I love my bed.
I can cry on it for hours; days.
It loves me.
It listens.
It understands.

Help.
What a word.
People say I need lots of it,
but I already have it overflowing.
Maybe I need to get larger containers?

Can I trust myself?
My mind is screaming, yelling
for me to do drastic things.
My body quivers before it,
but it isn't ready to concede.

I can't control myself.
I guess that's true.
So I went to ask my bed for advice.
It told me to leave.
Leave everyone who hated me,
and leave everyone who thinks I'm mad.
and at this point, I'm ready to listen to that.

I can stay here,
on this cold Earth.
Tucked away in a corner,
crying a new ocean.
Or I can make a new planet,
far away.
A place I can live on;
A place where I can stay.

This fire,
which burns so freely.
Welcomes me to where I belong.

The fire burns so calmly.
Nothing worries it,
and nothing stresses it.
It can be extinguished at any second,
at the whim of those who overpower it's might.
I will allow it to stay,
as I don't want to lose another.

I can get a torch,
I can strengthen the force of a candle.
I can remove it's relaxing abillity,
and let it grow uncontrolled.
However, I can't lessen it's burning without extinguishing it.
and I can't calm it without killing it.

Burn on, you wicked fire.
Burn on.

What is love?
Is it a bind between two people,
or is it just a statement;
a promise to be lost at a whim?

Is true love real?
Every human has pros,
but they also have their cons.
Are true lovers ignorant to the latter?

And at the end of every day,
where is a human's mind,
but inside their own head?
Thinking their own thoughts
and having their own opinions.

Every bond wears with time,
you may try to mend it tight,
but sometimes it all falls apart.

Sometimes.

in this
pocketful
        of limbo
          the distance rises
               in curls of smoke
        a prairie fire
siphoning into
crisp edge
           of forest
          Inside my
uncloaked ventricle
primeval forces
turn my blood into
dusted gold
as they pump
        sacred texts
into my oxygen
      They roll your quintessence
upon my fingers,
            playing inside
     my psyche's  
wild ache
a spread of orifice
in spellbound mantra,
       as I spit out
          the
            hairy thorns,
a holy purge of
   internal
        engravings
    
Somehow ---
like a miracle,
I grow ripe seedlings
from deep within
            my womb
as I trip into
a universe rising
I take wisps
of your grace
as it brushes
the jut of my
astral collarbone
You are always
         grounding me
                    like this,
               my tongue
              tripping
         over velvet
stance of warrior
        assuaged into silk
    
        Without you,
I might be
whisked off into
the periphery
of chaos
but instead
       I am simply
tied to
      the urgency
of the little novas
about to
        explode

While I wait
            I tend to
              the wildfires.
     to make sure they
                   are still burning
I keep my honey
wet and fresh
upon your
                   lips,
let my pores
drip moonpools
    into your glistening
wet of mouth
and only when
          it is time
I let the whole of
           me burst
into the
      fire -wrapped
tips of
   stars

What if life was played in fast forward?
Would you look more, out the window?
See the buildings, the missing trees?
The colors changed, painted in steel?
Focus on folds, beneath your cheeks?
Spend time with the once, called lonely?

What if life was played in reverse?
Would you redo things, differently?
Experience reality?
Change your lack of identity?
Free your mind of not feeling free?
Rethink responsibilities?

What if life was paused?
Would you be doing, what you are doing right now?
What is the first thing that comes to mind?
What about the colors on your brush?
Do you think that they are enough?
Are you still on the right track?

What if life had to be lonely?
Would you use your voice to speak?
Is there a reason to listen?
What rules would you want to create?
Would you understand heartbreak?
Would you bother to hit replay?

Either way we all reach the end.
But we write separate screenplays.
Decide our fate and how we blend.
And how we fast forward our days.

Hopefully we are not the same.
Get to use our voice and listen.
To lose ourselves would be a shame.
Or to move forward, not driven.

Remember, your life is in play.
And should not be thrown away.

I once knew this poet
Whose world was filled with rhyme
Said he couldn't help it
Was all that filled his mind

He always caught a catch phrase
Where there never was a doubt
That he'd whirl his words around it
And a poem would come spilling out

It must have been what he was born to do
Guess you could say he found his call
Once he grabbed that truth and set it loose
It all came natural

What he wrote was plain and simple
At times could ring profound
In the peeling of layers of the soul
Where all poetry is found

There are no two ways about it
To all this he fit the crime
This poet that I once knew
Whose world was filled with rhyme

Mom could you please
warm these waters up
Yo ** **
and a tub full of suds

Pirates in the making
on their personal high sea
Don't dare pull the plug
on this Caribbean dream

There's treasure they know
in the depths down below
They saw it when it sank
in mid bathtime flow

Send the divers in
to this porcelain surf
Holding their breath as long as they can
for all they are worth

They'll come away from this
if nothing else, clean
Where in tomorrow night's bath
they'll set sail once again

A couple muddy bathtub buddies
sailing on a sea of suds
In a life filled with adventure
because there's never enough