I lowered my bucket into the well of words
And raised it up, hand over fist,
While syllables and phrases sloshed about,
Some spilling over
In my eagerness to drink them deep.

Oh, how I wanted to be filled up.


The words poured out,
And they emptied into the clay jar of my disconnected soul,
Rubra terra terra firma incognita
Plant me deep and water these roots.
(Am I real? Will I always be?)

And oh, how they filled me up.

I spoke the words aloud,
And they slithered between the cracks of my shattered glass self,
Amber crackled sunlight streaming right on through,
It looked like I would go on forever (and ever, ever)

And oh, the words broke me open.

Dear soul, you've got a lot to say. Speak.
Dear brain, you've always been right. How?
Dear legs, you've always been my strength. Fall.
Dear arms, you've been the ones to raise me up. Drop.
Dear nose, you've revealed all the fakes. Sniff.
Dear eyes, you've seen the game of life. Blind.
Dear heart, you've shattered with every tear. Heal.
Dear me, you've survived through it all. Break down.
Soul, when will you acquire your voice
And give your long awaited speech?
Brain, how could you have been so right
When everything seemed so wrong?
Legs, when will you give out
And scar from the fall?
Arms, how have you been able to hold me up
When everything else was pulling me down?
Nose, when will you expose me?
Eyes, when will you stop functioning
And go dark to the world?
Heart, how will you piece yourself together
When I cry every day?
Me, I'm sorry.

the floor turned into something strange and i fell through the floor.
in the basement looking up at clouds and lightning; kinda frightening.
tried to climb the stairs to reach the surface; there was nothing there.
by nothing i mean clouds and air; not my sofa nor my chair.
an angel flew to me from somewhere; kicked me in the face.
"you can't be up here, stupid boy." it morphed into an octopus.
octopus and angels? what? did someone drug me in my sleep?
i sat atop my dryer contemplating what to do.
the floor beneath the dryer also transformed into something strange.
my dryer and i fell through the sky for twenty-seven minutes.
we landed in a cemetery; our parts were tossed amongst the graves.
the acid rain then melted every living thing on earth away.

i wonder if her toes crack
if she sneezes three times
if i dipped my fingers into all that hate would they
come out black

dripping ink.

you know, i tried to remember
last year and how that felt.
i tried to remember and i’m drawing a blank.

a splattering of starlight
a shattering of salt on her lips and
the way she spoke to him.


i’m not sure if this hurts you.
the way it’s always about a girl.

All this petty worry
while the great cloak
of the sky grows dark
and intense
round every living thing.

All this trying
to know
who we are
and all this
wanting to know
exactly
what we must do.

But what is precious
inside us does not
care to be known
by the mind
in ways that diminish
its presence.

What we strive for
in perfection
is not what turns us
into the lit angel
we desire.

What disturbs
and then nourishes
has everything we need.

What we hate
in ourselves
is what we cannot know
in ourselves
but what is true to the pattern
does not need
to be explained.

Inside everyone
is a great shout of joy
waiting to be born…

Everything around me swirled

like ink in the rain

drastically surging waves crashing

against me, stringing what I couldn’t quite grasp

across my entirety

until I lay helpless, inside myself

because I had no idea

how to put your pieces back together

even if it was in my place to do so

even if you let me

I wanted to stitch you back to

someone who was happy

but I kept forgetting

how to understand

the world around me

as a stage and choreography

I knew that I wanted to blurt my next line

but the cue was never given

and all these things

wrapped ropes around me

choking my words

chaining them to my lungs

and I meant to try

but I just don’t

know

how.

*i’m sorry.

I like you.
Or at least I like who I am when I'm with you.
When I look into your eyes,
I'm on a different planet.
I've always liked you...
Even before everyone else did.
I still do...
And I don't know if its worse if you know,
Or worse if you don't.

I used to think that rolling up my sleeves
was a challenge.
Show me what you’re made of.
But time has no meaning to me
Anymore.
My scars mingle
on the in and out
and nothing
new or old
means much
Anymore.