Long, long ago, my heart was penned inside a leather book. An ornate pattern was etched upon the cover, accompanied by heavenly hues. Crisp, ivory pages and ink as black as a raven's wing showed evidence of joy, pain, sorrow, and truth.

I would study the book for hours, fascinated by its complexities. I liked tracing my fingers over the fine details, my eyes danced over the calligraphy. And then I began to wonder if anyone else wanted to read my book. So I sought to find out.

I embarked on journeys and took nothing but my beautiful book. Every traveler I met was invited to read it, and I would sit quietly next to them as they leafed through the pages. I would administer the addition of their letters and lessons, hoping to personify their most admirable traits. My eyes widened in horror as they defaced its elegance. But I was confused and saddened when someone chose to rip out any pages and chapters to keep for themselves, leaving asymmetrical gashes in my most prized possession.

As a young girl, the travelers were gentle with my beautiful book. They treated it with great care and smiled at me with warm eyes. As I grew older, far more people began to treat the book with less respect. Sure, most wanted to read it, but some read only the parts that they deemed worthy. Others read with greed to exploit the deep secrets within. And others completely disregarded the book all together.

Now, the bindings are worn down and dangerously thin. The pages are feeble, threatening to tear from the softest contact. I dare not travel with it any longer, let alone even touch it for fear that it will fall apart in my own hands. It sits on a bookstand, accumulating dust.

I long to open the book once more, but I know that I must wait for the most avid Reader to be gentle with its contents. It is tenderness that will bring the most beautiful parts of the book to life. The Reader will restore its fragile state and add the knowledge and clarity that no other person could have taught. And as the new and improved project is completed, the purest form of love will stem forth.

Until then, my beautiful book will rest easy.

I'll be on the front lines
Fighting fireflies on a Golf Course
With a butterfly net

Collecting ghosts in mason jar
to plant back on the cemetery
The crows are making nests
in the skull of your family

They accidentally put
the wrong name on yours
And in Latin!
It's ok though, because you're
(were) Are?  a nihilist

The river Nile is the
best stream of consciousness
Known to man and of
Course that's where you drowned
your metaphorical thoughts
While you hung yourself above
a treadmill trying to pretend
you wanted to be a better
man

But you only ran away

The Stonehenge is the front gate
to your home
          It's made from
      billboards and
Pictures of static
When you're dead you
                        Live in White Noise

You're turning my lights
on and off
               as I'm trying to sleep
haunting me in
my over easy eggs
making the yolk run
in words "Miss me?"

And of course I do
But you are as good a my imaginary friend

When I'm walking in the
park with all the scarecrows
you make the dandelions
float, no amount of
wishes is bringing you back

I know boards of wood are
easier to you than the termites
eating the tumor in my brain
          from the insanity you're causing me

So instead I paper mache my
room with love letters from you
that got lost in the mail
because you stole them for me
A banksy bankrupt in original thought

I'm building a tiny forest
             of matches
If I can't sleep I'm joining you

So you pack your bags, hobo
style but with
Picnic baskets and dead leaves
Seancing yourself
With the crystal ***** of my eyes

I lost you in some newspaper ad
about a Home for sale
Does it come with a family?
How is that legal?
But I lost you because I bought the wrong copy and couldn't find that one blurry word that was you saying
Good morning

I lost you at sea
  And in my dreams
      And to your own hands
   And to my own memory

I'm dancing with wolves
Called Alzheimer's
because I'll die
with a disease of age
Instead of house burning, building leaping
Front Page

Then we'll go live in abandoned
amusement parks with creaky
Ferris wheels turning
Like you in your grave
And me with the Cycle of Life

Sometimes I don't really remember people
by their specifics or
characteristics.
Their hair,
their eyes,
their body,
sometimes even minds and personalities
become a blur

cuz
I remember people
by the feelings that which they leave me.
I am painfully aware of their
swift entrances and
immediate exits,
leaving me bewildered
as to how and why they
came to be

But for some reason,
I can recall
(almost) every detail
about you.
I remember
gleaming azures
and head-topped sandy blonde.
I remember
macrame, leather jackets
a confident voice
and a six-string gizmo.
I remember
your body: long and lean
secure
Electric

But mostly,
I remember
the multitude of feelings that which you left me.
Curiosity.
Understanding.
Euphoria.
And finally, disappointment.
Not with you, though.
With my naivety.

My impressionable soul
clings to the people who
captivate me,
and you sir,
were riddle and enchantment.
The ideal.
And you still are
in the way that mysteries tend to be;
unforgettable stories
of pure bliss.

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

look at you
look at those strong, illuminated eyes
staring back at you

what a beautiful disaster you are living
what a labyrinth of wins and loses
like we're water circling the drain
while the world may seem like a cruel place
you are here to experience the vastness that is the human condition
and when things just don't make sense
remember that you are not alone and that
you are loved

do not be afraid
you are in good hands
the universe is going to take care of you

behold the frolicking artichoke
bewildering complexities of her natural
hues unfolding tumultuously before me
cascading into the dark abyss
of raw power as her succulent heart
pounds her silken extremities
growing and shrinking before my eyes
like the disappearing light at the end of a long tunnel
oh artichoke we are looking to
you to reveal our hidden destiny

bass palpitations and neon fragmentations
briefly deflect the cruelty of
your perceivable
emptiness

a rainbow of sweat, anonymous
stems encompassing sauntering spirits
a fully elevated identity
identifies the rationale
behind the soul's existence.
THERE IT IS,
dangling before doped surveillance;
can't you taste its sweetness?

and
before you grasp it,
the crescent wanes
pacing shuffled steps
tracing fleeted memories.
nights with beautiful intruders
terminated with sonorous ears,
oscillations of the frame,
and you,
crashed
on pillow-top.

how did you got here?
recollections
excruciating
tattoos of a misleading
reality.

I recently agreed to leave my body to science
In return for free cremation & disposal services.
But I insisted on one small qualifier,
A precise stipulation that
The first-year medical student, to which
My cadaver is assigned,
Be female & lovely,
Brilliant & curious,
Fevered & insane,
Seeking a miracle cure for broken hearts.
The damaged among us,
Yearn for a magic elixir,
Some long lost potion,
Arcane & miraculous,
Insightful & perfect in simplicity.
A man who truly loved women,
My last woman dissects me,
I, a species of man she would master.
Cuts out my heart and weighs it,
Divines my psychology from slice of spleen.
Or liver, toxic, cirrhotic,
Surely, random entrails hold some key to me.
I--in all my incandescent incongruity--
Must render up some gender-specific clue,
As to what it is men really want;
Proving, again, the simplest answer is best.

Back-to-back with the driver,
I see a diminishing world.

A spaghetti road
twists and ascends
just to spit me back onto
cemented migrations
that everyone else is
calling their own.

Twin yellow lines
pacing even-steven
end in aggressive Morse codes
I cannot make out.

These panoramic cliff sides
and igneous intrusions are
miraculous,
magnanimous!
Yet, those too
begin to fade away.

Back-to-back with the driver,
my life moves forward
backwards,
blinded from the future
as the past shrivels
into nothing more
than blotted memories.