On the ferris wheel we steal a kiss,
careless zeal, no bits amiss,
slip into this, mind and timelessness,
twist wrist, spit lip like starshine, crisp.

Down below the kids get lit,
ripped,
hair wind flipped out,
broke mouths sip doubt,
shout fire-light, ice pout,
grown out the hometown,
grown loud, a fun crowd,
one's got the know how,
the others got the low down,
one shot the sheriff,
then the others hit the ground.

When he shot the sheriff
he kneeled,
we saw it from the ferris wheel.

Flash   your face in subway station
Corners of the eyes in
Strange passers by     evasive
Run awry    racing   shadows
Between thoughts of mine
Jump  how  by surprise
Flash your face in their corners of the eyes.

You were all that she wanted
Her everything
Her reason to keep going

But then you decided
To throw away that façade
To show true

You knew you had her
You knew it all too well
She wouldn't leave
She'd never tell

You're her mountain
That never ending climb
Her anguish

I always thought women who follow a mans every word must be some sort of weak woman.  Where is her own power?  Where is her own thought and beliefs in this follow the leader deal.  Why would anyone follow another like that?
I wonder no more.  I know.
I have more power, not less.  I follow everything he tells me to do for several reasons.  The first is respect.  I have the utmost respect for this man.  I know that everything he does he does to keep me protected and safe.  Therefore I listen word for word what he asks of me, what he TELLS me to do.
When someone is so protective one can see it as *******, possessiveness or simply as love and protection.
How one sees this is depending on what you believe.
I believe his every more is for MY benefit.  I know everything he does he does for me.  I know he wants me happy, smiling and constantly touching.  
I do not resist.  I do not fight this.  It makes me VERY happy.  I am protected and loved.  I am the most safe I have ever felt.
I am not a possession.  I am most definitely not treated like one.
I am cared for more now than I have ever been in more ways than I thought possible.  I feel so very protected.  I am HIS responsibility.
He takes that as seriously as possible.  With a huge smile no less.

Bells in the town alight with spring
converse, with a concordance of new airs
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.

People emerge from winter to hear them ring,
children glitter with mischief and the blind man hears
bells in the town alight with spring.

Even he on his eyes feels the caressing
finger of Persephone, and her voice escaped from tears
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.

Bird feels the enchantment of his wing
and in ten fine notes dispels twenty cares.
Bells in the town alight with spring

warble the praise of Time, for he can bring
this season: chimes the merry heaven bears
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.

All evil men intent on evil thing
falter, for in their cold unready ears
bells in the town alight with spring
make clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing.

Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to ****.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears


And look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being ******, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.


The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches

Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to ****.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
NOW. Death, like a familiar, hears


And look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being ******, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the wave of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.


The weightless mosquito touches
her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches

my arms remember razor blades and spiked needles
and my veins ache to feel the warmth of her
swimming perfectly through my bloodstream
and engulfing my every fear, my every desire
until i am nothing but a pool of sticky tar

my nostrils burn without the powder
flying into my brain, and dripping down my throat
keeping me awake for days on end
and opening up my mind for my pen
shaking as i hold it to the paper; scribble

my tongue dwells on the bitter taste of hallucinogens
that made me dance in the coldest rain
and swim in the smallest pools of warm blood
that erupted from the belly of an orange tiger
who held my hand, and danced to the beats

my stomach remembers the feeling of pill bottles
emptied out; the tablets dissolved
coaxing me into warm slumbers, and forgetfulness
i miss the feeling of letting go
of love, of pain, of regret