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

Awake again, another day
Coffee as brown as her eyes meet me from
The mug she made me.
The heater keeps the cold away
But not as well as her breath
Or her skin against mine,
The shower head begins to spray
Steaming water that I ever wish were
Her fingers, streaming down my back.
Our frustrated feelings start to fray
As we play witness to others begin life together
As we've worked so hard to achieve.
But I will be the ceramic and not the clay,
Steadfast and unyielding until mine is mine
And hers is hers because by god --

Awake I will be in the suns first rays,
Wrapped in arms and light and soft brown hair
And eyes like coffee that will beg me back to bed.

A clock, where time
Does not move;
A ruler, where space is
Nonexistent;
A candle in the middle
Of a burning star;
Letters, when language
Is forgotten;
A stolen life, without
Curiosity;
Tracks and ties, naked
Of trains;
Clouds, without the puppies
We see in them;
A writer, without a story
To write;
A destination, without
The journey;
People, without each
Other. . .

Maybe even me on a Sunday,
Without you beside me?

From the moment the keys hit the table,
I knew I wanted to go back
And kiss you like I should have.

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.

There is everywhere to breath
around this room.

By the window. Where the trees grow
and the speed limit sign stands
Ever vigilant.
The trees breath fresh air through the
White blinds we pull down
together; crisp delicious oxygen that
soars through our lungs like mineral water.

By the table. Where the Thai noodles
sweat their salty scents and
natural perfumes; our favourite
Smells and tastes. The cards slap down loud
In the midst of the crowded black wood,
and they steal our breath with laughter.

In the basement. Where the cold air Sleeps
and the quiet dominates. Where we
Sit in the couches that swallow us
Whole, and where we so
Often whisper to the walls.

But over all these places, your lungs.
Where your breath lays serene
with a rabble of lazy butterflies, and is
the home behind your pink gates.
Your lungs, where I steal my breath from
With both hands on your face, steady,
Unwavering.

This house is haunted.
Not like black, running with blood haunted,
But like a grey tinge, a missing of something ---
Important.

The walls are dead trees,
The lights are like white lifeless faces.
The world is a colourless kind of beautiful,
The black bough the red petal faces appear on
At the metro.

This house is haunted.
Not with ghosts or spirits. Not with creaks, but silence;
Not cold shivers, but an utter lack of; Not
Full of things that shouldn't be but
Instead lacking, missing what should
Be in the space you don't occupy.

This house is haunted,
By the silence your footsteps
Don't create.

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

She's mid-breath when she
Takes the glass and
Splashes the water down her face;
She buries her head in a grave,
In a ground made of
Flannel, speckled with puddles.
Her hands ***** at the electric
Fence, and her fingers
Spasm and grasp and clench tight.
The sides of her back are butterfly
Wings, that flutter
With every gasp and shutter.
Her hair is the dark sky above her,
That hugs her red eyes
With fingers that sparkle thin white.

I've got nothing to say, so I say
It all; I ramble
Until her shudders are giggles --
The eclipse passes and the sun
Is in the night sky, Licking
Up and reflecting the sky specks.

So I'll put the lit up flakes on her
Already red nose,
And let the clouds dry up.

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.

Tonight I lay in bed, with a few extra blankets,
To keep your spot warm for the next
Coming years.

It's raining outside. Of course
It's raining outside, it always
Rains here.

The drops rasp on the skylight;
They streak down the windows,
Clinging onto
               the glass, praying not to hit
                              the ground.

Hitting on the glass, the ticky-tack
Drip-drop pitter-patter paradiddle
Resounds in my mind.

I hear it, the rain, but not the rain.
I hear it, your voice.

The way you laugh, your rises and
falls, your tiny snorts, your aghast
gasps and sounds of speech.

Your lips parting and pursing, your
Tongue weaving a song, breath
Sounding and resounding
               with the rise and fall of your
                              chest, heavy with tender love.

The deep gray refracted in the water
Is so friendly, so inviting, when it
Speaks with your gentle voice.

It's raining outside, and I would bet
It's raining on you too. Maybe even,
The whispers in the rain,

Sound like me
to you.

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

If people were like books, I think that you
Would be among the best. Not ****** life,
But instead loving like sweet honeydew.
Your brown coffee stains, ripped pages, and strife
Give you attraction; black letters give depth.
Your cover is deep brown freckle covered --
Not strained stripped blond, but color wide of breadth.
Your words are full of thoughts rediscovered,
Once old, now part of a new kind of youth.
My minds palate savours each of your words,
Every one full of grace and Christ and couth:
The sounds they make from a beautiful bird.

I am the sieve and your love is the sand
               and you'll try, oh you'll succeed,
To fill me with many deserts by your hand.

Let go of the branch with
Me. We are both flush red
With each other and it is
Time for us to go ahead,
Down to the river that flows
And eddies in pools
That will take us away and
Spin us like spools.

It is October and we cling high
Above in a time that calls Fall,
And we resist because we feel we are
Each a universe, but
Forget that we are Galaxies
In diapers.

I will throw up words
made of barbs and spikes
that cut and ****, if it means
you'll stick around for just
a couple seconds longer.

Reading the draft of vows you wrote three years ago
From a crumpled piece of paper I had all but forgotten
In my wallet almost felt like you were actually with me
Again.

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.

I will be with you until
The sun is cold,
And I will love you until
We are old and withered,
And you are still  Goddess.
I know I will be with you
Because you
Are the only one I want
In my lungs,
Giving me my words and
Teaching my tongue --
Your habits of love
Change me daily and
I find myself
Speaking you.

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.

Sometimes,
All I wish to do,
Is put what's between us
Into prose.

But sometimes,
It's too ******* special
For words to come close to,
Or to share.

I despise my last name.
Someone should come, and
Take it for me.

The Arbor man comes in and
Takes off his shoes, home at last.
I know I will never truly
Be able to fill them.

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