this heart is like
smoke hanging
in the air
when the ashes crumble
into living things
and it's all
illusions
pressing the clock hands
waiting for your breaths
to come raspy.
who could love what's never been alive?
but he did
he did
"you never had a funeral",
he said
and "when i looked into your eyes
i knew something like that;
those soul windows-
could never be dead."

Tonight, the waves seem gentler
and the moon's white light curves softly to me
The trees cease their restless shaking
and urge my thoughts to sit peacefully
inside my head, so they do, they do
And my feathery heart meditates
to the ocean waves and its breeze

I have become the wind again
It plants braids into my tree bark hair
My skin, like flower petals
ripen and bloom and fall
from my arm branches in rivulets
to join the cool night and quiet air
While my toes **** life
from cold, dark earth

"Let me live," I chant,
"Let me live and feel life."
The waves, they listen
and lap at my feet
and rock me, rock me
to and fro

"Let me live and feel life,
Let me live and feel life."

Loving him was like finding a new book
Not knowing what it's about or even if your going to like it
But you open that first page and fall in love with the words
Needing to read more and more
Picturing what your reading
But then you come to those last pages
Ending of the book the book you fell hopelessly in love with
Finishing the book you don't know what to do after all the hope and all the feelings you had for those characters are gone.
Are just a memory in your mind
That you have to play over and over again
To fell like it was real again
Leaves you empty and broken
until you find that next book.
Leaving a new mystery for you to slove.

Eat your fill from
the fat of my land.
Shackle my bone
break my hand.
Leave this place to me,
when you go.
You weren't there,
but I don't know.

In a forest
we two meet.
Stars ad nauseum,
but no sleep.
And here and there
go our feet.
No words
compromise this greet.

Lose yourself
in the music of now.
Pull on the ribbons,
make me bow.
But don't forget me
when you leave.
Broken man,
his heart on his sleeve.

Could you catch
a wild thing?
Could you tug
it's heart string?
Could you keep
a wild queen or king?
On our fingers,
bound by this ring.

Goose bump flesh
will be our warning.
Keep my soul
trapped in this morning.
And find me waiting
as I always do,
hoping the next person
to come along is you.

Reach for me
when I'm not there.
Feel my fingers
in you hair.
Step by step,
side by side we ascend a stair.
All these things, and more,
I cannot bear.

There is a kind of weather where you feel naked, floating in a warm bath.
A gush of wind imitates water as it brushes past.
Your fingers create rippling rings in puddles you touch
And in those moments, you can't help but notice the world is quiet and hushed.
Slowly you watch the ripples ebb to their limit,
And it reminds you that this world is merely a planet  
That waxes and wanes, and rushes like warm water.
But you know it's more than just nature to an author,
It's a place where wind makes you feel vulnerable and licks at your skin
and the rare occurrence of weather like this, renews life in your heart yet again.

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
and doesn't know the crew

I never tell her my story
She reads every page herself
She never touches the exhibits
the essences of me
elegantly
arranged upon the shelves

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad shes just a friend
and never knew the crew

She paces in silence
Slight smirk under her eyes
As she wanders around my gallery
galaxies
analogies of abnormal realities
Seen from within the guise

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And will never know the crew

Every so often she pauses
Her footsteps resound
The curator looks up interested
and solicited
a reaction uninhibited
From a mind profound

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And doesn't want to know the crew

Her analysis is always unique
And as if she was the artist
The curator thinks, in retrospect
she is correct.
As she walks out the exit
Her path is marked by a trail of stardust.

She always knows
She always knows what to do
I'm glad she's just a friend
And is unknown to the crew