Clumped claws
of supressed dirt
reach from
sunken ships
filled to the
brim with swollen
tongues and
bulging
with the bubbling breath
of voices drowned
in death
clinging to my
every step;
soiled bubble gum,
like mosquito bites on
my scalp..

They itch

I can't wait to live
so I do,
Yet i can't wait to die
but I do.

Kiss my cheek
go slaughter some sheep
I don't care
just get me to sleep

Happiness
is more cruel
in juxtaposition to
Sorrow
than Sorrow
itself

On my 15th story balcony
the view constantly captures my eye
the city lights reflected
like factories
in the sky

Can you see me now, mom
like a beacon in the night?
or does it pain you to see
I lost my way
and made it right?

On my 15th story balcony
if I lean out to the left
I see a home thats home no more
on the south shore
that I left

Mother, I can see you
on the couch where you
bear your load
of children who outgrow you
and a husband on the road

But its hailing mommy,
Can you see?
Things have gotten rough and you can call my bluff..
i still need you
so set me free

I guess what I'm saying
is I have no plan of straying
from what I've chosen for myself...
but that ache that you feel
i can tell you its real;
you can see it displayed on my shelf

It plucks at my heart strings
every day
a bittersweet lullaby
of what my youth knew
only yesterday

Nothing
I tried as best i could
to call forth
even the vague whisper of a memory

(like words that only reach the
back of your tongue,
a phantom thought
teetering
on the tip of remembrance
above the abyss of
a deeply buried past)

but even those shadows seemed to hide
in the deepest recesses of my subconscious;
teasing thoughts
that played with my conception
of reality
saunter no more
about this playground,
the landscape for my most wild
and torrid fantasies:
my imagination.

For it seems,
without the light touch
of times past,
this darkness,
that i feel
must have resided in me
since the beginning of time,
would never again lift
its heavy shroud
upon my soul
for the much needed
moments of peace this allowed me.

Despair permeated each particle of air I inhaled,
for who am I
if the whole of me
remains intact
only in the scattered minds
of those whose faces
no longer inhabit my dreams?

Truly, I believe the nightmares of this paranoid mind
have succumbed to reality


                                                       ­ for i fear I have, at last, become nothing,

Above the wanderers footsteps
I soar

                                                      does he see me, can he see?
Were he to look beyond
                                                          ­          Himself
perhaps he would steal

a glance of truth

                                                reflected­ like gold upon my wings

but he shrouds himself with
thorny leaves of pine
and the shadow ridden caves of his              home
will never be neighbor to                               mine

and as the wind ruffles my feathers
                                                        ­   can he feel it?
no, not like me

with all his trekking and searching he
has not yet learned to
let life's whispering breath
                                            lift his weathered feet
                                                            ­                    to higher depth.