I think myself a Venus. Standing glittering
mirror reflecting in peach pink
Opalescent in hip bones, soft thighs,
A love good and gold.
Self love. So pure!
Run my long fingers through cotton sheets
And soft hair
Reckless in my own body.
Comfortable here, thanks.

the shelters were full
surely that is why I found her
in the alley

she was as old and white as time...
probably three score, at most, though curled up
like a babe in the womb

her eyes were yet open:
what had she seen last, what had
her last supper been?

and where were the disciples
with bread and wine, with body and blood
while she froze on the hard earth?

An unblinking eye arises and hides behind the tainted clouds in the painted sky.
I see it crawl beneath the surface,
Gazing into the images I thought I had buried alive.
It's peaking through the dirt where he decadently sits,
Staring behind bars of dust with his razor eyes glaring at my wrists.
Where my innocence slept itself to death,
And cradled its soul beneath stacks of broken stems of the mind.

I am dying.
As most are, I am unprepared.
I feel death tingle down my arms
And rob my struggling lungs of air.

I feel it settle over my mind like a haze
Of drowsy, unfocused wooziness.
I am terrified of it, I am scared
I can feel the cold grasp of death.


.


She hands me a bottle that clicks with magic
She tells me it's not much and I believe that.
She hands me a bottle after she checks me over.
I take the bottle and remove myself from where I sat.


.


I remind myself that I am not dying.
I remind myself that I can breath, am breathing.
I remind myself that I am not tingling.
I lie to myself factually: I am not dying.


.


I don't believe her or myself
If I were to believe, would that make me crazy?
If I weren't to believe, would that make me crazy?
If I am cleared headed yet somehow feel hazy?

**** this lazy rhyme in off kilter four four time:
Am I crazy if I feel my lungs fight for air though I have no problem breathing?
What if I feel my body shutting down when I am more than healthy?
Am I crazy if I know it's the end but can't explain or even postulate why?
Am I crazy if I write so someone knows what happened when I die (whilst thinking I am alive I wont die but I am dying which is just the panic speaking but if it's not then I'll be gone  by tomorrow which wont happen. maybe.)?

I implore you.

I will pick you apart into pieces so small they run past my fingers like spider silk but I will not make you speak.

I implore you.

I have stories and tales and thoughts and wonder balanced precariously on the tip of my tongue and if you were to merely speak...

I implore you.

I reach out with hands slathered in the most adhesive of glues and pray you won't notice how I bind myself to you but I hesitate because you will not speak.

I implore you.

I implore you.

Speak.

I’m sorry you have to see me like this
all stinky and bruised
love, these thoughts torture me like this pie
it’s made with red corn syrup
it reminds me of your blood
I see underneath your skin
to your almond eyes shimmering
to your beating heart somewhere in Colorado
lord, how I love you
lord, how life is a road trip through hell sometimes
how we end up in rooms with pink noise
but how?
how does love end in places where no one wants to go?
where no one lives
where pie taste like blood
and you are pale, grief-stricken
almost crying
I see how things are
I see how I am a man destined to eat the air you left behind
you, perfumed with thoughts of me and I beat because of it
you, tortured by my spirit
you, half my soul. don’t run away just yet
wait until I finish my pie and fall over, flushed.

let go, brother
let go of your forest
your ocean spray
your frantic
manic
tendencies
the ability to wipe it all away
lost somewhere in the wind
let go of your rain
let go of your shaky hands
and hold your pencil straight
with your teeth
don’t fret, forest
don’t burn, brother
hold
hold tight
the hallucinations of what swims
a polished stone skipping
in one endless encephalon cycle
fogged and
fogged again
the forest smokes
and the rain to put it out wanes
steam

It's little things,
Like your eyes,
And your laugh,
The bubbles at your feet,
During a bath,
The curve of your spine,
And the whole of your lips.
It's little things
that make me want to fall in love
like this.