Go away girl, go away
and let me pack my dreams
Now where did I put those yesteryears
made up with broken seams
Where shall I sweep the pieces
my God they still look new
There's a taxi waiting at the door
but there's only room for you

Another night thinking
of all the times
you were there
when no one else was.

Now
you're actually here
with me
and it feels like
no one ever was.

It’s a constant battle between gold and stone in my chest.

One likes to hold a sword to the dark with the whole city at his back.

The other makes warning bells of paper mâché .

Where I come from we’re mostly dare devils.

We cook food on open flames next to a gas tank and race on bridges with no rails. Only one of those is real.

My mind sometimes seems like a doll house made of old computer processors. Attempt 79.

Most days I try to keep my lips zipped shut but my eyes are like a see through body bag.

On other days music tends to be good enough superglue for broken masks.

I remember the first time time froze and my heart tried to handwrite on the ice.

I tried to draw her attention with the broken lead pencils I have for lips but I’ve never been a fine artist.

We haven’t spoken in a while, I guess making new friends is easy but keeping old ones is hard. 
There’s overgrowth on the road less travelled and it’s hard to find.

And when I feel down for following the crowd, I use poetry as a pendulum to help my mood swing.

You have three tattoos. Full lips and good strong hands.
You have spots on your nose that I could never fully count.
You have a scar on your right arm, from that hot iron that one time.
The first time you pulled off your shirt, I traced the line with my fingers and fell in love.
You are so much more, from living from that moment to this one.
You always seem to apologise for the little mistakes we make.  
Your body is a map I know every inch of and if anyone else were to kiss me, all they would taste is your name.

l.m

(To Sarah Bernhardt)

How vain and dull this common world must seem
To such a One as thou, who should’st have talked
At Florence with Mirandola, or walked
Through the cool olives of the Academe:
Thou should’st have gathered reeds from a green stream
For Goat-foot Pan’s shrill piping, and have played
With the white girls in that Phaeacian glade
Where grave Odysseus wakened from his dream.

Ah! surely once some urn of Attic clay
Held thy wan dust, and thou hast come again
Back to this common world so dull and vain,
For thou wert weary of the sunless day,
The heavy fields of scentless asphodel,
The loveless lips with which men kiss in Hell.

It’s been a while but these wounds are still fresh
I can still feel the cold metal rip through my flesh
I can’t bear to see, hear or think with this aching in my chest
Despite it all, I don’t love you any less

It’s all too much for somebody so meek
It was a cascade of curses once we finally hit our peak
When we see each other now we lose all ability to speak
And it sometimes makes me wonder when we all became so weak

I'll do anything now if it numbs out the pain
Nothing’s too risky, too scary, insane
A friend of the bottle, compared to others seems tame
The only friend we still share will forever remain unchanged

I find it easier to breathe when I’m so gone that I am numb
There’s no solace in the darkness, not the tiniest bit of sun
There’s no solace in the darkness, but also nowhere else to run
For with love the most deadliest drug, my dear, it never seems to be done

as daylights shine wears thin
and evening is leaning on you heavy
like the engine of time has
forgotten to grease its wheel
your futility fueled smile has lost ground
in the struggle with the grin
of the man wearing a clown suit
he is a rainbow of laughs
he is the face behind the face that
you look into with approaching dread

the obvious winds of encroaching rain
tread briskly past my quiet ear
a motorcycle engine winds up its gears
in the summer like distance
like an echo in this autumn brink of evening
pretence of the storm
a few scattered cool drops of water
fall casual to the hard red surface of the patio
its faded and tattered paint beset with taint
here once sat a small brick wall
its remains scattered amongst the litter
in the overgrown weeds
as the rain begins in earnest
she leads me inside the house
and to a bedroom not used by shooters
the two of us sit in silence and listen to the passing storm
a woman without a word enters and
gathers herself in a corner

outside the window
sunlight creeps back over the world
reveals the man with the clown suit
sitting waiting for you outside the window
he had waited all his life
and he waits still
in his comfort chair
its worn plastic form strains but holds
his heavy thoughts
as the world passes in two's or threes
all the laughing faces
and the desperate lookers eyeing the safe harbour
he had waited all his life
inspite of the noise and garbage
he sits here and plays with the firebox
its heat keeps him from getting
a frozen heart

the three of us
leave the shooters house
making roads for the soothsayers den
only she can settle our earthly delemia
me, her and the clown
full on night gathers around our swift feet
the lights of the carnival
reflected in the puddles left by the last rain
the already stale the water is disturbed by our passing
the air smelled like cotton candy
and is full of noise
the soothsayer is mute
her lips sealed with beeswax
because she is mourning her camera
cause the camera was once her ticket out of town
it was gonna be a one way nonstop to hollywood
but it ended up being hollyweird and it wasn't in california
the four of us head for the interstate
if you cant solve it
run