everyone i've written about
has left me.
so you must understand
why i will not immortalize you
with my words,
why i won't turn you
into a poem.

maybe this way
you'll stay.

I like old glass
with bubbles

Pockets of breath
of the dead laid to rest

I break and I breathe and I taste

Their spices
and vices

Kisses from wives
Curses and verses

Songs of themselves
Wine of their wrath

Salt from their baths

Smoke from their fires
Sweet tastes of desire

Shared sighs and cries
Dead butterflies

Air.

I thirst in my search
for words
that came first

in verse and in song
what's been here all along

since Peking (wo)Man
singing in the womb
at Zhoukoudian

when the first moon climbed
above branches frozen in time -

our rhythm and rhyme -
a memory of a memory
of the history

of how a poem came to be.

Sitting in the gutter
Cause its the only place to see
What guts are

Wondering does anybody
Fight for anything
Anymore?

Cause I don't see it

I see people walking past
Opportunity
Walking away from things
With ease
Cold feet
Treading cautiously
Feeding doubts fire
Going about Life so passively

But Hold up let's join a cause!

Direct our anger
Politically, racially,
at poverty and inequality
Donate some money
Rant constantly about
Overturning regimes
Then retreat back to apathy
Woe is me!

Bleeding hearts in their masses
Floating past me
In the gutter
Cause its the only place to see
what guts are...
And hearts
Cause no one has heart anymore

Where is the love?
Where is the passion?
The courage and the loyalty?
All Going about life so Half heartedly
And what can you do with half a heart?

Give it to Me

Cause as I'm sat here
Reading entrails like some gypsy
Passing judgement on you
A poor reflection on me

It seems I lost mine

So I embrace the pain
that migrates from
an empty chest to
A swelling stomach

Lift myself up from that gutter
And feel what guts are
Take half that heart
And see how far it'll take me...

**To make it whole

I am going to be leaving you in about 2 months.
And oh, how I cant wait for the sort of poems I'll write.

Measure our nights
by the sighs of the moon.
Count the stars
till we run out of room.
Lie here beside me
'neath the comforting sky.
Make me a pillow
of your warming thighs.
Bring my roar to your lips
as my salt you sip.
Twice kissed silken cries
your wakened delight.
Measure our nights
by slumbering sighs.

r ~ 5/2/14