Tender scalps
swollen lips
numb fingers
and bruised hips
tooth and claw
tear tender flesh
tears fall
the pain fresh
fingers clasped
sobs and gasps
...breathe
           I can’t
a sigh heaved
incant soft whispers
mantras in darkness
Chaos, my lover.

I am the open book

         no one bothers to read

I am the shoulder

         no one needs to cry on

I am the mind

         no one wants to be inside

I am the voice

         no one yearns to hear

I am the presence

         no one knows is missing

(11-2012)

She was an evil stepmother.
In her old age she is slowly dying
in an empty hovel.

She shudders
like a clutch of burnt paper.
She does not remember that she was evil.
But she knows
that she feels cold.

Love. The only feeling that is
HATE
FEAR
POWER
***
SACRIFICE
DEATH
LIFE
SADNESS
JOY
and so many others...to so many others...for so many others...

So why do we crave it?
Why do we blame it?
Why do we enslave it?
Why do we **** it?
Why do we steal it?
Why do we covet it?
Why do we lust for it?
How can this be love?

Love can be a sickness
A disease
A plague
A fog
A haze
An addiction
An affliction.

So why do they say it is better to have loved and lost then to never have loved at all?

Because we are all crazy. And we don't even know it.
And those of us who do are alone and can't control it.

I'm in love.
And I love it.

Hello sir,

Yes, I am empty once again

I feel like something must be wrong with me

For I have come to your shop more than usual

It's quite unnerving to be honest

To be so empty

I barely made it here

Excuse me?

You don't have anything left?

I surely have not gone through everything

Please sir, there must be a mistake

For I was not meant to be this empty

Please check the system

Compute again

For I cannot be this empty

Forever.

There was a Young Lady of Portugal,
Whose ideas were excessively nautical:
She climbed up a tree,
To examine the sea,
But declared she would never leave Portugal.

Slipping back the silent killer
Of phantom demons
Metallic enemies
I have seen the warm lake boil
Bacterial memories
By twos by threes
Beautiful like clean sheets
And unmarred pages
Wholly holy leaves
Of weeping willows
They are me
They never sleep
Uprooted and clean
Burning off the ticks and fleas
No trace
Departed history

Looking through your life
like a fish tank on the wall,
what you come to see
is not what’s seen by all.

Bubbles and formations
lurking in your path,
seeking all the answers
you may come to find that…

Fishy, fishy in the sea
won’t you one day come to me
through all this transparency.
Fishy, fishy in the sea.

Two fish, three fish, blue fish, green fish.
Which one will I be?
Bait the hook and cast the line
while I wait patiently.