The literature is in the leaves.
In my reading there are red spots
regardless of the page I choose.

Those with paint
of other colors
ripped me or are broken.

Look at them down the river,
made boats that do not float.

But I trust.
I trust in that child
that will find my Santa María.

And the day that I see him
being the captain and author
who scores down the chronicles of what will happen.

Sometimes I worry
Because you drink too much
And don't think enough

I can't tell if you're just careless
Or if you're self destructive
I don't think either is necessarily preferable

I can't blame you for what he did.
He chose you over me
But that doesn't mean I crucify you both
I must learn to accept that you were what he craved
Though I craved him so much more
You feel his lips
But I ... Well I tasted them the sweetness of the green leaf and the minty gum he used to hide it the crest tooth paste and the grape mouth wash
When his lips sparked with mine I could taste him
You feel his hug
But I .... Well I devoured that hug to get every ounce of lighting through my body as he nuzzled my neck making the giggly bubbles pop in the quite night air
You maybe lay in his bed
But I... Well I cuddled him like he was my bouy in the open sea guiding me to safety
...and now I'm drowning without him so you better say goodbye before I kiss the waves and hug the ocean floor cuddling with what is below

An act of random kindness
Is all it takes
Try it at least once a day
See what happens
It will come back
From somewhere unexpected

A stranger offered me a strepsil on the train
Because I was coughing
Breaking the rule of personal space
A smile a helping hand
And a losenge

Your home is your castle
But in a disaster
You leap the fence
To check on your neighbur
Because your family is safe
You don't have to but you do it anyway

Start an avalanche
Influence whats around you
Control it  Own it
Take charge of your world
Because we can make it a better place
Together

Twelve hours ago
I knew
I would see
The death of me

Some say
That unicorn free fountains
May be the product
Of an ancient code
Hidden in the runes
Of our ribs.

Sometimes after
Being bitten
Letters appear
On the gnarled
Wood bark of tree,
Or the plump
Roundness of fruit.

Speak on
The corners
Of your skin
As your fingers
Blink dark ink.

Often
At midnight
Have you felt
The horn
Grow
In the moonlight
As you caper?

Whinny and canter  
At the quarter
Past midnight,
And find the trails
of your alphabets.



A map to a place
Where your unconscious fountains
May run deep
Prance in **** truth
Much like stars
Skinny dipping
In dark
Familiar ponds.