Why can't we have meaningless talk
the way people have meaningless ***-
you would crash over me into a
river of un-scathing emptiness
and leave marks on my skin-
stories that this was where
you started to tear at
the seams
effortlessly
like the silkness
of your sorrows on my floor.

You would become a sultry verse
in this anthology of every day
lodged between the rush and
vacancy of broken hearts
and anguished limbs.

You would radiate the heat
of your angry, angry heart onto
the cold deadness of mine,
and we could burn and melt
all at the same time.

Meaninglessly you would leave
me out of breath,
gather your clothes
and go home.

ever so often, so occasionally
i find myself slipping comfortably
back into my little retreat, a shell
in which i have come to call home.
i call out to you to come and join me,
you don’t listen. i am screaming, but you
can’t hear me. it is as if i am a hollow vessel
and an empty head. i am always wishing that
i could be more than what i am but this is all
that i can give. and so i retreat for i would rather
give nothing at all than to give something that is
destined to fail, because why shoot for the stars when you know you are simply going to fall back to earth?

I thought I would post this again - it is a particular favourite of mine - it makes me smile.
Maybe when I am old
I will be miserable and grey
My skin will want ironing
And I will wet myself all day.
Maybe there will be peace
And harmony amongst men
Maybe there will be no more worries
Maybe the world will be better by then.
So there wont be lines on my face
And I will be wearing a smile
I’ll be running around like a teenager
And I’ll be leaving my clothes in a pile.
Maybe.

a norwegian summer
frothy bangs falling over soulless eyes
windows empty of rolling country scenes
and the smoke stacks billow over
my heart in a blue smudge.
if i could love again, maybe it would be you
but my insides are a midnight sky
absent of stars, a total lunar eclipse.
i remember his tongue
delivering ****** lashings
to my psyche
and the curtains hang with a depressed posture
transporting me back to his heavy room
he liked to chase the light out,
and open my body apart
my head reeks of bathtubs, swollen wrists,
throbbing words of hate.
i'll wrap these things up,
shoving them down into my shoes
when i'm with you.
but you're holding hands with
a skeleton
and i don't think
these bones will
cease their aching.

Love is a flower open to the sun,
Hate is a cavern, a hole, craven,
Black, empty, a dank drowning,
Under light.  Love is one season,

Hate is transitory. Love is eternal,
Of vast nebulas, to outer reaches
In galaxy are nurseries with stars
Being born, light, alive with light.

Love is the lasting of conquerors,
The first line, defense, existence,
Love takes all in one communion,
Breaking the dark as the morning
Sun.  Love is conundrum, love IS.

Hate is a construct, the blotched
That bleeds where life is seeding,
Rot better to cut, spoil unneeded,
Hate will come to nothing, for life
Is love, love is all and everything.

Where words once flowed like a river,
I dammed up my mouth
with your soft skin,
you have stolen my art from me,
slipped them right off my lips, thief.

The truth is,
I have been pouring my words into you,
for quite sometime,
you eat them like candy.
I have not been able to put down your hand
long enough to grip a pen.

A month ago you told me that you loved me,
there were tears in your eyes as I told you I was leaving you.
You told me you loved me and you loved me and by god I loved you too.

Sometimes I kiss you and I swear it's so sweet I could choke,
sometimes I spit you back up because you've spoiled in my mouth.

Don't savor the pain yet reject the hand that tries to help you though I cannot possibly understand what you have been through.  But I see you, I see your pain.  I may not have lived your past but it didn't last and yet we can if you do not push me away so fast.  I just want to listen when you want to talk, hold you when you can't and tell you how the stars got their names.