you may watch me crest the icy black
surface of your minds wide ocean
with moonlight catching brilliant spray
and casting shadows of doubt
follow me down
     and listen to me
   singing you to sleep
a pacifist lullaby
of malcontent
and lonliness

your breath is as level as the choppy seas
and your thoughts will follow wherever I please

I know that you have reservations
keeping your heart bound
safely to the shore,
your hopes lapping loosely around your feet
receding,
returning,
remitting,
refreshing,
and all the while you know
that the whitecaps
     are the faces of regret
     are the voices of dissent
     are forces to be reckoned
and that stormy seas are only a problem
if you're trying to stay afloat

each night as you dream, your thoughts set sail
and I will be your great white whale

I do not much care for poets
We're a touchy bunch indeed
How we validate our feelings
By what other people read
How we dive into our writing
Like a swine into its mud
And we savor every sentence
Like a ruminating cud
How we strike upon the heartstrings
Of the others like ourselves
But we feel so violated
When we're pulled out of our shells
How we make such grand investments
With our twenty dollar words
Toward the inevitability
That our voice will be heard
And we slather on the sentiment
With metaphoric verse
Vindication in our imagery
So beautiful and terse
And I sometimes have to wonder
If the reason we create
Is exclusively attracting
Someone else who can relate
No, I don't much care for poets
Though the blame is not on you
As the simple truth about it
Is that I'm a poet too

its been hours and days
and weeks and
months
and people are
watching me nightly
with my music and
bottles, my
words and my makeup
and dried blood
so very unsightly
i'm sitting and musing
and writing
so
slowly
and
watching
the minutes
go bye
but time is a place
and each second i ****
is another small
void in the sky

this is a new place
a new time for me
and ive never been here before
not here like this
maybe once before,
but that was on the cycle down

sometimes i need to move
to make sure that im in control
of my own reflection

im watching him looking
back at me
and i just know
that that ******
is up to something.

all the while
things are moving
just on the edge
as im watching
a movie about sounds
and wishing that
someone would talk to me
that way

and now that i am in the throes
ill tell you something else
a secret everybody knows
a secret nonetheless
ive never truly been a one
for free or spoken word
the things i do and speak and write
are better seen than heard
i write instead in flashing rhyme
that catches unawares
not flowery, but in its time
a fuller meaning shares

then tired of this back and forth
we contemplate our honest worth
and ever lonely on this earth,
we pray that someone, somewhere
trapped in the confines of their
time served here
reads our humble verse.