If you breathe the rain
You can smell my tears
When you live the pain
Then you feel my fears

Please close the door
Keeping the World out
Push my mouth to the floor
So I can no longer shout

The window is smashed
Someone had to throw a stone
My spirit has been dashed
It has left me all alone

I know I make no sense
My mind is in a different place
All of this bitter pretence
Has disappeared without a trace

All work with no chance to play
Leaves you going a little bit insane
Clouds are here because the Sun went away
So all you can do now is breathe the rain

The moon in the bureau mirror
looks out a million miles
(and perhaps with pride, at herself,
but she never, never smiles)
far and away beyond sleep, or
perhaps she's a daytime sleeper.

By the Universe deserted,
she'd tell it to go to hell,
and she'd find a body of water,
or a mirror, on which to dwell.
So wrap up care in a cobweb
and drop it down the well

into that world inverted
where left is always right,
where the shadows are really the body,
where we stay awake all night,
where the heavens are shallow as the sea
is now deep, and you love me.

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body.  i like what it does,
i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones,and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz
of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

sip.
utter ****.

never drink wine
that's cheaper
than the corkscrew.

sip.
still ****.

why do i want every woman?
all in the worst way.
my intentions are utter trash.

sip.
grimace.

my love is rehearsed,
well-versed in chick flick lore,
my love is mostly a slow bore.

sip.
spit.

Every ounce of grief
was in your head,
not your heart,
I know it was different,
but it didn't mean
we were dead.

"Honor him,"
you said,
implying I needed
to repent,
but I told you
that isn't my bent.

When you don't have rules,
you don't break rules,
no remorse,
no wallowing in regret,
no seek-out of redemption.
It's all a circular charade,
I don't have the time to stomach.

You make the rules
so your life plays like cinema,
so you feel like you are fighting
for something,
knowing at any given moment
you could retrogress.

I don't want to taste retreat,
there's no "honor" in that.
I'm straight. I'm progress.
I'm not digging trenches,
I'm not holy,
I'm not unholy,
I'm areté.

Strawberry
blonde teen
Unexpected
staring touch
Passion -
eating us

Lust
always ruling
Words
frivolous, unheeded
Were
thrusting apart

Each desire
quenched
First hungry  
youthful season
Longing
exhausted

Moving
separate
Suddenly
acquaintanc­es
Years
in other arms

Meeting
in paddock
Smiles defeat
awkward seconds
Listening,
hearing

Third place,
revs screaming
Hit, hurtling
flying askew
Another
impact

Lifted away
torn
Crushed beauty
dead desire
Our last words
lost us

**+