging you to come back home
if you glance towards me i’ll look away
as shade from a tree covers your face
was it a waste of speech
to try and crawl too deeply
into those feelings that you sought to deny
and what if we see each other again someday
will we wait for the other to acknowledge
that i was too much of a coward
to dance in the face of all that abstraction
at the edge of my comfort-zone
love falls into oblivion
a wastrel and a sparrow
as the cantankerous showers
start flowering in our folds
as growth is esteemed
so do we eventually redeem our own soul

i am a phonographic record
and you are the ears that hear me
i cant compare my music
to malignant mammographies
and the phantasmagoria of cash
or to hash-browns and flapjacks
or to a purple field drowning in wisteria
yes, i am hysterical too
like elderberry syrup and cough drops
popping like its hot
so we japa till we drop, it all
yes, everything
so give it a chance
see your face in the reflection
of a pool of moonlight
a **** bather
a fool at the equator
equates to nothing
so i undress my unctuousness
a congruent confluence
like blood on an apartment building wall
a pox in your cereal boxes
flu shots and mandatory vaccinations
without informed consent
we are experiencing a loss of the immaterial
if we pamper ourselves with distraction
we attract the repulsive side of thy will

when there is nothing else to do i write
when all the six tastes become one
when the idea of fun loses its meaning
when distraction has no longer won the game against awareness
when every day becomes the same essence

I write:
I write because i am alive
and because i wish to know the empty nature of the mind
i write because life is a story
and i am slowly becoming aware of the plot
i write because the characters are meaningful to me
i write because i am empty of conceptual authority
i write because of the phenomenology of awareness
i write because life is not separate from me

I write because lies and truth often appear the same
if we understand virtue
if we comprehend merit
if we seek enlightenment
then we must share it

it may be blasphemous
it may be unpopular
it may be delicate
it may be oracular

i'll write it anyway

remix the frequencies until our ears bleed
we are chaotic beings
and fried rice is pliant
and beyond plain to eat
are we compliant with these new rules
or do you yield to fear
and bear your fruit
to anybody who asks you to

her precious breath
yearns for warmth
and contact between the sheets
her body sways and grinds
her spine is a limitless ocean
her limbs are ropes to climb
they are towers and spires
filled with millions of subtle wires
she is noisy and delicious
they heard moaning
coming from the bedroom
as she came into her darkness
she held it and allowed it to shine
yet transformation is endless
its happening all the time
like underbellies rising
undercurrents entwining
she is sovereign and sublime
content to birth the world
from between her juicy thighs
no longer does she hunger
for your silly little lies
and yes her beauty is music
and its too bad really
that you happened
to be away for the night

i come cherishing and bearing gifts
figures of speech are my playthings
like furniture i am remodeled daily
and intuitively placed around your home
the finer things in life are free
so see me there upon your TV screen
i am electromagnetic static
that illuminates your blankets
and i am the black and white of advertisements
i am figures of forgotten speech
so record the unwatched programs
in your mind’s virtual memory
the hard drive of work and play
creates hundreds of new retirees each day
hundreds of haunted expatriates
knuckle-headed people
that couldn't tread lightly
even if they wanted to
so will you please untie me
and remove these binds and chains
it's time to free the lover from the psyche
for that is all she ever wrote