Dearest dear,
if you'll look closely enough, you will understand that last night was a comedy,

But...

very word, every thought, and every emotion come back to one core problem:life is meaningless.

But...

I begin to hear voices again, and I can't  seem to concentrate.

But...

Relax-it won't hurt.

But...

Loving you is really hard!

But..

Hey mom, I'm sorry if my blood stained your favorite carpet.

But..

I'm hanging out in the garage. Literally!

But.

P.S I'm really sorry

I can not find Mae's recipe for Swedish rye bread;
I thought it was taped to the fridge next

to obituaries, and the phone number
of Joon’s Korean restaurant.  She knew

the bread recipe the way one knows the feel
of a lover’s back or a favorite character

of a cherished book.  I seldom think of her,
mostly when I am hungry or cold.  Today

I am both, and it is only September;
what will become of me by December?

I made a film last night about a man
who hates  neckties—silk, cotton,
and bow.  It is a documentary
of sorts,  that reveals  his
drawbacks, peccadillos,
discrepancies, lies,
and misdeeds.

I am the only character, me,
you can not watch it.
Never.   It is mine
to slowly edit,
and wallow
as I view.

I didn't.

I never thought rain could be a good thing.

But did you know
Did you know
I'm doing the best I can
And did you know
Did you know
The light in my heart
Has only gotten brighter
Due to you?

And even if I'm afraid
Of what the future holds,
I know that if I'm holding
Your hand
I can handle anything
The world has up its sleeve.

I listen as trucks
rumble past

hauling broken
concrete to fill a bog;

the sound tells me to go
to the backyard

to hear songs from  
hummingbird's wings.

Polished and refined,
With death I have found
A life below ground
A place I can call mine
Destruction and evil deeds
A breeding of pure hate
Is all that I can create
Out of all these heartless seeds

I punch them in
To the deep sullen dirt
Water them with vengeance
And a sprinkling of hurt
Tonight is the night
I find what dwells below
I don't have a key
But I can bargain with my soul
As I place it into these seeds
I am but reeds in the grass
I'm letting go
Only Heaven knows
The blackness of Hell's wrath

I plant my lifeless soul in this plot
To groom it as it grows
So slowly that nobody knows
It's the place the devil goes to rot
Watered with tears, warmed with fire
And as time stands still, never changing
This fruition of evil continues growing
Until the depths of hell can go no higher

Then it will bloom
A flowering gloom
Growing out of control
The ground will harden
In this here garden
Fertilized by my soul