And so I fall asleep
waiting for our paths to cross
and us to find each other
because it’s been quite awhile
and it seems that you’re lost
or maybe
you took another way
and found someone else,
not knowing that
I am waiting
waiting for you
to wake me
with that kiss
that will fix me
and lift me up
and you’ll take me
away from my misery

Which thousandth time is this,
that  my heart and soul cry out to you?
You have knocked my world senseless yet again.
rendered me incapable, unreachable, unlovable.
I am in the space between life, death and dreams
where I can sit next to you all I want and feel home.
The rage,* quietened by our tenderness,
our tenderness stoked by our synergies aligning
The shape and shadows of our love fall on the wall,
a four armed hypnotic cobra,
two twined into one
an intrinsic vibration,
a holy peace to transcend all eternity;
I could spend forever here...
*-If I wasn't so captivated by his seductive hell.

When you ask of me, why poetry
I'm not sure you understand
That it's the center of my universe
The very depth of who I am

The molecules in the air I breath
Oxygen pulsing through the veins
The storm brewing beneath the surface
The pounding of the rain

It's the timeless anticipation
Of the thought that's yet to come
The tearing open of life's seam
The beating of the drum

The first peak of the desert flower
When it feels the gentle touch of spring
The smile in the eyes of a child
And all the joy it brings

The in and out of the tide
In the pulling of the waves
When you ask of me, why poetry
What more is there to say

would I could I have gotten
you, but I have this:
but I hold my downfall
between bubbles, or
between slurring fingertips;
pressure
loss, diffident
indifference,
bitter delirium, I
wake through the
marshes of all
thoughts I call mine, but
she, with quivering hands,
pulls trumps and
bares teeth and

i, small creature i,
decompose another fraction,
break and bend and
swallow no pride, tonight.

so hallowed, these lives!
like I lie, in-between
awake or no such dream or
the pursuit of impossibility:
an appetite turning these
wheels to drive us each home to
each of our own tiny
fallacious undestinies,
where lined veins underhandedly
tighten and leave,
stumble or bleed;
traces of the same want and amount of nothing.

from lustgarden cradled in concrete i
turn corners, i
recompose, with eyes alight. i
bare teeth, i
wake and bleed,
and still see.

I still breathe.