be my opposer,
shoulder cricket, you.
show me the deeds
of the now.

instruct me, the good,
and make it in to,
the whistle glad steps
of the how.

I see the grace walking,
but not in things that i do,
I wrestle my name
on the bough.

my understand's lacking
as I shoot for the True,
and sail, through
uncertainty clouds.

you're knots,
you're feathers,
you're tall-stones and rings

no longer the cleverly low

the ****,
the burn,
and memorly things,

the mooniest shadow of snow


you raced,
you lost,
you learned the cost

your being, a needley find

as a shed
for rust,
love-oxides trust,

and your Evers is oxygen pined

Did you know what you saw?
Did you know what you felt?
The half murmured confidence,
Of meteoric bells.

Did you shy from your musedom,
To protect beyond self?
Did you frame your desire,
Or put your wants on the shelf?

You embolden my patience.
You set to spirals, my grace.
My heart left to tilting,
From not merely a face.

I wake to remember
my sunroof is open.
I wake to leave words on the path.

I wake like a gardener
illiterate in Nature,
who nonetheless prays for the math.

The Solemn shows Wicked
the chess pieces burning.
a light that gives fuel is its task.

I wake just to tell you
my sunroof is open.
My words, as the rain's, not to last.

hand it true,
she is not dead,
though my heart-
needs it so.

sit my still,
and pass the dread,
fill my grief,
to let her go.

all things off,
and close my eyes.
let resonate-
that love.

            (removal sounds)
                 (testing 2)

                                 what truths
                              might
                                       my
                       spirit allow

       such saturated
                                                pain


                                 acknowledged loss
                             and
                        heart shelled tossed

          my center's hope
                                                   remains

my center's hope
        remains



I cast the loss to winded seas.
With faith, replacing burns.

An end in sight,
With fairer light,

I sit now in
        
                                         the grieving learn.

          I sit still in,

                                                       the grieving learn.

Feather the links now,
I'm hoppity wide.
My self sight may shrink
Til I stumble my stride.

I'm often the cutter,
Of wit, more than skin.
Attack me with caution as
Meet wears patience thin.

I'll dropkick your efforts,
And sweat through your pores.
My tongue, I'll not *****
While your ears left with sores.

My buy polar bearings
Have spun me til stressed.
You best let me be now,
My button's depressed.

Green fairy providing,
The long lip sliding.
With thoughts passing
Words and naught.

But what do they mean,
These elephant screams?
Except that I'm ok
In knowing self ought.

Talk to me friendly,
And as though we have met.

The angels are giggling,
And some without regret.

Talk to me tongue tied,
Or till blue in the face,

Hand in hand converse,
Thougts in embrace.

I'm not ready to feel you.
I'm not ready to know.
So I'll make wordy rhythms,
That I shove into poems.
I'll think that I'm clever.
And hope that you'll smile.
I'll shrug with, "no muse here",
But write all the while.

strings and kittens
are
boys and girls

that's what the nobody says


a lay from the thoughtless
a love for the turn-wit

i walk while withouting the beds

With slipknot slack
And darkened silk,
My breathing sets to skip.

With lust for love
And versa drags,
A swelling waits for lips.

I feel you only.
The tease, the tight.
With tick tocks set to drip.

I struggle bound
The pleads, the fight.
Your flower's handled slip.

i am the like of you
you're the here of me too
i'm the constance between
you're the love me unseen

i'm the felt top left fence
you're the bareness repents
i'm the take true to leave
you're the endless receive

we're the crawl into two
we're the space that we knew
we're the crashing aboves
we're the pundits of love

Her soul on its side
Is a brick I won't fix.
Her soul on its side is a star.

I burn as she cracks,
The shine laying tracks.
I follow them, picking up scars.

I'll linger not long here,
The scent soon may fade.
Though I'd easily gather crumbs from afar.

I'll catch what I can,
This poet- a man.
Her soul on its side is a star.

You're not the bobble that I left,
Just the healing I forget,
Just the hook.
You're not the line,
You're not the tow.

You're not the hours that I sleep,
Just the darkness of the deep,
Just the book.
You're not the turn.
You're not the close.

Will I walk?
The tempers rise.
And at my best, the heater dies,
Becoming breath,
By easy dance,
One with the field.

Of mirrored love,
And ego cries,
Feel buried truth as sown to rise.

A letting go,
As water flows,
Become the Yield.

I struggle and fight,
To paper the light,
That crests under muscle and bone.

So caught is the skin,
The lux, and the thin,
That rides under shadow and tone.

The charcoal I savor,
And touch what I gave her,
This presence, this memory mine.

So journaled her beauty,
With deepening duty,
My happiness-
          
                                        her infinite line.

I want a blanket named crash
and a pillow named home.
Save tears for the foreword,
I'll return before long.

Sleep-sing me, Glasscatter,
the metal twists sweet.
The headlight's no Source.
Let oil, as blood, seep.

I turned, not for nothing,
little bird in the road.
We took flight, singing softly,
so glad that it showed.

You can't tell now,
And don't ask how I know
But I promise
My bones are blue.

I've not been a fish
For thousands of years,
A near past though as
Sailor and whale.

Treading stones like a quake.

We've dipped so recent, so well.
Ache rests like a sinner
With naught to do.

I'll return again, indeed.
But not till you've seen

Just as I promised,
That my bones are blue.

cool, glass favors
and steep, narrow stairs,

and I'm just a boy as a murmur.

nightgown elicit
and curving's entranced

and a boy well set up for a fervor.

with all borders destroyed
on the floor by her bed

and an innocence thrown out to sea.

I sit on this isle now,
well alone and awake,

searching for a raft

made by me.

As the young woman pulled
Her straight hair from around
The long slender of
The back of her neck,
I found gratitude in my regard.

And today,
There is no loneliness in sight.

A little white ball, misshapen, waiting, on the floor.
Waiting for me. For how long, I couldn't say. Though I'm quite certain every so-called decision I've made in my life has led me to this very moment of noticing. Noticing a ball of cotton, waiting for action, from me.
The eternity I fall into after merely seeing it, is sufficient.
Bones sliding amid muscle, to bend, and there is no foreground, no background, no debt, no ex, no somethingness, no nothingness.
All comes to this,
to this non-action.

I retrieve it.

My ego finds its foot in the door.
And I don't quite whisper
to the little ball of cotton,

"That I might die with
a trace of humility,
that much even."

Eyes set
with raven silhouette,
and she's not unlike my twin.

And with every effort
to take her pain,
I breathe.


I've practiced long
to draw these lines.


I found her face-


                                  relief.

i am destructed,

    a coiled infant
     waiting for response,

i want it as secret no longer


keep me instructed,

        such toiled nonsense,

                  submitted, well-blinded, and stronger



       can it be merely lust?

                   the warm, hellish stone says no.


i do as i must,

              please You and sink,  un-

      til you let me go.


                                                           ­           
                                                     ­           throw me as hard as You can,

                                      dark hair, we're friends,

                         and,


i
     am


destructed.

Pressed against
And blackened since,
Eyes meet lips meet love.
But when used so loosely,
She sends, "Choose me"
Happy?
Don't look up...


Caressed again,
And lacking since,
Eyes met lips made love,
But when used so confusedly
He don't choose, but
Happily asks,
"Did we just make love?"


Walking behind that boy,
Was me-not bad,
One beautiful then sad
One more fierce than sad...

If pain is a factor
And loss is a gain.
If pain is a factor
And loss is a gain.


She's dressed again
And packing since,
Eyes made lips made love,
But when used so lucidly,
She don't choose him.
Happily, she says,
"You know, this ain't love!"

Walking behind that girl,
Was me-not bad,
One more beautiful, then sad
One more fierce than sad.

If pain is a factor,
And loss is a gain.

If pain is a factor,
And loss is a gain...

If pain is a factor,
And loss is a gain...

Then love as a constant,
Is exactly the same.

I didn't know I was paper,
did you?
I was drawn upon, and re-cycled,
It's true.

I've been canvas and clay,
and crayons for days,
cornflower, periwinkle,
plain blue.

I've been stretched over bars,
and chiseled away,
an assemblage
so grateful for glue.

I've been made,
so I've created.
I've expressed, as I felt.
I've been inspired,
and inspiration.

I've been you.

she gross,
but I grosser,

will to take her back
as I would, in a
heartbeat

love,
hate,

a congress
of hypocrisies,

set upon cedar flakes,

and matchless.

etymolo gicilato
pervy and scribe
justa lovidactil
otta wormsandside

ima scribble bluey
evological snide
scriptiburgis outcast
meatiyum pride

urdadidafactus sum
party thatribe

looping over cants
and the meaningless tide

looping over cants
and the meaningless tide

I want nothing and all
I want throatchase and falls.
I want spiteful endears,
And ricochet tears.

I want colliders with nothing to lose.


I want crashes indebts,
And bombadier pets.
I want cleft incoherence,
And bookies for parents.

I want you to know how to choose.


I want pratfalls regarded,
And paradigms parted.
I want sickly verbatim,
And writings circadian.

       I want you,
            I want you,

I want you.

As lust and sentiment
Stir my thoughts,
Today,
I miss the showers

feathery coontscounce on
the puck for playing.
a lavender make-up for rest.

the lack that you love
isn't empty bar-taking,
you fever the fount as it's bent.

you're lucky, you're karma,
you are what you're clinging,
you're love as it's breaking

you're Stress

Might you please be my lever,
If I were too clever?
Might you clean, knock me off of my horse?

Might you promise to tell,
Or simply say, "What the hell?"
If I diverged, as a matter of course?

Might you keep me in check,
If my line loses tack?
And remember the all that I've been?

But still pass me a note,
To keep me afloat,
That reads, "It's ok, luv,
You're still learning to swim"?

So sits it in the darker settlements;
In the glade,
In the long grass,
My whimsy hides, or is hidden.

With the turning trees still visible,
And the near waters just audible,
I remain graspy-greedy,
And long for lightheartedness
Of sunlight,
Of those connection warms.

And so, with steps imperceptible,
Leaving muddled footprints,
I walk on...

You're not in a rut, luv.

It's merely in a tide pool you sit,
waiting on a new moon high
to meet an autumn swell full.

Find a lax flow, dear,
till comes the gentle ebb.

Slightest grasps at your elbow.

You'll see...

the both of us.

etch a sketch
thus blank me please
shake it lose
and shake me free

so clear my mind
erase my heart
even the new
does give me starts

the pain in wants
the ache in needs
my belly turns
butterfly deeds

I want the quit
so spare her eyes
please strap me down

       lobotomize

She savors it sweetly,
The knowledge: he's watching.
She smiles at the lock of his sight.

His pride tries to warn him,
"Such endeavors will burn you."
Thus, he wrestles the strength of her night.

He searches through tangles,
He rifles through reason.
He pulls at the knots in his might.

"Relax, little one,
This will all soon be over,
Though enjoyed is the show of your fight."

next to you
my words are small
they clamber for the warm

they seem outweighed
by truths you house
yet long to know your form

they tell me low
'suggest the touch'
but fear to risk the torn

their meaning slack
your ecliptic
tide so shapes my morn


i wait the days

i wait the days


i long to see
and read that face
that subscript giving clues

not wrong to hope
nor out of place
to wonder-wait my cue

i smile the day
remembrance laced
so think what might i do

to find myself
new sea moon night
          again
                   right
                               next to you

What you doin' there, Left-eye?

seems you got me confused with somebody else.
standing there ****-lacked with surance
like a stand,
a bird-tooth,
a shelf.

your minory flagrance the runge-jakes,
your fiery holes for birth.

I'm happy enough in the meaningless,
a taxi, directless and first.

I doubt in the walls like a showdown.
I drink the saloon like it's fate.
I'll shave all the mis-hands from struggle,
and pretend I can wake before eight.

you wither the real when it's comfy.
you dote on the fair like a lake.


The wrestling season is over.

We won out,

                                      the Golden Mistake.

there will be
only a shallow,

pleasured connection
til you learn
to tie the knots of my youth

into something new
and your own

or until,

you can teach me
to burn 'way the noose.


I found
on my own
with a struggle-pack demon

that the years never pass
with abuse,

so let's
'eye to eye'
with a love-wagered reason

and baggage all this kink

into use.

a thoughted beast,
neither poet, nor man,

let his words construct themselves.

without a care to show
on sheet or screen, (let them),

no need to be, or grow.

with arms to forget
under closing eyes,

with a prize of
only silence,

like the shushing grass,
unaware

of even its green.

i shoot my dinner
and rinse the glass
my patience waits
for overpass
i'll have a second
    just to rush the hour

i love my life
well, parts at least
that lonely lust
doth shape the beast
that finds me at the mirror
    feeling sour

i everspan
my thanks in true
such luck i've had
in finding you
i grovel seed
    while you so gather flowers

i'll rule my world
expressive here
but catch you not
your soul so dear
   to me
              it seems
     so useless
                 are my powers


the lucky me
            the lucky me
   i see desire
                           the  lucky me

Please turn me, lovely,
Such wretched figure,
Swaying, laced, and coy.

Please, lay me, lonely,
Trade flesh for peaceful,
Compulsion's little toy.

I'll write nocturnal,
Though feel full daily,
This ownership you've made.

I'll fight desire's
Sweet, dark fires.
My dues are all but paid.

with pill-
more happies
and getting things done

without-
sit expression
knowing one equals one

with pill-
keeping blood draining
thinking at bay

without-
know the me
and the just what to say


the struggle
the turning
  the struggle
   and learning

               the deepen
                 the reap and
                    I keep
                        so to speak

                (this,)

  the falling
    the landing
       the focus
          expanding
  
                                    ­  and

                                                       when will I see  _ _ _  again?

Love poems rot,
The sensical knots.
I tie, overflowing, the dread.

The Pickwitkin Heavy,
The Verveberry Wedding.
Such shanks, still stuck in my head.

My memories loosen,
The Stopshift Tallcluesen,
Cut to myself dreaming in red.

Full throttle forward,
I'll sail ever toward,
My untying your knots from my bed.

My words love their forms,
My thoughts love their eyes.
I cheat under paper,
And oft draw their wiles.

My hands want for reaching.
My skin wants for love.
But with distanced desire,
My musings are gloved.

So I'll see you in Knaught-touch,
That nymphaeum dream,
I'll kiss you such letters,
Nuzzling alphabet stream.