We all know this feeling
upon certain loss.
Our essence, our vitality
vanishes as wood does
upon the death of the fire
that burnt it before.

We become hollow,
Doubting any substance remains
within our closest, tired caverns.
What's unleashed can't be physically seen
and yet it trivializes
the most gruesome of bloodbaths.

At times--even all times--
we wish we would bleed
rather than cry
so our hearts could donate what we lost
to the dry, coarse dirt.

But don't wither yourselves so,
for none should crack
with the frailty of a shell.
The roots may be ripped,
yet the seed may still be planted.
And with no sunshine,
a sunshine we begin shunning,
the rain of our tears can never cease
to allow our true pedals to finally blossom.

i think we still exist
somewhere in the universe
behind the sun
where all of earth’s abandoned
soulmates go to rest
i think i can see us
when i look up at the sky
and squint directly into
the rays of light,
your brown eyes burning
into mine

i think we are together
in the time that trails behind
the present, dancing
in circles until the last stars
fizzle out

i think that our promises
seeped into the soil, like
february rain, our souls sown
together, tucked in
beneath the world

i think what we had is
somewhere just out of reach,
pulsing in the dim spaces
between heat lightning

and although, in this lifetime,
we became nothing but shadows,
monsters that linger on bedroom walls

we are there, we are alive,
and we are still in love.

I don't think this is love
I would never agree to doing any of this with anyone else and even though I kept saying no you kind of went on anyway and your tongue seeped acid as it climbed up my neck and it felt great

I've always experienced 'love' over state lines and divisions of area yet when the distance between us was but 2 inches it seemed that our love shifted shape

what was love? was it your tongue beating against mine or your hands lowering down my body as we hugged? was it me wanting to drown myself in your presence or me trying my hardest to please you while keeping promises to myself?

love is strange in that some days I am completely head over heels for you and others I want nothing to do with you.

I never really felt that anyone loved me but they were great at spewing words of artificiality. after a while you stop believing it but you appreciate the effort.

I used the word love too early in life and I've heard so many forevers that they lost their sparkle and they mean nothing

How can you say you know me
When I don't even know myself?

You put a mirror in front of my face
And smiled at the reflection

These puppet strings
Have puppet tendencies

They will snap
When I pull

I have no wit, I have no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
A lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is like the falling leaf;
O Jesus, quicken me.

good weather
is like
good women-
it doesn't always happen
and when it does
it doesn't
always last.
man is
more stable:
if he's bad
there's more chance
he'll stay that way,
or if he's good
he might hang
on,
but a woman
is changed
by
children
age
diet
conversation
***
the moon
the absence or
presence of sun
or good times.
a woman must be nursed
into subsistence
by love
where a man can become
stronger
by being hated.
I am drinking tonight in Spangler's Bar
and I remember the cows
I once painted in Art class
and they looked good
they looked better than anything
in here. I am drinking in Spangler's Bar
wondering which to love and which
to hate, but the rules are gone:
I love and hate only
myself-
they stand outside me
like an orange dropped from the table
and rolling away; it's what I've got to
decide:
**** myself or
love myself?
which is the treason?
where's the information
coming from?
books...like broken glass:
I wouldn't wipe my *** with 'em
yet, it's getting
darker, see?
(we drink here and speak to
each other and
seem knowing.)
buy the cow with the biggest
****
buy the cow with the biggest
****.
present arms.
the bartender slides me a beer
it runs down the bar
like an Olympic sprinter
and the pair of pliers that is my hand
stops it, lifts it,
golden **** of dull temptation,
I drink and
stand there
the weather bad for cows
but my brush is ready
to stroke up
the green grass straw eye
sadness takes me all over
and I drink the beer straight down
order a shot
fast
to give me the guts and the love to
go
on.
from "poems written before jumping out of an 8 story window" - 1966