I’m pressing, pushing paranoia
away
as I lie in my ocean of bed.
And I lie (in my ocean of bed) when I
say
“I’m a warrior.”
I’m a worrier, a bundle of contradictions,
a language-lover who will never be able to speak my mind, my
split + mind.
(****** + phrenia)

Sentences slip through like a sea through a sieve.
Language was not invented or
intended for
my babbling brain, bursting
with deathly images,
lacking in logic.
Pressing, pushing paranoia knocks on my mind’s door,

I’m away.

Those were the stars
that taught me to write
and filled me with poetry

It’s with great care
and humble hands
that I rebuild myself.

Gratitude by gratitude
I enter the light
of the living,
building a ladder
from hell to home.

Shakespeare says his love is greater than a
summer's day,
but my love is deeper than
the stillness of a
cloudless winter's night:
I feel my love in a heartfelt apology.

My love is not a flower, wilting.
She's a symphony,
turning and twisting.
A throb of chords,
shocking and free.

My love is not a dog from hell.
She's a river,
carving herself on the earth
as she makes her way to the sea.

My love is not an infinite ache.
She's the warmth of the sun on my skin,
or, in autumn, a sip of fresh tea.

A boy sits under an oak tree with an empty heart.

Far away, forest green wolves howl
Small foxes crawl under fallen logs

The boy cries, lost in thought, strange new feelings

He walks on a frayed tightrope.

Far away, a blue eyed girl walks
hand in hand with her mother,
they laugh, they pass a store,
they look inside the windows.

The boy feels his back on the tree.
The crying stops.
He hears soft haunting music.
He hears a distant animal.

He leaves.

Full silence of a blue space above
Heavy earth and stilled sky
Glittered rays of the Pacific under me
Gentle green curves of nature

A rusty metal drawing, a slow inkblot on a cold sky canvas

Hurls slowly in circles, carving itself into negative space

A copper ore is the blood moon