I am a burning candle and I have burned out.
There is still a lot of wick left, though.
But I'm too drunk to find my lighter.
And who really gives a **** anyway.

She was little, smart and brave. Barely five
her thoughts reflected an older woman.
My sister looking at me to survive,
Her silly smile asking me this question…

Whatcha  gonna do when the day turns blue?
When the sky fills with the many lonely tears,
You ask and beg then nobody comes through.
You're left soaked to the bone when no one hears.

The day becomes all time, slowly filling
with blue. Overwhelming and contagious.
You can’t stop it, but you are not trying.
That’s what you have to do, fly when wingless.

Not because you can, but because you must.
Fill the world with the light inside your soul.
This is what I told her, and I began
to tell her of how a mare loves her foal.

The honey smell of thunder clouds, the feel
of a dog’s soft wet tongue rinsing your cares
down the drain. Every wound can start to heal.
Of sitting by a fire in big armchairs.

These are feelings she has yet to know. Soon
she will touch the velvet of a lambs ear.
My wise butterfly leaving her cocoon.
Of all I wish for you, one thing is clear.

Never feel the blue, and think no one will
break through.  Because you will be forever
laughing in sun. At last your worries still.
I will always be there your one anchor

Wake me up
I don't care how you do it
Or how dire the consequences

Kiss me
Shake me
Stab me

I promise I don't mind
Just please
Wake me up

I may seem so heavenly in all the things I say
The words that fly with silken wings may chase your gloom away
But I, in all, tell lies of love, for I've found not one that lasts
So I apologize to you for poems of the past
Tears fall continually into the pen with which I write my words
Manipulating romantic tendencies so I may somehow be heard
But even the most vile demon can speak words of honeydew
But all you'll find is with those words they run off to hell with you
So look at me beyond this shell and say those three words again
And if you find they are sincere, I will stay until the end
But until my scribblings on this paper turn to played-out verbs
Beware of me and of promises, for they may be only words...

days pass like other days, just
lullabies in single,
you, and me, and the end of everything:
how we had found thoughts, like life, unraveling,
in that pristine and angular field,
locked up- brilliant, crystalline, and in voices shaded pale cherry,
some statement of ephemeral lust, no doubt;
we've always been fools,
holding ideals, far too grand
for the size of our routine worries

and, now,
the clock's still claiming moments,
the faucet hasn't lost it's gauze, yet,
the radio's crackling paper moons, in sevenths,
and, me,
recalling a patchwork sentiment and, then, little charming you, you, you, you, you...

made up of scattered electricity, you always leave me lost and drowning;
drowning, drowning, drowning, and
watching those soft-changing colours, through the drifting canopy as
brine-soaked seafloors meander, take place, and
me, falling,
dreaming in shades of slow loss.

so, good night to all the lovers,
all the shimmering faces;
to all the lights of the cities,
all the pleading droplets of rain,
all the shortwave signals, furrowing their ways up north,
to all the heavyset expressions, long led goodbyes,
all the sorrows, left a mess for so many years.
good night, that is all,
good night.