If only I was a bit thinner
If only I got a bit taller
If only I didn't have to wear glasses
If only I got nice clothes
If only I could put a bright smile on my face everyday

If only I have enough confidence in myself
To show you how much I can be
In front of you

I commit myself to the homicide
of my thought-flowers.
I indulge in the **** -
Killing my darlings
for the sake of art and sanity.
What a paradox.
I have bloodied my hands
with it even so.

No more love-lite poetry!
No more adolescent chinks of the
pseudo-heart!
No more infantile fork-stabs
at the plate of kid-intellectualism!
No more Wikipedia pages
on thoughts
that can swallow computers
whole!

I'm killing my darlings
for the sake of art,
for the sake of sanity -
what a paradox.
Blood is flowing.

I'm a murderer of ideas tonight -
today I will write
about many of life's very few truths.
Like trees.
Like soil.
These are the only constants in mathematics.
These are the identities.

In my garden, I reach out
to crush an
almost-crimson hibiscus.
Petals squelching with skin and nectar -
no perfume.
The hibiscus roils, unliving.

Red pulpy mess;
heart out of chest.

drift unto

      the seamless abyss


             stars beneath your feet




      grass on your finger tips




                 head heavy




      body light




                                 here today




   gone tonight.


too much

   too soon


      


         nothing to take


               everything to lose.



  
                        I can't ask



                             could never tell you


              so



    goodbye sun,



                hello moon.