Sometimes, it seems that everything
my heart keeps as truth
I take with me
and lock deep inside of I am sorry
as I breathe the air twisted in the places
where I sleep.  
Yet, there still exist nights
where there is no bed I can dream in
where I do not hear a melody
that feels naturally sweet.

Often,  I stand in the corner
of all I have missed
then find myself walking proudly
beside the wildest loneliness
lying deep inside of
my stubborn heart.  
Then suddenly,
my head clears inside of a silence
and I write poems
from the hands of angels
until the wildest loneliness
has to part.

I caressed your face in a picture of you
with fingertips wanting to know
how the light fills your eyes.  
Immediately my fascination turned
into a rushing drive
held perfectly in the middle
of where your heart touches the warmth
of all my memories.

These thoughts alone gather
to capture the moon,
can you not see me wrapped
in continuous seasons
when I walk under the same sky
above where you sit?
My mind wanders and I close my eyes,
wishing you were here,
my fingertips find your picture,
caress your lips.

A singer died
when he and I
were twenty five.
I think I found out
some weeks later,
playing his album to a friend.
"He's the one that died, isn't he?
Fell out a window?"

I was sorry
but unaffected.
I'd seen him on T.V.,
thought he sounded
a bit like me,
bought the CD.

Sixteen years on
I am pummelled with nostalgia
for a blithely immortal age.
My band broke up,
reformed, broke up,
I got married, had kids
became a teacher

But he sits
in the impregnable fortress of maybe,
always smiling,
twenty five
till the sun swallows the earth.

smiling not frowning not grinning
peculiar how with effortless crisp
cheeks unsentimental remember
your cheeks nearly my cheeks
oh and your lips were there too
don't let's forget how they tasted
like warm plum wine in a hot
little motel room in Eugene how
the sun felt like a delightful hammer
when we hadn't single thing to do
and we walked like nothing
everywhere because the van was
broke and we ate chocolate and
****** everynight

words being said in this open debate
frustrate our thought it's not that they are lies
nor traps and gluepots that we might devise
for maximum confusion of the great
and not so clever who would pass the gate
to make themselves seem honest to our eyes
for a short season till they get the prize
and can then smile unburdened by all freight
there is much honour in sticking to fact
in simple truthful measuring of all
that needs be said before the earnest crowd
but yet the ones who think silence is tact
and fail to understand the urgent call
are those with greatest need to hear things loud

we find no limits on these warming days
when the horizon beckons us to flee
out past the forest deep into the haze

for those indoors whose eyes are all aglaze
with lack of vision there's a thing to see
we find no limits on these warming days

our minds are liberated from the maze
of ordinary tasks we choose to be
out past the forest deep into the haze

where all of life has changed in this new phase
the rules are different both for bird and tree
we find no limits on these warming days

where light and colour mingle in one blaze
while heart and mind in peace have to agree
out past the forest deep into the haze

breaking the silence in melodious phrase
one chant of joy from mountain down to sea
we find no limits on these warming days
out past the forest deep into the haze