Three frozen nights in a row
Remind me that I’m cold.
Dinghy sheets with matching throws
Remind me that I don’t care.

Razor blades and waxless strips,
Tagged, cute underwear,
Sleepless sleeps and cereal—
Marking time.

Come here.

*06.2011

Sometimes, I cradle Sir Moon in my arms,
And half-whisper him to sleep.

I haven't seen that man in his own,
For too long.
So, when he's blue,
We nap together.

Sometimes, the moon melts,
Into puddles on lakes,
And ripples out into forever.
Hadn't smelled a ripple,
Until that very first night.

Smells like ink would - I think
Were the ink frozen.

But, every so often,
The moon is fine,
Full, after its harvest of,
The month's reverb.
And, on that night,
Is when I dance in full-flight,

Crazy, in the moon's elixir.

---

The night makes us mad.
The moon makes us loony.

Perhaps, that explains a lot.

I've cast my spell on you.
I've cast my spell, so hard you can't stand it.
I've cast my spell on you, from afar.

And, you have no choice but to give in.*

--

"Is this wrong?"
I sidelongingly asked myself.

"Only if you believe it to be so,"
I said.

We're all human here, right?

Why, then, is my side, most human,
Something bidden I hide?

---

Mockings chant their mocking things,
Swinging from the hinges of reality.
While, sneers and jeers born from,
Overgrown fears,
Leave small ****** in my ripe heart -

Unceasingly.

At the door, my mind assured me, go,
And my feet, those dumb things, did listen.
Went right into havoc,
Wreaked solely by tragic,
Souls, so pathetic, I can't even stand it.

Who's ripping up my soul so darkly,
Save, me and the audience I've made?
Surely, the swift-sounding people,
With valiant battles to battle -
Are too busy to waste time at the gallows.

You dug the hole,
And jumped right on in,
I merely picked up the shovel,
And finished it.

Though, now, my heart aches,
So red and opaque,
Curse you,
For doing you in.

07.2011

And, this bit of line,
Here,
Tells me why your heart’s
Achings pour out
So thickly
In your sighs-

Why you paint on
Boisterous smiles,
To draw away from
Your telling eyes.

My fingertips feeling,

The way the bowl dips,
Deeply,
Full of somethings
Too heavy,
Find the reasons
You can’t fall prey
To those who don't say,
But reveal,

With rottenly
Itching fingers,

&

Why I can't do away with
Those maddening strokes,
That have melted into
Cracks in marble.

You've so many
Drooping wilts,
On a wiltingly drooping line,

Dripping
Downward
In their gentle slopes,

Reminding me
To be gentle
In the way that I
Love you
In ashen days.

Though,

These three little x's,
Snickering beneath your bowl,
Tell me,

You've probably been
Reading me,
In opaquely mirrored ways,

Peering from your bowl,
All along.

I haven't an empty,
Dead-weight thought
For racing cracks
Of yesterday -

Cracks that split
Faster than crooks

Spinning in
Red-paced,
Screaming lights,

--

Times ago,
Are times I know,
Only in now's
That never end,

And times to come
Are simply from
Times, the same as
Now and Then,

So, when I spend
Hours within
The greenest greens,

Glowing near
Bashing violets,

Or dance with
The street,
Feet locked in repeat -
Communion
With dirt red brick,

You'll know why these things,
Tickle my wings,
And why I choose

Now,

As my
Sweetly,

Forever.

He likes joy girls,

The ones that spring upward in the wee hours
And smile because the sun is coming soon -
The ones that rise with the sun
And keep right on rising,
Even 'til the sun is setting -
Then they rise on
Into the night,

He likes girls with fluttering fingers
That tingle when they touch you -
Ones with round-eyed spirits
That peek out from the pockets of their irises.

He likes joy girls,

Those "sun-in-my-pocket" girls,
The skipping instead of walking,
The "I'm too tired of talking,
(I'd rather be off singing)"
Girls,

Girls with giggles so infectious
His frown can't help but slip-up,

He holds these girls the tightest to him
'cause his days look much too much like
The endings of,

Late October dusks.

my fingers were beginning
to love that couch

they loved it so heavily
burrowing deep into
the cigarette burn
that scratched against
the underside
of my thigh

i could’ve been banished
to that couch -
to that moment
in time

for two forevers

and loved it thrice holy.

my eyes were beginning
to love that wall

that blue wall
with its paint racing
so anxiously for
the floor bowing
beneath your feet

the porch

the wood
underneath this
couch, with its
pancake cushions
sizzling beneath
the cool points
we were boasting of
in each other

i hadn’t known it then
but i sure know it now

the birds were singing out
my name

while i shuffled
quickly
and threw out
swiftly
the next card
to be played
in the game.

I look for love under boulders and stones because angels cannot help.
Heaven parted the land with seas so I cannot see my dream.
So I am left in the eye of the storm and Tsunamis got me feeling hopeless,
Because I am aid less.
Deprived of human contacts.
Waiting for the ship to dock but instead I'm left staring at the digital clock where your name should be.
Instead, I'm getting let down by an answering machine with a pleasant recording.
Too bad technology isn't enough for me.
Instead, I hold hands with strangers to feel an empty comfort because you can't even text me goodnight.
I throw **** around my room, wishing I was aiming at you
Because you let me down when your presence was crucial
If only vocal.
****. I would have settled for the simplest literary visual
Because at least then I'd know that your thoughts were with me
And my paranoia was silly
And the abuse I inflicted on the Teddy Bear you gave me for Xmas was unnecessary.
Then I'd take back all the curses,
The I-Hate-Yous.
I'll say sorry.
Re-stitch the results from the aforementioned brutality.
I don't even need an apology.
I just need to know that you actually love me.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.