You are a thought terrorist.
I can't go on a walk
lay in my own bed
or have a conversation
without you there.
You have hijacked my eyelids
you linger in my mind
-its maddening!
Maybe with these words
I can cut you from my head
and trap you in paper.
You can not become
my background music or
the rhythm of my soul
-its MINE!
Yet still, I think of you.
Why do I do this to myself?
If you are the terrorist, I hope
I am not the plane going down.

How strange it is of life
to love with no love in turn
How strange it is of life
that a cold shoulder can burn
How strange it is of life
that you bring a tear to my eye
How strange it is of life
that you let me pass you by

She will lose herself in a book
and find herself in poetry

She thinks that religion is a sacrilege
and that long showers are sacred

She makes love when she's tired
and never tires of making love

She is irreverent in her humor
and pious in her gravity

She is diligent in completing her work
and ambitious of her quest for leisure

She is the personification of romanticism
and the embodiment of compassion

She exists harmoniously in my mind

An elephant graveyard
rests, etched on my TV
as I listen to the howl
echoing from outside
the window. Grabbing
my rifle filled with pellets
I stride outside to face it.

Adrenaline clouds my vision
as this monster of an animal,
this beast of a creature
glares at me. With his flesh
thirsty fangs, drooling
with spit. Ready to rip
me apart and bury the bones.
It growls with want
as it shakes the sick dust
from its mangy coat.
Hair hanging off his skin
like the dead clothing
from its past prey.
Cracking my petrified bones
I fall to my knee
and pump after pump
I prepare my weapon.
With fingers dancing their way
to the ready trigger, I hold
my aim. Steady. Breathing.
Pull. I release my breath
as the gun exhales a shot
into the body of the beast.

A cry shoots out
from the pounding heart
of this whimpering animal.
And as I watch
with regret tumbling
down my cheek. The dog
stumbles off
into the shadowing forest
so that I will never
shoot it again.

I wish I could turn her voice into a song
And play it for everyone to hear
And it would sell out concerts
But no one would sing along with it
They would just listen
Because her voice is so beautiful
I wish I could turn her voice into a song
But I can’t get the notes right
And the lyrics don’t fit

I wish I could capture her beauty in a painting
And display it in a gallery
And everyone would come
To gaze at the canvas
Just to see how perfect I think she is
Because I think she’s so close to it
I wish I could capture her beauty in a painting
But I can’t get the strokes right
And the colors don’t fit

I wish I could turn her into a movie
And it would play in every theater there is
And everyone would buy a ticket
To stare at a moving screen
Just so they could see two hours of her life
Because two hours seems like enough
I wish I could turn her into a movie
But I can’t get the lines right
And the actors don’t fit

I wish I could turn her into a book
And give them away as presents
And everyone would tell their friends about it
So they would go buy one
Just so they could read what’s been written
Because she is worth every page
I wish I could turn her into a book
But I can’t get the title right
And the words don’t fit

I wish I could show her to our child
And raise our daughter in her image
And everyone could see her again
And they would be happy
And they’d know she’d be happy
Because her daughter would be perfect
Just like she was
I wish I could show her to our child
But the pictures all burned
And I might never see her again

You know those tears you get
When you can't stop laughing
Because you don't want to
And they just rest on your cheeks
Until you finish your laughter
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you watch a sad movie
And you feel like the characters are real
Even though they're not
And the tears just rest by your lips
Until the movie is over
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you say goodbye to a friend
And you don't want them to go
But they need to go
And the tears just rest on your chin
Quivering
Until the dust settles
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you walk down the aisle
And everything is perfect
When love is beautiful
And the tears just collect on your eyes
Until you need to blink
And you wipe them away

You know those tears you get
When you remember yesterday
And you wish it were alive again
But it isn’t
And the tears just fall to the ground
They soak into the Earth
And you can't wipe them away

When I was a student in science class learning the nine planets
I used to imagine that Jupiter was in love with Saturn.
That's how I made sense of the rings.
Planetary engagement.
In every diagram they were always side by side
and so much larger than their counterparts.
Just like lovers with chests stuck out,
swelling from the size of the love they've got stuck in their ribcage.

We all know that couple.
Just rubbing it in.

That was Saturn and Jupiter. In my head.
As I imagined them. So big.
And vibrant.
And gay.

Until I learned about orbit.

Look, I just flew over the city of your residence.
If you looked up you might've seen me.
I'm going to pretend I saw you from here-
I'm still at this end of the telescope and you're still an astrological body.
In all my metaphors you're unearthed, capable of flight,
solar panel lighthouse, walks on moon water, astronaut trainer in training,
gentle giant with kite string hair, earthquake arms, and lunar eyes.
You always leave your light on.
At least for me. Even though we've learned to keep good distance.
Passing each other in the dark night of the solar system.

The wings of this plane are stronger than me.
Luckily.
Cause it was all I could do to keep from parachuting my way back into your sight-lines.

You know, there's a red spot on Jupiter the width of three Earths.
THREE EARTHS!
Scientists at the University of California, Berkeley, want us to believe
that it's actually an ancient monster storm.

I'm still not entirely convinced that it's not a broken heart.

(ɘɔnɒludmA)

I don't know how to talk to you
without feeling like neon red siren screaming ambulance
with bad brakes and a blown tire
hauling through a busy intersection
where the crosswalks are full of children
laughing.
And you're a pedestrian
soon to be in need of my stretcher.

Remember, that chaos first was a primordial deity,
Chaos; the nothingness from which all else sprang
headfirst and heartfelt,
half-naked and handsome,
hook, line and... halibut.

All of this,
every measurable moment,
every particle,
every object set forth in motion
sprang from a void so harmoniously
as if the absence of everything was kissed
sudden
by the presence of something.

Often depicted with wings, a bow, and a quiver of arrows,
Cupid, son of Venus - goddess of love,
son of Mercury - god of trade,
his story,
almost identical in Greek and in Roman
mythology,
his story, about a couple of gods
who seem so inherently human by nature,
jolted by jealousy,
dumbstruck by beauty,
hellbent on immortality,
his story has been hallmarked
as red hot velvet rose petal fine wine
and symmetrical hearts.
Wrapped in tin foil red ribbons
bitter-sweetly sugarcoated
dipped in thin layer of chocolate
taste-tested and lover approved.

Remember that scene in Hook
where Tinkerbell leaves her footprints on Peter's chest,
well that's you and that's me--
touch me where my heart beats
because I don't ever wanna be a lost boy.
I wanna grow up like a good bedtime story
with morals
and purpose,
I wanna have meaning.

You might say that Cupid found himself.
You might say that Psyche found her soul.
You might say that Tinkerbell was just faking it--
with the clapping.
Truth is, we can never know the whole story--
the complete truth.
Problem is, we think we can
and act like we do.
So the only time we mean what we say
is the first time we say it,
every utterance thereafter is just an attempt
at recreating a moment.

I love you
is a paraphrase
that deserves three separate ellipses
because there's a lot left unsaid.

I (distinctively remember shadow-boxing with)
love (against a star-dotted sky anchored to a
moonlight so vibrant it can only be compared to)
you (and your tidal waves).

And that's where I fell
headfirst and handsome.

I (was punched-drunk by a kiss so breathless
that it spiked my dopamine to a volume
that can only be described as) love
(in that every time my neurotransmitters feel) you
(they spin themselves dizzy and dance to your science).

There was a moment in the absence of everything
when I was kissed silent by the presence of something.

Hold me to your breastplate.

I don't ever wanna go back to the void.



*02/09/2010

The throbbing headache and nausea
I can endure; I've had worse.
Right now I could cry,
such a raw hope consumed me
as I thought about you, desperate.
It was still dark for me then,
when I needed you. Now it's day.
It brings a true smirk to my face
to know you are nothing more
than a night of binge drinking:
a foolish part of my youth,
a consequence of boredom.
I could not hold your liquor,
I vomited all that bile you said to me
in the hedges outside. Don't fret,
this is not a bad memory, in fact
you might never be a memory at all.
I am well. I will drink better and
far more dangerous poisons.
I am today, you are only last night.