when does the poem end?


creation is never ending,
the earth is endlessly morphing

but you lean back and say
enough
not because the poem
is finished,
for it is never finished,
because an exhalation feels
satisfying, releasing

but the poem never ends,
nor does the need to

exhale

not with the final .


the next poem is

but a

continuation

of the previous poem;

a continuation

of you~poem,

inhaling

and

exhaling

& morphing.

Sat Jan 7
7:57am

Never weaved dreams with you in it,
but the walls I built tumbled down with you.
Knew there never was a future for us,
and so pined for the clock to be still.

With you gone, darkness encompasses me,
emptiness is all I feel to my bones,
Can't find a reason to go on,
And neither can I give up on this life

The heart
Is not an *****
As many think

The heart is a muscle

Does the fact that mine was crushed far too often
Make it weak
Or make it strong?

We've had so much
loved so much
lived so much
cried and sighed and
gave so much.

We have so much
love so much
live so much
cry and sigh and
give so much.

Of all the stars
you glimmer, intense.

And most important to me,
is all your future tense.

i've been let down
countless times.
i've lost who i was while not knowing who i've ever been
but it doesn't matter anymore. i've
sketched the ideas of people who have failed me over and over again,
or perhaps i have failed them.
offered myself to some kind of world that casts me out,
that calls me a stranger, a liar, a dancer with no stage.
i've lost the need to love--it never needed me,
how should i desire its harsh arms? for the sake
of fear, fear of existing alone, living for myself?
and what is being alone--
the loneliest i ever felt was in a crowd, a crowd that does not
look deep into itself
to realize its austerity, to realize its small mindedness.
but to be alone is when the phone never rings, the welcome is slow and uneasy, the whole world is singing to a melody you cannot understand.
when all you want to do is love,
but nothing wants to love you, not even yourself
and you don't even blame anyone anymore.
how could you?

Drying out don't make much sense
As it a dehydratant
Still if I focus hard enough
I can see just where my pay went

Wettening up then
More accurate
Sounds like a pleasant bath
Hoping for a cleansing
Into which I can collapse

The sweats and twitches
First arrive
And then quickly *******
Replaced by itchy ennui
The shivers and the coughs

But none of this will last
I've trod this road before
Knowing the saucey demon
Waits for me to pour.