The first time I found myself
suddenly, unexpectedly
in possession of a chance in Hell
to make love
with a beautiful girl,
I wrecked it.

Botched completely.

The mood was all wrong,
in my mom's empty apartment
on a pullout sofa.
No music.
Nothing worth drinking.
What was I thinking?

The girl was perfect,
and she moved like my dreams.
But
I was clumsy.
I'd had no practice.
Prophylaxis was a parlour game.
Impossible.
I came a half-dozen times.
Pearlescent rivulets flew everywhere.
But never when I wanted,
nor where, nor how.

We still talk,
years later,
but not about this.
She has her own children now.
I have my own children now.

But if ever I find myself divorced,
*******, I'd like a second chance
to strum the night sky
with the notes of her ecstasy
for the first time.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

Give the words a break
Let’s interact in silence
And go deep within
Only you and me
Listening to the hearts beat
Feel the pulse
Souls breathe freely
Yearning to come closer
Silence we speak
We've found our saying

And kid, no one is going to pick you up
from the tiles of the bathroom floor,
with wrists stained the colour of
your mothers favourite lipstick.
Imagine if she saw you now.
So stop waiting for them,
and stand the **** up,
because who ever said
that you couldn't do it alone.

Dying slow in the mountains seemed much easier than simply breathing at sea level.

I've been thinking that maybe I was happier when I was still drinking.

I tried to write a poem called Pointless and never made it beyond the title.

Dying seems easier than breathing at sea level.

r ~ 11/7/14

LIFE! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met,
I own to me 's a secret yet.
But this I know, when thou art fled,
Where'er they lay these limbs, this head,
No clod so valueless shall be
As all that then remains of me.

O whither, whither dost thou fly?
Where bend unseen thy trackless course?
   And in this strange divorce,
Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I?
To the vast ocean of empyreal flame
   From whence thy essence came
Dost thou thy flight pursue, when freed
From matter's base encumbering ****?
   Or dost thou, hid from sight,
   Wait, like some spell-bound knight,
Through blank oblivious years th' appointed hour
To break thy trance and reassume thy power?
Yet canst thou without thought or feeling be?
O say, what art thou, when no more thou'rt thee?

Life! we have been long together,
Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
   'Tis hard to part when friends are dear;
   Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;--
   Then steal away, give little warning,
   Choose thine own time;
Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime
   Bid me Good-morning!