The garden is dark tonight while you have left my side. I am a stolen rib; the fruit upon the vine called to me

so sweetly.

But don't go into the dark and the deep, remember what you said to me, that we are these hollow children, we don't deserve to pay

these curses.

But the Earth sighs, "Oh, Adam."

I traded the wide open ceiling of the night sky and spring mornings,
the ever stretching further carpet of emerald goodness,
and floral scented air
for a four walled room,
with a nine foot ceiling,
and fifteen feet,
from here
to there.
No matter how long I walk around the box I am always
led back to the shuttered window by the bed.
The carpet is brown and the ceiling is white
but sometimes at night I can hear the crickets chirping
from a long displaced forest, from somewhere far away.
The music isn't always hampered by midnight sound pollution.
But the ceiling is forever lost
No more milky-way swirling in the deep, deep black
or the azure throw with diamonds spread across it's
threads and the blessed falling objects that I could reach up
and grasp with my tiny-child hands.
Though I can taste the water, the mercury  still offends
Stop thinking of the places that cannot be returned
and this quiet destruction,
For which I make no amends.

I think I would like to be out of my mind,
maybe with you, for a while.
So we started a practice of trading our cells
for the rapture of each other's arms.
No algorithms here, just alchemy and wine,
(This is all that we both can take)
No more of this, "Love? Are you my love?"
simply,
"I love how you taste."

Stuck,
I mold to the first touched
Hold to the surface much
like octopi twirling along
the ocean floor
Sticky,
pry candied fingers
from your sleeve
those residual molecules
of me, steadfast
to the point of discomfort.

It just so happens
That I have done everything.
EVERYTHING, you know.
In public, no less.
Well
As public as an elevator can get.
They were all fantastic. I have a sixth
Sense about them, you see
I separate the great ones from
The unbeddable, insecurable, unreliable
and then
We leave.
“We should do this again.”
And sometimes we would. But
Sometimes

I wish I had been
One of Those Girls
Raised in the church
White dress Easter
White as lambs
Donttouchboys
Donttouchdirt
God is your husband
The Earth is circled
by the Sun

You think it would be nice,
First kiss to ever come
On a day filled with White
And to know that your To Be
Has never been Anywhere
with Anyone
Like
Me.

Please
Please, I don't want to be a poet
Not one of those dripping wash-cloths of a writer
Who tires the eyes with words like
Evermore
or
Asunder
Not a poet
Who          thinks
Ridiculous spacing
Like this is cool

God
Can’t I be something respectable

lawyer
astronomer
doctor
proctologist!

I’d rather mine real ******* than those attached to aesthetes.

My voice grows thin and wan
like flower buds surviving,
pale green, too pale to stay.
When will the sound beat upwards to the sun?
Not speaking/ merely words -
singing with the tulips,
Humming like the bees in spring,
Capella, Forte, I want to sound like the roses
who belt and  weave the most robust of songs.

When will I **** out this disastrous black thumb choking out my arias
every last one.