I am an ocean.
And
you have
polluted every
inch
of me.

We are out of eternal bliss
Let me kiss the mauve like lips
Let me kiss the cheeks like new born petals
We are out of eternal bliss

Let me lie between your two malleable hills
Oh my love! My love is out of eternal bliss
Your body- where the pearls are dancers
The pigeon’s hairs are your hairs
Let me go to meet my maker! Let me breathe my last breath! We are out of eternal bliss

I want to feel the feelings, you feel for me,
The rhythms of my lines are calling thee
Sing the heart-beat song that transports me
The rhythms of my lines are calling thee

Open your closed eyes, afraid not- the eyes of the heart are fliers
Our fortune is unfortunate we are out of eternal bliss!

East of the sun and west of the moon, there are no people. No sidewalks, no cities, no cars or trucks or malice.
East of the sun and west of the moon, the sky is a perpetual sunset, a fan of rich golds, sultry reds, blushing pinks, and misty purples. A rosy glow paints the grass and hangs about the trees in a slow dreamy way. Here the rain pours down from the stars, made of shadows cast off.
It melts the roses.
The green and red and pink all swirl like cotton candy. From the ground rise the lives we've denied, delicate and ethereal, on stained glass wings.
Here is a culmination of every dream ever put to paper or whispered into the softness of twilight.
Here is every private wish and secret longing captured.
Here, they live.
East of the sun. West of the moon.

It's quiet now.
And there is this feeling that's been with me my whole life.
It's like the whole world is with me, in my heart.
All the ages all together.

The earth is sad.
Not in a desperate way, a young way, but in an old way.
The kind that settles in you.
Eventually it becomes an obsession.
It's more beautiful and meaningful than anything there is.
And the ugly things make the world sad.
They have to be there, to keep alive the wanting, and the waiting.
The longing and the wistfulness.
The lack.

Existing is all about knowing what you're without.
When forever looms in both directions and you can't possibly hold all the feelings of everyone who's ever existed,
That emptiness is what makes it possible to feel all the joy and pain of everything that's ever been.
It's beyond anything one person could feel on their own.
It has to be borrowed, because I've never done anything or seen anything to make me so happy or so sad.
This is the feeling that makes me alone.

Once, I heard them say
I am the night,
you are the day.
The midnight controlled.
Our bodies network together,
Spiderwebs are inspired through us.
no one can have, what we achieved.
So short on time,
but all those days,
I dressed for you.
The night hides the secrets
you have trusted with only me.
the day proves we are stronger
than any earthly force.
Religion Families, or Fear
they build us up, they tear us down.
But these egale feathers
that grow under our skin,
someday with show,
and lift us far from
the life we live, and
bring us too the life we choose.
Dress Nice,
Dance *****,
my baby please dont leave me.
I've lost you once I cant go again.
Abraham and Issac,
one control one fear,
funny with us it always,
goes goes goes to the bible.
take the fear
that holds us back,
put it in a cage, and throw it to the stars,
make your wish
as it flies by,
the planets moon.
I hold onto you
Neptune, Big and Blue
like my still beating heart.

The art of the geniuses
is packed like overstuffed crayons
in the alleyways of my city.
That one is picking his nose.
There is the bench-sleeper.
Here comes the nomad with the stroller.
I watch them carefully like
a soldier on an ambush,
bayonet at the ready,
a little drunk on
self-worth.
They approach and I pause.
I put the camera to my face
and press the shutter.
Turning to me their eyes
beam sorrow.
The nose picker slept alone last night,
the nomad is still lost.

In black and white they
will forever navigate the crawl spaces
of my mainframe.

When I got to my first English class in college
the professor asked us
how would you describe yourself?
there were some pretty responses
I'm a leaf floating down stream
I'm a tree slowly growing
I'm a bird leaving the nest
It was my turn
A boulder,
huh?
please elaborate,
Well teach, it's like this
I'm not alive in the same sense as the others
I don't grow or change on my own accord
no I sit still
silent
immovable
stubborn
I take in what goes on around me
since the beginning of time
until the end of time
time means nothing to a boulder
My cracks are representations
of the choices and actions of those around me
and I'm still sitting still
long after they have passed
stationary,
but don't try to move me,
because once I get going
I only get harder to stop
So that's me
a cold boulder
only capable of what
the world around me permits