My absolute worst fear,
worse than being empty,
worse than insanity,
far worse than dying
broken and alone....
is that you may one day
love me, and if I gave you
what remains of my heart
and ruptured soul on that
day, it would break you.

You've never asked what my
name means, probably because
yours is so obvious that I
haven't had to ask what
yours does, or where it comes from.

You are a Fox, English in origin
linguisticly, with a very illustrious
line, stretching back to the days
before the Norman conquest.

My name, from the Low German,
is Hemlock, and that is exactly
what I am. A beautiful tree in my
opinion, but poisonous to all.

They gave of me to Socrates
as a death sentence, and on
the deeply flawed romantic
in me, the sweet irony isn't lost.

Thus we come to the truth of
my fears, deep fears, deeper by
far than the usual ones that
accompany thoughts of you.

You, in your ignorance are
intrigued by me, as you said.
Should you eat of my heart,
and be poisoned, body and
soul, the last parts of me that
believe in all that you are,
would die with you.

it came like a vague pain
long lost in the beating of time
a realisation
an information
an unpleasant realism
like suddenly noticing that the
man who comes to make the gardens beautiful
is always in rags of clothes
and that the man who drives little children
to despotic schools
has his teeth charred with cheap cigarettes
and that enormous sadness in the yellow eyes
thinking every day
of his mother who has bad lungs and is senile
of his wife who wants cheap new bangles
to color the grind of curses hurts -Chores they are called
and he lights a new beedi

and i get uncomfortable
with the idea of love
yes an idea
no longer Love
with the feeling and the awesomeness
but a stone hard realism of a feminist
and it makes me want to turn away
or look past and look at ,and leap
to the solitude of a traveler
revelling in the journey
of the earth with it's hospitality

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

After two years of suffering,
Two years of heart break,
I came to my senses,
With ocean eyes,
That make the stars quake.

And never again,
Will these seas be calm,
And never again,
Will I see those starry eyes fall.

For a shooting star is only to be wished upon,
And wishes will never do you justice.

They say there's a man called the Doctor

With two hearts and a magical box.

If you travel with him—

Dash away on a whim—

You will find he is lost when he talks.

"Hello!" he will say; "I'm the Doctor!"

Yet there's something so sad in his grin.

He won't voice it to you,

Lest he spoil your view,

But he dreams of and yearns for his kin.

And the awful thing about the Doctor,

Which he rues and resents but requires,

Is that everyone leaves

And his loneliness cleaves

Both his hearts and their desperate desires.

So if ever you meet the good Doctor,

If he offers to take you away,

And if you fall in love,

Know that he stands above—

Don't expect him to want you to stay

There's a reason there's a path outside your door
that leads to a road
that leads to an interstate,
that leads to an airport.

And there's a reason that planes fly from that airport
to one near here.

Same reason that airport has a road
that leads to a highway
a highway that they are repairing as we speak
that leads to my town
to a path that leads to my door

And its not just coincidence.

Any more than its coincidence that you are reading this.

I had
drowned in
those ocean currents
they call eyes.

Slipped away,
not a word outspoken.
Strangled with glacier hands,
fingertips of salt and
thunder cottoning my
eardrums.

You wanted to save me,
but I could not tell you
over the salt eroding
my throat,

that you were the one drowning me.