loneliness is just nostalgia
with a certain melancHoly
singular in form and yet
ubiquitous in mankind's folly

lonelinEss is frank aliveness
knowledge pure and terrifying
often coming, rarely going
self and ego freely dying

Loneliness is distilled dreaming
bottled by the ancient sorrows
sculPted to an angry brew and
full of ifs and lost tomorrows

loneliness is midnight meals
Microwaved on plastic trays
and eaten with a bitter sigh
to pass away the empty days

and loneliness is self-deception
Ev'ry time we draw our breaths
for we forget we call the shots
yet still crash blindly t'ward our deaths

Within my soul I’ve found yours
Are they different?
They are one, they are one with the cosmos,
But our sub souls have a strong gravity acting on them,
A gravity unexplained by science,
A gravity we’ve chosen to name love,
Scientifically oxytocin creates this feeling, but oxytocin is a by product of this very gravity,
What we choose to believe is up to us
The sky is blue
Love is the fifth dimension
A day will come, far far away,
A collective surge of this gravity,
Will pull all creatures together,
There will be no anti love - no hunger no wars,
This dimension we only experienced in parts,
Will save us from our own destruction

'I love you, you know that?'
I say as I
brush his hair
behind his ear,
tear my gaze
from his own,
take two steps back,
don't look back,
         and finally let him go

the term is spiral
but it's more a
plummet, a drop
on a rollercoaster

a downward spiral
sounds like a waterslide
all smooth splashes
bubbles of laughter

but it's more like
the cutoff when your
heart jumps out of the
hole in your stomach
just hold your
hands up and scream

when some get sad
you spiral slowly
things pile up and
they slip and slide

when i get sad it's
freefall but i guess
i'm used to
bumps on rides

but it's all in the
way we fall

It’s easiest to write about the rain
As it rains
And it was easier to write about the pain
When there was pain
But now I don’t write much
Because there’s
Nothing
And
Everything
To talk about
More than enough to doubt
Very little to figure out
Sometimes a personal critic to fight
Before any work is even done
Let alone done right
Levying with the fatigue to propel
To propel forward
For ****’s sake, not back
And it’s not so easy to write
When you just write
And it was not so easy to write
This right

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.