never trust a poet's words
they sound sweet at first
but you'll notice the emotion in their words
it all sounds too...
fake
"i love you like the sea loves the shore"
becomes too scripted
you hear the small tinge of love actually left in their voice
hoping
hoping it could mean something
but it doesn't
it never does
it's just the way they say it
one day, after they have left
you will find their poems, and they will be the exact words that they had said to you
once long ago

don't feel sorry for me.
I am a competent,
satisfied human being.

be sorry for the others
who
fidget
complain

who
constantly
rearrange their
lives
like
furniture.

juggling mates
and
attitudes

their
confusion is
constant

and it will
touch
whoever they
deal with.

beware of them:
one of their
key words is
"love."

and beware those who
only take
instructions from their
God

for they have
failed completely to live their own
lives.

don't feel sorry for me
because I am alone

for even
at the most terrible
moments
humor
is my
companion.

I am a dog walking
backwards

I am a broken
banjo

I am a telephone wire
strung up in
Toledo, Ohio

I am a man
eating a meal
this night
in the month of
September.

put your sympathy
aside.
they say
water held up
Christ:
to come
through
you better be
nearly as
lucky.

I'm fine, just fine.
I'll let go of your hands now.
  I am my own salvation.
   I don't want to be sad anymore.
    Myself has forgotten to call you.
      Sadness and scars became an  
        old memory.
          Everyone knows your voice,
            I can smile now.
           But,
             I don't wanna be lonely.
            I'm trapped inside and I'm  
             dead.
           I want to wake up, I hate this  
           dream.
         I can't get a grip on myself.
        It is so dark.
      I knew that you are my salvation.
    Give me your hand.
Save me, save me.
(Now read from bottom to Top)

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Always pretended
at being a stone,
especially when crawling
on the floor yet again,
searching cracks
for broken pieces,
never quite finding them all.

But now here it is,
here it really is.
I've pretended it
into existence.

When I can't imagine
sitting across from you
(whoever you are)
at a little table
ever again,
and feeling the tickles
of tiny currents flowing
between us.

The invisible strands
that tug at me
as I lean closer
smiling, laughing,
and searching your eyes
for traces
of what I've lost.

You talked about the hours
I know what you mean
Two cocoons spinning around each other
Waiting to be born

Nothing personal was the agreement
After awhile

It gets lonely
With nothing else to do but be inside

Not wanting to hide
Or collide
Do we really have that much time?

Two cocoons spinning
You became a butterfly
I became a moth
You flew west
I flew north.