Love got drunk one day
And slipped away as quickly as it came.
Leaving impressions and marks and a ******* memory
Why did it have to do that?

He told me
Perhaps the brightest insight
To human history
Since Copernicus Said
Hey maybe
We’re not so important
That the world
(literally)
Revolves around us
But perhaps it is us
Who revolve around the world
(as it should be.)
What my Copernicus said was
Individualism
Is the single most sign
Of continual human progress.
That without it
We just become droids
Or peons
Or mindless beings
Without sentience
Without intelligence
Without the single most important vocabulary word
“Why?”

You can see why he intrigued me.

Ever-going quest to
Make love stay.
Slipping out of my suitcase
Man it was cramped in there
I looked up
And saw my name written in the sky.
*******.
Always finding new ways
To tell the world
What we are
And what we could be
If I cashed in my chips
And went all-in
For just one hand.

Tears came
Hanging ten on the edge of eyes
Refusing to fall
Uncertain of their plight
So they do what people do
When they are scared
And they freeze.

It crushed me to know
I’ve cashed in my chips
One too many times
He thought I’m incredible
When really
I’m un-credible.

Love didn’t stay.
It took the next flight to Vegas
To gamble some other poor soul’s life
Leaving me
To look up a nameless sky.

I am seeking an unspeakable beacon--
that which defies not solely the misty discontents of mine own
but the time-wrought err of man:
a taut reminder to cross the burgeoned  blur of millennia
up and down the current and the tides
of an ocean to quench such fiery dispositions,
inspiring a shanty not for sanctuary
but for the cleansing of such tarnished deposits
clinging steadfast to the side of aching vessels
harboring, hidden, a virtue free of salted regard
and an anchor to an oft ennobled canon.

it was sometime in November
amid caffeine, books,
and fermented spirits
we laid parallel
as the morning sang a hymn
welcoming the new day
the air was between
crisp and warm
you could hear
the crunch of fallen blades
as pupils rush
to their next shift
transfixed in wonder
of who will give in
to the morning
our bodies
navigating  an endless sea
of tangled cloth
trying not to cross
into lands that border our own
even though these exquisite
properties became one
in the dark before last
it was sometime in November
you turned over in graceful play
and smiled
with nervous blinks
that complimented
the lingering sentiment
of autumn

It is a tedious thing
This bathing Boo
You hold him down
While I hose him
In the while we both get wet
I lather him with Sandy's home made shampoo
for dogs, no less
Again we get all lathered up as well
Now washing it all away
Boo begins to smell delicious
you hold him for a while longer
While I towel dry him and
off he rushes to the grass
And rolls on his back without a care in the world
We laugh and walk inside and we make love...
We make sweet playful love..

Black and white is a comfort,
a run away; abandonment
and maybe i'm just used to it.
Strangely composed colours written together
as if black and white is a religion
and we all praise it,
like someones ever changing word
from 400 years ago called
God.

Black and white is simple
and finding simplicity in anything
is scarce in this torture of colour
we inhabit today
and i remember my earliest dream
it was all black and white,
still in the comfort of a womb
and i expected to see an ocean of black
and white when i emerged
but was wrongfully betrayed by reality
and i still am today.

i dont even look pretty in black and white.