Broken things require glue
Turn around that's you

Don't stand by and watch me break
This world needs NOT another fake

Take a moment to embrace me
Your touch will set me free

Pure hands infuse humanity
Deliver it just for my sanity

There is no mistaken identity
Inside you is my serenity

One touch ... a basic need I concede
My ache is now full speed

Do not make me beg
Press in and heal my plague

Today I ooze of selfishness
You are familiar with my reticence

Guilt draws near and whispers
Push past its tiny embers

My need today transcends
Straight from you, no bends

I lay curled up in a ball
Listen, do you hear my call

From you, I plead one task
One touch ... *it's all I ask

As the wind does blow
Through the trees in the forest
I hear your heart cry

On the Dark Side of the moon
where the ground lay frozen
is a prophecy due soon
although its forgotten words are left unspoken

It begins with a tale of violence and slaughter
while a wanderer prepares himself
for his encounters with these monsters

They say its all in his head
he believes people call to him,
"Save me from this dread!"
if only he knew the truth, but it may be too grim

He thinks he's Superman, and holds the power within

It's almost June.
Still got a fire going.

I don't see myself as one of those
Scandinavian poets who write

Almost only about the weather
Without reason.

The weather is a woman.
As angry as she is breathtaking

Around here.
Turned on and scared,

We brace for impact before
Every forecast.

Will there be a summer at
All, or dull, lightless skies of

Unblue until the rain comes
Down solid again?

I dip my pen in warm memories.
Sad that they are mostly

From abroad, I surrender the idea
Of truth in poetry.

Well, we drink around fires.
Cling to the military standard long

Underwear we stole when we were
In.

See too much as potential
Firewood.

We notice that the sun never
Really sets these months,

But there's room for cold in
The light.

We pray for summer. Hoping
This year it falls

On a
Weekend.

Just because it looks like I'm paying attention
doesn't necessarily mean
that I'm not pondering Shakespeare.

Roses are running through my irises,
pentameter bleeds through my veins,
and inwardly,
Macbeth reigns.

So know that when you look my way,
I may be listening in...
But more than likely, you will find
Shakespeare will always win.

I cannot cry my lord where am I and why
Lord can I not cry on these dying lies
Nor return again from fields that wilt
To sheath myself by my sunken hilt

I travel through time to a time I was heard
Believing a song but forgetting the words
In my funeral robes of white satin at night
I cannot see my god between the dark and the light

If you had given me one reason to live
Oh if you had only given me a soul to give
If you had delivered to me the courage to forgive
Oh if you had loved me, enough to forbid

Oh Lord what have you done with my heart
The abhorrent creature which hides in the dark
Less than the beast of something which flew
The broken silhouette of something which grew
From the ashes of the great creator

I can smell coffee drifting through the air like silk
And in through my window, birdsong swirls in
On the warm summer breeze
Laughter fills the room,
I stretch,
And I smile.....

I can smell the coffee from the teachers lounge, making my stomach bellow involuntary whale calls
And in through the window, bird sing, laughing at me, stuck inside
And the wind is hot, too hot, it's stuffy in here.
Laughter drifts in from the hall, from the throats of teachers who are already free of this hell.
I stretch, trying to get comfortable on the metal chair forged from the depths of the underworld,
Grimace, a smile of pain,
And return to reading paragraph three.
One.
More.
Hour.