people ask me what i
believe in all the time.
maybe god or buddhism or
maybe even poems that
rhyme.
but i believe in
the universe and
the art that surrounds me
so,
there is a black hole in the
middle
that not many people
do know.
i believe in art
and the smiles on
her face,
i also fall for her
and her un denying
grace.
i believe in books
wether fiction or
not,
i believe in the facts that
tell me the sun is
hot.
I've heard that there isn't
any room for God in
science,
but maybe there is if
you show some
appliance.
and the stars that shine
above,
are hydrogen gases that push and
shove.

the middle of our galaxy is
a massive black hole,
not even light can escape,
nothing ever whole.
you see the parts of me,
and you think, "oh shes so fine!"
but deep inside of me is
that black hole heart  of
mine.

The man was smart.  The animals,
watching, knew it.  The shattering
glass of the universe felt the opposition,
and the understanding was the result
of a fiendish ambition.  There was a
recording.  It time, there was a healing
record; it reached for the few left unwell.
They were floundering until it was
discovered to be the shape of things
drawn with ink.  The deception of empty
hands, which refused to let them drink
the clean water also offered to slay
the daughter.  This forced them all to
worry about forensic relics and lumps of
shattered trust.  Love was hidden away
for the sake of uninterrupted safety.

Gentle lady, do not sing
Sad songs about the end of love;
Lay aside sadness and sing
How love that passes is enough.

Sing about the long deep sleep
Of lovers that are dead, and how
In the grave all love shall sleep:
Love is aweary now.

She never had a diamond
To grace her small left hand,
No sapphires or anything
Except her plain gold band,

No sparkling jewels of any kind
No precious stones or pearls,
Although she had one ruby
Her fourth straight baby girl,

She must have wanted riches
For 'tis natural to prefer,
But she settled for her babies
Who were shining jewels to her,

The only carats
dad was able to buy
Were on the dinner table,

Food for three square meals as well
So her only rings were the dinner bell.

loving you is the most exhausting thing i've ever come to know
not because the feelings aren't mutual, simply because you are unaware
the constant curiosity of what you think
do you think i'm broken? do you think i'm naive?
my lack of confidence and your stock of mystery is what keeps me going
maybe this is a game i don't want to end, maybe i want to admire you from a distance, like the way some look at the sea
my tendencies are starting to go out of control
i've counted the freckles on your nose and i know that you tap your fingers when you are at a loss for words
i come up with these scenarios
these drawn out stories
the ones where nothing else matters except for us
notice me
touch me
love me