What do you want from me?
Do you want my love or my history?
Shall you accept these pieces of a man
living a life made of rusted ideas?

Are you willing to make love to an effigy?

I can give all that I am to you in a
single moment of purple ******,
but when the dawn comes,
my body turns to ash upon your bed.

Waking and you find the pieces of my
soul I left for you...my heart a burnt offering.

I am not a poet, not a man, not a person...
not the idea of love you were given.

I am pieces of a broken boy left to give you,
a love shaped and broken by the idea of love.

Pretending that there is something worth
hunting for deep within what I may have given.

I have nothing to give save emptiness.....
nothing but the desert sands.

I am going to make you love me,
but it will hurt.

Oft I've wondered
about the fallen tree
and loneliness,
this feeling.

And who can say,
does anyone
hear a flower cry
when it dies
in silent fields.

It's cold here,
lying
amongst
the fallen
petals.

...is the easiest one to answer.
Cry a little.
Love a lot.
Be a little angry,
Then make peace and move on.

Only look back
To enjoy or to learn.
Kick a little.
Hug a lot.
Look for the little things;

There's a god in every detail,
That never demanded your
Faith in it.
Frown a little.
Laugh a lot.

Remember lovers lost
With kindness and gratitude.
Be critical of your memories;
Choose your luggage
With care.

Some things are worth forgetting.
Let them go.
Look a lot. Taste a lot.
Smell a lot.
Close your eyes and

Listen a lot, to your breath
And that of the world.  
There's a wonderful lack of
Sense that makes perfect sense,
In everything.

There's meaning in it all.
There's meaning in us all.
The meaning of Life?
To never, ever think you need to
Find it.

Within
A realm of fantasy
My mind it takes control
Painting pictures
Photographs
Prepared within the soul

Imagination
Plays its hand
Cautions cast the style
What I see
Is what I am
And will be for a while

Perception
Leads a blinded eye
To where the path begins
For the moment
I shall wait
Right here so deep within

She likes an archaeologist
cos he does it in the dirt

and the older she gets
the more he likes to flirt

She likes the way he smells
in a faded work shirt

hard and lean
but not mean
just a little bit assertive

He still let's her roll
her own cigarettes

and handles her gently
like a gold statuette

while they dance
with the shadows
down low

you know.