She draws hearts on her skin,
On her pale now red flesh
'Cuz she doesn't feel the slim.

Concept: It is dark out and I can see all of the stars. One by one they fall to Earth, into my room, and light up all the dark parts of myself.

I guess I should be happy
I got the job I wanted
I got a warm home
Back with family
It all looks great on paper...
I guess it was all great before too...
It wasn't that bad.
So what pushed me off the edge
Why did I run off?

I guess I just got tired
Of seeing you.
Not seeing you.
Not understanding.
The subtle hints
And all the contradictions.
Everything I thought I wanted
Embodied within you.
The one I couldn't have.

Shallow syntactical grappling
Love songs forever rearranged
Hook is loose lips exchanged
Spying your mind for crackling
Let me in, I hear that rattling

Fire imagination and singeing
Marbles liberating love call
Pow perplexes inspiring awe
Superficial burn's impinging
All hung on passion's hinging

Pay no attention grammatical
Cryptanalysis of undiscovered
Love themes and talents discolored
Smothered a world so fanatical
As true love very mathematical

Like glass ***** zipping out ringer
You shoot beyond my orbit
This game I am about to forfeit
How dared is this heart stinger
Winner of game, a zinger

harvest hearth softly glowing
stone cold beneath weary feet
to winter between drafty walls
to recall what it is to feel

diminished window of light
door shut against inclemency
to slumber and dream without
to lose and find self within

time is ripe for apparitions
so unexpectedly haunting
cloaked in familiarity
heartflutteringly intrusive

daydreams are her elixir
scent of tea, turf, baked porter
dusted in peat ash patina
awakening dormant senses

...an invitation to a nice, soft night

Ambient reverberation of car tyres on dry asphalt,
Engines roaring their melodious tune
Never once did the noises surrounding ever halt
As I move my attention to the moon.

The moon had a different shade of blue and grey
Its light warms my shivery shoulder
Beauty is in the beholder as humans always say
But beauty is in simple things like solder.

I've arrived at a junction where stars are simple,
They are the tiny specks of unformed moon
Like the little indentation on faces known as dimples
They are the beauty of a deflated balloon.

A deflated balloon will remain beautiful
Always more than its purpose, dutiful,
For it represented happiness and fun,
No one ever looked sad holding a balloon...

Is it still poetry if I put my hands to paper and words spill out?
Cascading like rivers with no due course
Is it still poetry if I don't know what I'm saying?
Only that the words forming in front of me are mine alone
Is it still poetry if I cry while I'm writing it?
Tears falling into the page and blooming new phrases, like spring flowers

Is it still poetry if the whole world sees me from the inside, out?
Is it still poetry if I lose myself writing it?
Is it still poetry if they cannot find me?

I had a dream I was falling
through blue sky and stars
falling, falling, falling,
crash   jolt,   wake up
And find I am still falling
through this bedframe
and the floorboards
down to the molten earth
falling, falling, falling
crash   jolt,   darkness.