It is in those broken moments we find ourselves,

Torn to pieces, with no explanation –

A dark crevasse molded to fit our shape,

Holding our deepest thoughts, encasing our forgotten spirit,

We tend to allow ourselves to be encompassed by this abyss –

Explaining to ourselves the need to dwell on the darkened past,

Swallowed by its projection of memories,

Sprayed upon the walls of our mind like murals –

An endless catacomb of images, seemingly permanent in their manifestation…



It is in those broken moments, that we find ourselves.

Seemingly unbearable days, leading to sleepless nights,

Dreading the thoughts that creep their way to our dreams –

Resting in an endless adaptation of our subconscious,

Playing out their roles, as if upon a Shakespearian stage…

Each thought, acting its part with tragic precision,

Layer upon layer, scene upon scene…

Reaching back to grasp our inception of reality –

Griping its contents, and strangling the ideas to exhaustion; gasping…



It was in those broken moments, that we found ourselves,

With a weighted world pressed firmly upon our chest,

The ebbing soil began to crumble –

Giving light to the somber path traversed…

Filling the now hollow crevasse with purpose and meaning,

Each memory defined by the silver lining expressed in love –

The fleeting darkness, swallowed by the over-whelming feeling of home…

Finding it in the simplicity of a kiss, and the certainty of an embrace,

It is here that we find ourselves,

In the intricate details and delicate idiosyncrasies –

It is in those broken moments we find ourselves,

Torn to pieces, with no explanation –

A dark crevasse molded to fit our shape,

Holding our deepest thoughts, encasing our forgotten spirit,

We tend to allow ourselves to be encompassed by this abyss –

Explaining to ourselves the need to dwell on the darkened past,

Swallowed by its projection of memories,

Sprayed upon the walls of our mind like murals –

An endless catacomb of images, seemingly permanent in their manifestation…



It is in those broken moments, that we find ourselves.

Seemingly unbearable days, leading to sleepless nights,

Dreading the thoughts that creep their way to our dreams –

Resting in an endless adaptation of our subconscious,

Playing out their roles, as if upon a Shakespearian stage…

Each thought, acting its part with tragic precision,

Layer upon layer, scene upon scene…

Reaching back to grasp our inception of reality –

Griping its contents, and strangling the ideas to exhaustion; gasping…



It was in those broken moments, that we found ourselves,

With a weighted world pressed firmly upon our chest,

The ebbing soil began to crumble –

Giving light to the somber path traversed…

Filling the now hollow crevasse with purpose and meaning,

Each memory defined by the silver lining expressed in love –

The fleeting darkness, swallowed by the over-whelming feeling of home…

Finding it in the simplicity of a kiss, and the certainty of an embrace,

It is here that we find ourselves,

In the intricate details and delicate idiosyncrasies –

We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?

Smooth cool waves
Wash the banks. Gently they
Roll, in harmony with the
Tanks. Unnatural thunder
Carries the ground.

The creek shimmers bright,
A reflection of starlight
On a background of blaze.
Firesmoke clouds and thick haze.

On the right the tanks
Subside, the flames
Have caught their eyes.
The creek laid border
To destruction against disorder.

Slowly the metal creaks
And trembles. The watery
Banks protect the tanks

But the flames draw closer.
Just a short while
‘Till they bleed over.

Fires burn the banks away.
No border can stop the
Blaze. Nature engulfs
The tanks of man.

Day after Day the
Fires burn nights.
Crimson and orange wisps
Hide the starlight.

When the fires subside
All left is nature’s pride.
The creek flows on,
A path to my dreams.

The tanks have overrun
The fires wake has only
Begun.

Arising from the ashes
New life comes in dashes.
To drink from the spring,
The crossroad of fire and machine.

In the lamplight
       the little girl trudges home
head down
      step weary
                thoughts heavy
                         mind on the past
               of dreams and hopes
      forsaken and realised
thinking how a dream is no longer as good
      when it happens
                           a let down
a prelude of nothingness ahead
             and the effort of forging another goal
      as having none
is the distant tree with no branches
              no balance
nothing for the wind to make music
       and once inside the house
               in her lonely bedroom
she removes her hat and gloves
          putting them carefully away
                 but leaving her coat on the bed
she looks in the mirror
                seeing an elderly lady look back
         with a knowing smile
experienced
        and worldly
and wonders why she took so long
                                                 coming home

The light's too dim
To see your face.
Our lives are too grim
To see grace.

As we go on
We learn to know
That love is a child
You have to let grow

You nurture and water
With blood and with tears.
You slap, slip and swallow
Down foolish fears.

The world keeps turning,
Without us it goes.
And into the dark
We fall into snow.

Cold winter's embrace
Will take us away.
And all of our sorrows,
Rest and stay.

Let love seep in
To the heart hard and broken,
And listen to soft words,
That are just barely spoken.

As we go on
We learn to know
That love is a child
You have to let grow

You nurture and water
With blood and with tears.
You slap, slip and swallow
Down foolish fears.

My name, your favorite profanity
Drips slowly from a twisted sneer
Curling like cigarette smoke

My name, in company of praises
Will not issue from your mouth now
Delight a burned-out candle

My name, your favorite profanity
Thrown in violence, in anger
Curses all who knew us

Oh, will you ever return to me,
My wild first force, will you return
When the old madness comes to
Blacken in me and to burn
Slow in my brain like a slow fire
In a blackened brazier - dull
like a smear of blood,
Humid and hot evil, slow-sweltering
up in a flood!
Oh, will you not come back, my fierce song?
Jubilant and exultant, triumphing over
the huge wrong
of that slow fire of madness that feeds
on me - the slow mad blood
thick with its hate and evil, sweltering
up in its flood!
Oh! will you not purge it from me -
my wild lost flame?
Come and restore me, save me from the
intolerable shame
Of that huge eye that eats into my
Naked body constantly
And has no name,
Gazing upon me from the immense and
Cruel bareness of the sky
That leaves no mercy of concealment
That gives no promise of revealment
And that drives us on forever with its
lidless eye
Across a huge and houseless level of
a planetary vacancy
Oh, wild song and fury, fire and flame,
Lost magic of my youth return, defend
me from this shame!
And Oh! You golden vengeance of bright
song
Not cure but answer to earth's wrong

I can’t do it.
You asked me to read,
But I read into.
You asked me to judge,
But I am unfair.
You asked me to help,
But all I want to do is destroy.
It’s because you make me feel,
Like I haven’t felt before.
It’s so cliché,
And I hate you for that.
But I love your presence,
And I love you knowledge.
But I hate how you don’t love me.