Lips press together,
A cold keep    
With an unspoken
Prisoner inside.
They dare not
Let out word
Of what the
Eyes beho. . .

I love to use words and write
About her. There's so much.

How her lips curl and dance up
Into her smile, or how --
The deep brown in her curls drips
Onto her cheeks in soft freckles -- and
Her deep brown eyes pour into thick
Eyelashes and beneath them --
All her real beauty blossoms

But she can't be captured in words;
Angels were never meant for them.
But I try anyways.

Love inspires stupid things.

I am a fire.
A son of Prometheus, perhaps.
I burn and eat and distill and
Warm and give life.

But there has been a wrong.

My smoke is black.
I suffocate and choke and blind and
hurt. Because what I am burning,
Is alive.

It's supple with the liquid of life.

The clear gold filled in leaves.
It's in her too, and my chemistry
Is off. This chemo, the kerosene.
In me, doused on her.

It burns her and hurts and I am no longer a fire.

I am afraid.

I don't sleep with a railing by my bed.
I used to, yeah, but not anymore.
After years of one to keep me
From falling, I found I like the feeling.
Down --
In love --
Off -- any of them.
It's dangerous, and irresponsible, and
Sometimes I get kinda hurt.
But the thing is, I still
Don't want my railing. It may hurt
To hit the floor.
But hey, at least I can get out
Of bed now --
Right?

Hands.
***** and brown they reach up
From the mud. Opening their hands,
Releasing butterflies of death
From their clutches. The grass,
Is still green. The trees, are still alive.
Where life is around me it is also
In the hands where it shouldn't.
They grasp ankles and drag them down.
Some, fall easy. Some not so.
They turn the beautiful skin
Into deep brown ****, muddied
Brown, thick with biomasses of
******* maggots and soil and pebbles.

The sunrise is gorgeous.
It slips into your eyes and enlightens
Your vision with dazzling colours.
The world is alive. Everything is wonderful.
But the hands are relentlessness.  
It's all so pristine,
Even as the mud
Encases your nose, and
Cakes your eyes.

Sometimes I just have to leave
To where my coat isn't wet
Gone like seasons rotating
In a merry-go-round
Before I get stuck in one myself and

Get sad, on the bench
On the train
Go insane
From the strain
Gone like seconds slipped
From your grip

I'll knock on the door and ring the bell
But it wont open, and that's okay
I really had nothing to say anyway
At least the sidewalks dry for now

Two days gone and one left unseen
My feet hit the ground, because
Sometimes I have to be the one
I'm leaning on

But back I always came
To the same
Not from shame or the blame
But because my heart never really
Left her room
So I knock on the door and
It opens up wide
With a smile inside and for that
The rain outside can
Stay on my coat

The sun rises. . .

But not yellow this time.
A deep, wonderful brown
so beautiful it's a crime.
It's rays fill the sky and clouds
With colours I would gladly drown
In. Morning grass crowds
The ground glittering with dew
From the rays of the deep brown sun
Which is a colour to which the sky is new.
****, the sky is so cute.
All it's rays reach and run
Into long arms that squeeze my air out till I'm mute.
The sun reaches in my cuts
All the way down to the bare bone
Where not even pain obstructs
Injecting warm happiness cure.
The brown of the sun is like none ever known
To the sky, a light so pure.  

. . .and is only eight days away.

Flesh bleeds in whispers.
Not from cuts or scrapes, but
Big gaping holes unseen to most.
My liquid scarlet letter
Pinned over my missing pieces
Covering nothing.
The only plug to fill the hole
Is psychosis. Weeks of mental
Breakdowns siphon the blood.
The envy I feel for them all
Drowns me in plastic
Children's pools.
Perfect gold runs over
Their fingers that lights
Their lives, while the only
Thing covering me is
The unseen blood.

It's like jumping from the sky and
Never hitting the ground
Or stepping on cement and
Slipping into nothing

It's like biting into an apple and
Tasting nothing but air
Or feeling your feet freeze
Over the hot coals

It's like sitting in the grass and
Floating into space
Or turning on the bulb that
***** in the light

It's going to be with you and
Having no one there

I touched the stone
On the statue
And it melted into
Drops of milk and vanilla
A year gone by
And a new river flows
With bone and sugar and ash
The dewlets accumulated
From what once was
Stone.

Spring is here, once again
Demanding of my soul
She tickles and pleases, tugs and teases
Till I finally relinquish it whole

When it launches out, the Devil comes near
Trying to inhabit my shell
Of a body. I hope he doesn't
Or I'm certainly bound for Hell.

Spring sprinkles her yellow
Demons in and around my head
While Satan unpacks his luggage in me, and
Lays down in his new bed

Just in time, when he's freshly in, everyone in
The room becomes a priest
They sit and wait so patiently
For my possession spasms to cease

I catch my breath, I take a bow
My episode is done
The saints give me their Holy
Blessings, feeling like they've won

The Devils ****-blocked, he's barely in
Then out, can't stay in me no more
Him and Spring have had their fling
His one night stand with that *****

I watch Spring walk away from me
With water in my eyes
That little ***** snakes away to
The flowers and her lies.

I kissed the moon
In purple glow

Her fingers, white beams
Licked my face

Not even Garuda
Could shroud Twi in

I was a tide
She pulled to her chest

We encompass
Then we wane

As the church bells
Ring out

She sings her songs
To slip herself down below the horizon

Behind the Gothics and willows
That point to her window

Where I find her
Tomorrow

Stripes and frays
Been worn for days
It's threads know our
every love
The zippers worn
The seams are torn
It's seen more than
stars above
Though sometimes cold
Gets through the holes
It will always keep
us warm
It's knows the weight
Of our lemniscate
It's knows our
every form

The sweaters worn
The sweaters torn
But it's completely
irreplaceable
We'll keep it with us
For years
On end
It has a heart
Of it's own

She goes to lay down
To try and give up
Tries to let go
But it holds on

She sees the mirror
But inside's not her
It's someone from tomorrow
Cause she's only today

She's heavy-hearted
But feeling empty
A raging furnace
Made of paper

She's got a life-vest
For the first train
Draws a quick bath
To get her first crutch

She's got her emotions
Stored in her right leg
Lets them all out
After the locks on

She's heading home now
On the sidewalk
Laying longways
In the stars above

Doors will creak, and floorboards crack,
Your feet soft kisses on the wood
In this house, a terminal lies with
No one,
Going anywhere.
I see a flutter, of your ghost
Subtle memories of you,
Are what I dream of when I sleep
Not simply
A life without you.
Ruined if so
Today, though, is mine.

Ours.

Let out to the day,
after years in the dark;
After seconds apart.
Soft rays of sunshine
gentle and warm; Face
pressed against mine by
the cheeks. Entangling
wind blowing in and
around my body;
Arms wrapped around
squeezing tight. Tumbling
brown winter branches
curled and brown; Hair
smooth, flowing down
over shoulders. Fruit
dripping with sugary
sweetness; Lips pressed
to mine that taste
like the sun.
Beautiful; Beautiful.

Living inside a breaking
Body I'm aching with maladies
Not well at ease but I'm okay
Still making melodies;
The drugs they ease but they don't
Cure, I won't be taken hostage
In caustic flesh and cracking bones
My own body is the carnage.

But I'm not afraid of death,
No, it's -- it's something else instead.
What I dread isn't losing life
It's who I'll miss when I'm dead;
When I'm lying there she will  
Be too but neither of us morose --
I'm maybe gross but not quite gone
Her love's the only dose
   I'll need

I'll say Farewell to Arms -- but --
I can't quite say Farewell to You --
My true goodbyes were tied to stone
I've thrown deep in skies of blue

I realize as I depart
Her part's so sweetly auspicious --
But I'm the only one to know
I grow soft secrets surreptitious.
   and --
The Reaper cracks a smile
All the while his autopsy;
He sees my life through his lens,
Carrying me off into
   **Eternity

I love it, the magic.
How the words, the ******* words --
have a rhythm of their own.
It's like the syllables, have dots and stems;
the punctuation, a rest marker. Beats
and sounds and music but not
quite music. 'Cause if it was music
it wouldn't be called a poem.

It's why I write. Her, yes. But the Words?
Oh the words. Just pause, for every comma.
Stop, for every period. Read it. Hear it
and let it breathe in your ear like
I let Her do. It doesn't always have to
be raw emotion.
Sometimes. Just -- sometimes.
It's enough to let the words,
be all the subject,
we ever need.

Brown streams of cocoa pour down to the quicksand
Of deep brown, that pull in and don't let go.
The perfect curve of soft cliffs leads down
To the deep red tulip fields speckled with white rabbits.
Below the tulip fields are a constellation painted
So effortlessly into the ground,
And down below the lowest star, are red capped snowy hills
Like vanilla ice cream perfectly scooped,
Cherries, perfectly placed.
The tides of milk below the hills, so softly rise and fall
Frothless and smooth, delicious and free,
Waves so slow and rhythmic.

The white cliffs, so pleasing to roll down,
Scottish tulip fields, delicious to the lips,
Quicksand speckled with cocoa, a
Sight, I never grow tired of.

A beautiful place.
Persephone's lust and jealousy.

It's 8 somewhere
And here is there
Where the sun goes down to sleep;
The night is blue
It's a darkened hue
That lights across the sky.
The road is cold
Or so I'm told
By my bare and nervous feet,
And the streetlights shine
Into eyes of mine
That see more than can describe.
The store windows
With neons glows
Like ****** across the street
For attention they beckon
They want my attention
But the night is what I desire.
And as my feet walk
Over grass and rock
The night sky shines bluer and wider
Cause it's a beautiful sight
Even when there's no light
It's a world that's worth it to live it.

Orange juice rays that spray down from the sky
through the tight drawn curtains
lands as one smooth strip bisecting the room
softly illuminating the morning.
He grabs tufts of blankets with his toes and tucks
them down beneath his feet
to keep them from cold, or whatever else lurks
in a fresh morning room.
His ears so blue only the Axis could tell,
hear Funkadelic through the soft navy dark
of a room not quite so woken up as to
be a part of the day.
The clock radiates euphoria in soft whispers
of hours more to sleep.
He hears Hazel like on a walnut and lets it
relax every muscle.
Soon he'll decide to colour his own sound,
which stirs under the pulled-up covers
that hide him from a reality spilling in through the curtains
that don't agree with his fields of Blue.

Brown from African dust
My feet are weary with
Home so far behind --
Burning with wrath
Parching my lips till cracked
The sun beats down

Through clouds it now shows
With shimmers of raindrops
Littering the overcast sky --
Puddles in the parking lot
I have to skip over, a familiar
Hand in mine

Which was once smooth and lonely
Before subject to string
By the darkness lingering
Between the spaces in the stars --
The wood table centered so sweetly
By the lanterns

Which here never die
Long into the night
Burning by filament so strong --
They flow, but don't flicker
You can see, but never truly
What it really is.

Here and there,
So different but so melded.
Home is with you.
It will never else be.

Dark and thick,
It pours out over my tongue
On to the paper, through my
Chipped teeth.
The hand prints,
They aren't even mine that
Spread all over the
Canvas for words. It
Crawls out from inside
Like a sickness.
Hot and bubbly, the
Ink drips out. It tastes so
God awfully bad.
Arms buckled and nails
Scratching on the old wood
The retching fails to cease
Bringing nothing but
More Ink.
But nothing
Comes out.

Days with
Out you
Shouldn't even
Be counted
On the
Calendar --
Try(ing to
live the
days with
out the
sun) to
Find me
A reason
Why.

One day I hope
She walks by a window
Without judging her appearance--

One day I hope
She realizes
Her love is her coherence--

One day I hope
The mirror wont
Control just how she feels--

Because I don't care,
I really don't, I for one
Know her beauty's real.