Full evergreens, branches heavy with snow,
hold the line between forest and field.
A wall of faceless wardens holding fast,
heedless of the cold and ice, fixated.
Ground untouched and peaceful,
only housing shadows cast by brave trees.
No tracks, no twigs or animals, perfection.
Amongst the trees too, no stirring.
Only still silence, only the field and wall
and thick forest packed with ice and snow,
waiting, as if holding in a breath.
Straining, attempting to shout warning
to the village, Montigny-le-Roi.
But frozen in a moment, captured in time,
just seconds before what emerges with a malice
that the wardens could not dream of holding back.
The Volksgrenadiers defile the wall and still field.
Heavy boots and rifles lay waste to its undisturbed surface,
and continue without recognition of the tranquility
of that moment captured in time.

A hangman once told me,
"It's not the drop, it's the stop."
I was going to argue,
but he pulled the lever.

waking wildly while wily winds whip weeping willows

Now and then I like to look in the mirror and pretend there's no reflection.
Pretend that there is no possibility for the sickly skin
and natural scowl that haunts that slab of float glass and aluminum daily.

Now and then I like to stand in front of the mirror and close my eyes.
That way I can ignore what is dulling the bright surface
and synthesize a shining sword and crown that doesn't hang so stale.

Now and then I like to draw on my mirror until no space is left but eye holes.
Then I can graze the clouds with broad wings and be
disillusioned as to how my soles have become glued to this tile mausoleum.

But most of the time I just turn out the lights.

Sometimes I feel the ceiling falling,
but that's just peripherals hauling shadows and crows calling from fallows.
Reality isn't changing, only my perception falling down,
aging and growing wicked angry and spiteful just 'cause I let it,
spitting lines of depression and hostile succession,
holding onto negative lessons,
refuting positive progression at the expense of intense spiritual expansion,
shunning the silver lining,
running too scared for shining sun to brighten the mood,
lighten the load, smooth the road,
crack the code of the looming clouds of the crowded skyline out the small window of the attic,
where I go to feed the addict and think about how my time would be better spent
playing roulette with russians and using automatics,
crack crack,
future's silent.

That's not really me, couldn't be, quietly pondering failures of loathing and perpetual black
clothing hiding scars of bygones instead of healing, sealing the skin like new, forging a
better view, starting to get a clue.

It's time for a change.

When I was young, I was told there would come a day when
      I would understand what it meant to care for someone
            more dearly than myself.

I thought I knew everything because I had seen a few movies
      and I had my family, but I was a child.

I knew little other than the golden rule, and to always wash
      behind my ears, and to not talk to strangers.

It wasn’t ‘til I saw her that I began to understand what they had
      told me.

Gradual glances and grins, conversations about nothing, searching
      instead of coming across each other, seeing through eyes
            not to them.

Caressing cheeks with fingertips, touching hands and being happy
      with existence, taking solace in each other’s arms.

Joining lips and thoughts and smiles, knowing that the world is
      imperfect, and knowing that we are perfect.

You’re just a child, but there will come a day when you understand
      what it means to love.

It’s not that I mind being gutted, I just hate the feeling of emptiness, like an already looted treasure chest that no one seems to want at the bottom of the ocean where no one seems to have been, or care about. Who cares about sunken ships when you can swim with the dolphins and watch the sharks and birds fly by like the planes from your dreams that you’ll never forget for fear of losing yourself in the ever expansive passage of time that only ever stops for one minute at midnight when the reaper collects his toll from the old and the sick and the unfortunately unlucky who were only walking home and didn’t even know they were dealing with anything and everything in the world that spins and spins and never stops until everyone pukes and starts to curse the constant revolving of shutting doors and opportunities forever missed and drowning in the petty souls that feel too much like home.

In the middle of the wood there are five dead
vowels, forged by greedy linguists from the
first line that they perceived as sound.

The first was bent until ends uniformly faced the
heavens, and it was balanced on it's rounded
arch, catching acorns away from hungry squirrels.

The second was bent and bent 'til ends met so
there was not a space around, and it was elevated
unawares by tendrils of vine that it banded together.

The third was taken further, no spaces were left,
and a tail was formed to hold its tattered shape
above the filthy floor of rotting leaves and mud.

The fourth was twisted further still, until it was
a surgical needle, threading sentences through
its eye and pulling them with sharpened leg,
helping spiders web their branches at night.

The fifth was spared from bending and twisting,
for it was pulled end from end, until one finally
broke free, and they didn't see the need to paste
it back together, discarded with the dying twigs.

Now and then I like to look in the mirror and pretend there's no reflection.
Pretend that there is no existence and no possibility
for the imperfection that haunts that slab of float glass and aluminum daily.

        sickly skin, natural scowl
                 cracking lips,
      bloodshot eyes forming tears.


Now and then I like to stand in front of the mirror and close my eyes.
That way I can ignore what is dulling the bright surface
and synthesize an image on my eyelids that doesn't hang so stale.

     shining crown, sword and
               shield, stand
     in triumph on boney field.

Now and then I like to draw on my mirror until no space is left but eye holes.
Then I can keep staring intently and be disillusioned
as to how my soles have become hopelessly glued to this tile mausoleum.

     wings take me higher than
                   feet ever
      could, grazing the clouds.

But most of the time I just turn out the lights.

day in
day out
they stare at me
unyielding
unblinking
dress me up in different colors
and change when they get bored
or leave me in the dark
I see them laugh at me
cry
scream
cheer
or just sit with lifeless eyes like I'm retinal morphine
sometimes sleeping in front of me
giving up on my looks
or more unnerving things
fantasizing over what they see in me
they pretend I don't see them back
they just stare more deeply
taking their time
or in a rush
open my eyes then close them then out the door
why don't they know I think
and judge them
or do they care
to them I'm just a television

If I seem surprised,
it's because I'm still alive.
My search for eternal sleep
ended with a nap.

You didn't see because I didn't let you,
but you were never one to want to help.
You sent me on my oh so merry way.
Why didn't you know I was that far gone?

Though I don't blame you for damning
me. The river flowed too strong inside,
it was up to me to dam myself. Too
bad I dove into the raging torrent of

Baltic tea, yack and Judas. I have no
need of temporary sleep. I only have
freezing sweats and waking dreams
that make me picture you and know

I need to seek another push and pull
until I'm blind to what you were to me.
If I freeze my insides the river will stop
flowing so violently and for once I may

be able to take a breath and dream
without a bottle and pictures of you.
I'll lie by the bank and smile at how
calm it has become since I threw in the ring.

I don't blame you for damning me, and
I don't blame you for keeping turned.
I only blame me for not daming myself
when I had the chances back then.

Let loose the river; I'll happily swim the rapids
without preserver. There isn't much left to
keep afloat. Not that I need to die this time,
but I can't say I'd resist without you.

Who is to say what a poem may be, a poem is free,
Tearing itself from the little boxes it's forced into, finding it's true meaning elsewhere.
Finding where it needs to be on this day or that.
Finding the eyes that are looking, seeking, scouring for an answer.
It is the answer to the question it presents by existing, what am I?
I am here.
A poem is a matter of life and death, inconsequential as a speck on the ground,
Raising and destroying worlds, empires, men,
Ideas.
A poem is the dirt, the foundation, the walls, the roof, the lamps, the
People.
A poem is the reason to wake, the reason to stay, the reason to feel, the reason to
Love.
It is...
Everything.

when i was young
i was told that there would come a day
when i would understand

when i would understand
what it meant to care for someone more dearly than myself
what it meant to love

i thought i knew
because i saw a few movies and i had my family
i thought i knew everything

but i was a child
and as i grew i learned that i knew few things
other than being a child

other than the golden rule
and to always scrub behind my ears diligently
and to not talk to strangers

it wasn't 'til i saw her
that i started to understand what they had told me
gradual glances and smiles

conversations about nothing
searching instead of coming across each other
seeing through eyes not to them

touching fingertips to cheeks
touching hands and being happy with existence
taking solace in each others arms

joining lips and thoughts
joining smiles and knowing that the world is imperfect
knowing that we are perfect

you're just a child
but there will come a day when you understand
what it means to love

If I tell you you are my sun and stars,
it is only because you stole them from my
sky and draped them over your shoulders
like a fur pelt apathetically ripped
from a now naked and ****** bear.
If I say you are my moon and dreams,
it is only because you greedily plucked
it from my eye and strung it up with that
chain around your neck, so that it can
light the vile back alleys of my nightmares.
If I tell you that you are my beating heart,
it is only because you hammered and
twisted until it fit comfortably
around your finger so I wouldn't know
the beating of it without your hand.
If I say you are my errant soul,
it is only because you crushed and
ground until only fine powder remained
and brushed it below your brow so I wouldn't
know it's pull without looking to your eyes.
If I ask why you took my being and vanished,
it is only to try to make you think.
I already know the answer.

Sometimes I sit down to write,
and realize that it's such a plight.
But I can't stop for tears to leak,
'cause my assignment's due this week.
It isn't easy, that's a fact,
to make lines rhyme with metered tact.
So hopefully my luck runs thick,
'cause sometimes writing make me sick.

Now and then I like to look in the mirror and pretend there's no reflection.
Pretend that there is no existence and no possibility for the imperfection
that haunts that slab of float glass and aluminum daily.
Now and then I like to stand in front of the mirror and close my eyes.
That way I can ignore what is dulling the bright surface and synthesize
an image on my eyelids that doesn't hang so stale.
Now and then I like to draw on my mirror until no space is left but eye holes.
Then I can keep my eyes open but still be disillusioned as to how my soles
have become hopelessly glued to this tile mausoleum.
But most of the time I just turn out the lights.

When I found you, I hated you.
Now I understand you.

I gave you reason to cast me out:
veil of spite, cloak of confused fear--

As I come to know what makes you tick
I respect you as deserved.
Your violence should have been presented by now,
not restrained and checked,
silent caged bird--

I envy you and your unshakable faith,
resolve of the stubborn gods,
drive of  the hungry wolf--
you deserve more, than the
awful posture of your peers.

Whatever you do,
you will not fail to find yourself,
among the triumphant titans.
Your effort is not lacking like ours:

your heart is the rising sun
which teaches and inspires in magnificence--
which teaches and inspires, in us echoing
this stimulation from awakened mind
to kindled soul.

Gently
Brush hair
Behind ear.

Reveal
Soft cheek,
Tender neck.

Glances
Growing
Intimate.

Subtle
Gestures
Inviting.

Informed
Of wants,
Desires.

Taken
Within
The moment.

******
Impairs
Shared breathing.

Spent and
Fulfilled
Intertwine.

Is it surprising that I should walk through the valley where shadow and death and life and light can no longer touch me? Do you think I have any soul left? Any you did not take when ripping the anchors clean? I hope they didn’t slow you down. The pieces I  mean, when tearing away. At least I froze the pain away, on your icy trail. Take me for granted and toss me aside. One more time, just once. Even if I’ll die in the end. Used is better than alone. This time the journey is of no consequence. Only the end. Oblivion. I wish your cup to be full, overflowing with joy, so there’s something to turn to ash in your mouth beside those ******* words you’d say to me. Those ******* words I’ll never forget. Fear comes no longer from self preservation, but the lack thereof. Myself couldn’t keep afloat in a kiddie pool. Drowning in inches, like the insects all over me. What good is existence with no means to live? My means left, preceding your footsteps, echoing away, rattling in the chamber where my faith used to be.

I never thought you'd be the one to see me clearly in that light.
Now you know the cracks, crevices.
Imperfections.
Ugly.
****...
You know...
It's not so bad!
I promise you'll barely notice!
In the darkness you'll no longer see my nightmarish silhouette.
Unless you can't forget, like them.
You can't unsee.
Go then.
Leave.
Forget.
Not the image.
Just the voice you came to long for.
And the touch you now so callously drive away back to shadow.

when i was young
i was told that there would come a day
when i would understand

when i would understand
what it meant to love someone more dearly than myself
what it meant to love

i thought i knew
because i saw a few movies and i had my family
i thought i knew everything

but i was a child
and as i grew i learned that i knew few things
other than being a child

it wasn't 'til i saw her
that i started to understand what they had told me
that i started to understand

gradual glances and smiles
conversations about nothing for no reason from nowhere
seeing through eyes not to them

touching hands
touching hands and being happy with existence
taking solace in each others arms

joining lips and thoughts
joining smiles and knowing that the world is imperfect
knowing that we are perfect

you're just a child
but there will come a day when you understand
what it means to love

obsidian black-rock soul
lackluster and cold
loosing shards over backyards
failing to heed mother's plea
"keep to yourself, the children are here"
maybe tomorrow i'll borrow compassion
and fashion a rope out of all i can ration
to hold together 'til calmer weather comes
sneaking from behind the peaks and treetops
and leaves me the **** alone
as if
forget the children
they'll know soon enough the taste of hate
and the twinge of pain that precedes disdain
if only i could care
if only i could share a prayer
if only i could waive despair
anymore

I cast out the line, a frog this time
One hook is risky, but that's all it has underneath
Reeling in, turn by turn
Make the rubber legs dance like flesh, in case they know the difference
One, two, three, four, five, six, splash, pull
Almost lose it, hold on tight
Reel, slack, reel, slack, don't break the line
He's heavy
Tire him out
He's heavy
Get him in, pull the line, into the net we go
Black, green, white, wide eyes, large mouth, spines triumphant
Even in defeat
Stomach grumbles, thanks for dinner but...
Beauty
Brawn
Flaunting your will to live against my hands
Remove hook, throw back
Hungry
Proud

Who is to say what a poem may be, a poem is free,
Tearing itself from your box, finding where it needs to be on this day or that,
Finding the eyes that are looking, seeking, scouring for an answer.
It is the answer to the question it presents by existing, what am I?
I am here.
A poem is a matter of life and death, inconsequential as a speck on the ground,
Raising and destroying worlds, empires, men, thoughts,
Ideas.
A poem is the reason to wake, the reason to stay, the reason to feel, the reason to
Love.
It is...
Everything.

Please just tell me once again
Whisper softly in my ear
Fill my head with pretty lies
So I forget that death draws near
Give the demons angel's masks
Make this a joyful masquerade
Drink and dance and laugh and sing
'Til violently Hell's toll is paid
When the boney knife is drawn
And halos start to fall away
Close my eyes with heavy hands
Remind me of a brighter day

hanging gardens

roots cling to my heart

hanging for you

fibers touch, but noone's there
another dream, another stare
the ceiling moves as tv screens
and eardrums ring with tamborines

silently i lie and wait
sleep, come take me to my mate
but only shadows on the walls
and eerie echoes through the halls

darkness now envelopes me
at last! the face i long to see!
and i am taken off to her
but sandman you unwelcome curr

fibers touch, but noone's there
another dream, another stare
the ceiling moves as tv screens
and eardrums ring with tamborines

Is greatness endowed by the flick of a sword?
You look just the same to me.
Is taking up arms in the name of our lord
really enough to be free?
Just fashion a noose out of three pure white cords.
string it up into a tree.
Wrap it around that frail throat spewing lies.
Rid the world of a banshee.

so waves can crash around my feet
and foam can chase away the heat
of all the sands i've tread before
my toes will sink into the shore
i'll see the ocean far and wide
and as i laugh and chase the tide
i'll watch the sun set o're the waves
and find some little shoreside caves
to lay away and try to sleep
cause in my dreams you'll always keep
my hand in yours and my heart deep
within the sands of every beach
for no one else but you to reach

gold
ring
finger
nail
wood
tree
house
door
window
open
field
flow­er
bright
sun
light
switch
wall
picture
painting
face
nose
smell
­trash
can
soda
sugar
candy
chocolate
mousse
goose
geese
duck
stew­
dumplings
chicken
eggs
hash
potatos
peas
carrots
celery
peanut butter
crackers
cheese
swiss
mountains
mist
rainforest
snakes
fro­gs
toads
flies
fruit
smoothie
straw
hat
construction
bridge
cars
­drivers
stearing wheel
brakes

that seems like a fitting place to stop lol

i'm stuffed

wrap it up

check please!

don't look at me

look at your ****** self

i'm not sorry

daisies and mums

brightly entrancing me

colors of love

dandelions

all over my green lawn

not green for long

saturate my soul

flood me with your salty tears

fill me with your spite

now exposed to you

no secrets left to explore

will you still love me?

taming the wild seas

raging waves and winds and storms

now calm in my hand

Time trudges slowly
slowly
Time lingers
stays close
hangs about like
smoke
smothering
choking
killing as you sit
it's hard to breathe on all the
Time
i guess i'll wait
and suffocate
on all the smokey
Time...

terror gripping tight

shadows of distressing dreams

not a wink tonight

roses blooming wide

smelling sweet in the thick air

sweeter still are you

inside your pale eyes

is only my sillouette

you see nothing else of me

watching them fly by

thoughts and dreams of following

yank at your thick chains

The mind is a rebel,
but also a tyrrant.
Take yourself down,
or be enslaved.

you take my breath
with those wide hazel eyes
your hand is in mine
my heart beats faster
our bodies touch
my heart beats faster
our lips join
time stops

out
and
about
nothing
nothing
nothing here
nothing there
outside my home is
nothing
nothing
go home
home
inside my home is
nothing
nothing
nothing here
nothing there
all round myself is
nothing

alienate me
make me a stranger
to guiltlessly hate me
when i turn away

melting away
constantly bubbling
boiling down
concience is fumbling
dripping so fast
mindlessly mumbling
waiting for someone to open the door

losing my sight
cant stop my stumbling
caught in a daze
dizzy from tumbling
all alone now
body is crumbling
no one to help me get up off the floor

paralized, my eyes are wide
searching for the other side
I see them there, I stop and stare
but what's the point? they'll never care
with backs to me, they just can't see
the pain that dwells inside of me
my hands are numb, my tongue is dumb
the rains were gone, but now they come

swarming around me they circle like drones
violently ripping the flesh from my bones
screaming their victory in menacing tones
rejoicing the sound of my agonized groans
they quickly devour my organs and skin
but still on their faces a terrible grin
for only the smallest of troubles they'd been
remaining are secrets of deep buried sin

tumbling down, face of a clown
how could you dream that you wear a crown
you're just a mark, an ember, a spark
soon enough you'll burn out and go dark
don't shield your eyes, the lights are all lies
they're only another thing to despise
so lay yourself down, and slowly you'll drown
just keep up your dreaming of wearing a crown