some say we should keep personal remorse from the
poem,
stay abstract, and there is some reason in this,
but jezus;
twelve poems gone and I don't keep carbons and you have
my
paintings too, my best ones; its stifling:
are you trying to crush me out like the rest of them?
why didn't you take my money? they usually do
from the sleeping drunken pants sick in the corner.
next time take my left arm or a fifty
but not my poems:
I'm not Shakespeare
but sometime simply
there won't be any more, abstract or otherwise;
there'll always be mony and ****** and drunkards
down to the last bomb,
but as God said,
crossing his legs,
I see where I have made plenty of poets
but not so very much
poetry.

Saying goodbye
To someone you love
Is like reading the final page
Of an amazing book.

As the last chapter ends
You begin to notice
Just how beautiful
And perfect
The plot always was.  

You appreciate the joy
And even the pain
As you read and thumb
Through every page.

Finally understanding
The moral of the story,
You realize you've reached
The end of this journey.

Although the last sentence  
Is the most difficult to read
Another great book awaits
Once you turn the final page.

Eventually you may stumble
Upon yet another great find.
Or maybe you'll return
To the book you left behind.

You may just discover
Once all is said and done
That this particular book  
Was your favorite story
All along.

If my skin were a curtain
I'd pull back the drapes
at the corner of my clavicle.
the breathing, feeling organs
of my torso would reveal
what you never see.

the clenches in my stomach
when I catch your fleeting glance

the double-thump of my heart
relishing your bare shoulder

my lungs frozen--suffocating
under your cold, soft touch

shrinking with the biggest sigh
as I watch you walk away.

But I always wear my skin
two layers too thick
and hide my delightful shame
of delighting in shaming you.

You looked at me and your eyes fell
I saw the pain eating you alive
What exactly drove you to this state
I know well and recognize

You live and breathe in your own hell
That never seems to end
You seek and chase the very thing
That has caused your life to bend

Each day anew, you tell yourself
I am finished, I am through
But it calls to you, "Come numb yourself
And I'll take care of you"

There was a time not long ago
Your self-esteem was set so high
Now here you stand, in front of me,
So broken down
You can't look me in the eye

How I wish that I could take away
This power it has over you
And help you mend your broken life
But that responsibility lies with you

Until you admit you are powerless
And see that this insanity, you can't stop on your own
You'll continue living in your own hell
And it burns hotter than anything
You've ever known

To be alone is not so tragic,
to be alone, and yet at peace is magic
but oh to be alone with you
That my love is magic meant for two,
For in this life are many troubles,
we both have more than just a few
but when I see the love that lies behind your eyes
My troubles fade from view
And my world is born anew.

I no longer feel alone
For when my feet are submerged in the ocean
I feel the pulse of millions of beings
As I expel a breath from my lungs
I know it will be inhaled by someone like me
Someone who once felt alone
And has now shared life with a stranger.