"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

if you pulled back my skin you'd find a layer of grey underneath.
there is nothing new in me, my blood no longer red my flesh no longer
pink just grey and worn parts like the paint thin upon an old metal dinette
set. no ash, for i have not burned, no
mold for nothing could live off of the nothing in me.

then again, there is a heavy in my chest that sits. i cradle it
with my throat (try to pushit   down) and in between
my ears again when i begin to fall asleep, it
urges no dreams but
i like the pressure on my
temples.

my lips, my cheeks like a layer
of icing on a display
cake.


every soft haired, long
fingers will pass me in strides, avert their eyes and
eventually they won't
see me
at all.

The boys down at the club
said she was deep,
laughed their ***** off
making obscene gestures
with their hips.

So I took them up on the dare,
went right up to her,
put my hands in her pretty hair,
and gave her a long kiss.
And to my surprise,
I was soon
giving her a lift
back to her pad.

Man, that girl was sweet,
she had a library full of books,
from astronomy  to astrology,
subjects about biology & genetics,
quantum physics & zen.
She even had texts on
reincarnation & ghosts,
mostly mind-boggling.

We stayed up
all night
reading
until ten
the next morning.
It was a mind-blowing
experience.

Later that day,
down at the mill,
the boys asked me
if she had
given me a thrill.

I mean,
I saw the lava lamp
& the round bed
with the ceiling-mirror
& I know
I'm a little naive,
but was I
missing something?

the blue is a prim,
and pretty room, draped
with musical games
of chance,
for settling here.

harp strings
relay the vital net,
after Shakespeare.
the visitors leave,

lord Byron wrote
of hours of idleness,
the letters below,
and all the while
you have no love for me,
worrying over the empty barn.

sbm.

in love.
inlove.

maybe we called it being in love
because "in" was a prefix for not
and the space between the words
was the void you created when you left