Death told her
           her life should end
and he was her friend

Calmly, she stole my gun
     she walked outside in the sun
pulled the trigger, set the mood
barrel to her head to conclude

I saw her head come undone
,,, Reached down, for my gun
Eyed the chunks in her hair
Now to my head |
                               |I draw a rose there.

In love, nothing exists between heart and heart.
Speech is born out of longing,
True description from the real taste.
The one who tastes, knows;
the one who explains, lies.
How can you describe the true form of Something
In whose presence you are blotted out?
And in whose being you still exist?
And who lives as a sign for your journey?

running over sea less ocean
into you, hurtling into jigsaw dreams
meet the see saw ride


A tree grows from my wrist
You’re (more than) half my crazy day, every day

Reel plays on while doing other things
I walk in trenches full of dead soldiers

It has already happened
Too late


will you hold my hand, oh please?
I’m so afraid of the dark

there's a wicked radar filling the area
where my mind used to be

we are all made up of cells
these cells will join once more

into Mother Earth
who will accept us - when the time comes tapping


and have you been paying attention?
please, don't quit on dipping into the lake of dreams


....unraveling....//

I forget to write.
I forget how it feels to let loose,
hit keys,
touch pen to page
I forget the sweet release
of a violent rage,
a swift phase,
I'm quick to **** a thought's stage
as it is in
motion.
I stop my neural locomotion.
it's a new kind of devotion
to be void of all emotion.
I'm forgetting everyday,
all the things you used to say
and all the things I wanted to say back.
I forget how to attack all my
ambitions.
I'm on a mission
to find a new division
of this life I seem to live in.
I forget how to feel it,
I forget how to give in.
I forget how to succumb
to my fingers and thumbs.
And how to give way
to the trails that are made
between my hands and my brain,
and my heart and the same and
lately there is
nothing.  
I forget
how it feels
to really write
something.

Here I sit.
Clutching this ***** little transfer slip
As the darkness sips the light
and the sky's absorbed by dimness
I ponder in the nightlight
As my self-knowledge reels,
A database of feelings
but which holds the most appeal?
A choice of voice
with little indignations
of different vocabulary
stopped by writer's block syndrome
Cork a drain
Unplugged and let the hounds run
After the *******
After pilfering caskets
Who know their own fear like a monkey knows these branches
snap
Trip wires over wiretaps
Who's the fool now?
and whose shoes must you fill?
When the working dogs debunk the formerly favored gods
and ham sandwiches for the ill
Except those who prefer vegetation to the pleasure loaf
Expressing superficial favorites came down a bit
from last year
After hipsterism destroyed all previous conception
of what "cool" is and does
So soak another moniker
'til the loathing and the faithless
destroy those of us with names
and replace a kid with numbers
Can you reconcile that?
Or count lies 'til they pass as facts?
In politics
Deprived of all that whatchacallit
Respond a lofty little miss
who won't take bribes or bacon bits
who's tripping all the time
and uses fresh air for narcotics
I see her
The same albeit as she spies me
I ask her as a comrade
What in confidence she accumulates
As little life and dictators
would sell me but in reverse
A pause
She responds,
but does so gently
And in a softer tone than she uses with the game-players
Four words one chooses not to forget,
"baby, beware of naysayers"

In fever dreams
The city sleeps
and wakes with a dose of DMT
Daytripping inconclusively
Is yellow to you as it is to me?
For a people of productivity
surely feel no joy.