stillness

I lie here alone between starched white sheets. This bed is not my own. Flint black darkness holds the molten soul of me. Periodicaly a car will pass the window, and I will think of * again. It is cold. I am cold. The expansion of crossbeams create a symphony in the silence. Photographic and wet are the memories. Sepia toned with Regret Washing over me. In this basin I float unbreathing. I am alone and I know that it is correct. I am in line. Words create an avalanche in the silent room. Pangs of sorrow grow hollow in my bones. I am cold. Trails. Thought patterns electrical as I spin. Among starched sheets among stars I reel. Reaching out....I know not what for. I feel it. spider building web upon my soul and if I move I will disrupt it. About me are the whitewashed walls beyond that are the mountains, tall and smothered in fog.

Two boots I know
And a street
Sidewalks damp
Glowing cigarette
A coat against the wind
My old friend
Doors only locked
My heart a bull
My mind the tool
A final pull
The pinwheel flick
cigarette
In series
In paralell
By streetlamp
I stand listening
My heart a bull
My mind the tool
My soul I know

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

Beat the drum
Steady.
Fall into place
Whenever you're ready.
Trip on a pen
Land through a spear
I wasted my youth
Chasing the near
In this bathtub

Stand again.

Wanting to live
For paint that never stays
For not knowing the path
But going anyways

You boarded that train
Bound for nowhere
That day at the station
You were looking kind of frail
I warned you that this would happen
When you burned all your bridges
Now you hang your head with shame
The price of the ticket was all you had
Your duffel bag full of canned goods
And a jar of peanut butter
It's hard to call your life a journey
When it feels like you've hit a dead end