The Past looks right at me,
with those big, glass eyes that
sparkle even when it's dark out.
They are all-knowing eyes, and they
see through time and space.
The Past touches my high-***** cheek and whispers so
sweetly, calling me to innocent, bright springs
and free, young summers where I was evermore myself to revel in.
The Past is telling me stories about a time when I dreamed so many dreams
and I feared nothing and no one.
I wasn't afraid of love and I wasn't afraid of exploring and only being.
The Past is a tease, making me warm and wet for days it knows
I can never have back.
And the Present grabs a hold of me with burly arms thickly corded with
muscle and persistance.
There's no running back in a slow motion reel, and running forward
into the arms of that mysterious stranger Future is scarier
than what hides in the dark of the moon.
I'll settle for an even pace and a prayer.

lover, I fear the future.
I fear you, a century behind me
I fear the lights that appear
under your skin and guide my fingers
down and across
till with an ear against your neck
I feel the shudder of ancient wings.

lover, I fear your insides,
the plum-colored honeycomb
of tissue and pulp,
sympathy and deep hives of unrest,

in the lull I gaze towards the ceiling,
lover, I brave it all when
above my head, hands clasped
like a pilgrim, I rail
against, against, against—

vanilla, teak, tobacco,
I perfume my sheets with you.

Now, if I don't say goodnight,
it's weird.
We're not together
still we seek affection, comfort
in each other.
But if time goes by
and we don't talk,
you're in tears.
This fall it's a year.

I go out
and I don't want to have to
answer to you.
I don't feel like
making excuses
but you know everything
I do.
I care though;
I don't want to upset you.

I could lie
or be vague
but my pride is at stake
So I'll stick with vague,
force you to wade
through my words
so carefully chosen,
––off-handedly given
so if you find out
I'm dating again
you won't blow up
we can still be friends.
I'll be forgiven
and you won't close up.

'Cause I would hate for that to happen.
And I know you would too.
So don't let it happen
Let's just build something new.
Intimacy without ***.
Love and trust without a partnership.
I know it's possible.
But with us,
every drink turns into
another night together.
Our hours go by
because it feels unnatural
'cutting things short arbitrarily.'
Tearing apart what has
grown together now.
...You and I are not a perfect match.
There's space between these ridges.
Separately,
you can see we're not the right pieces.
You're not the right fit.
For me.
And it *****
Because I wish you were.
It *****
seeing someone you care so much about
be so torn open, heartbroken

(I think of everything a parent hopes
will never happen to their child
because, I think, they know how it felt
when it happened to them.)
It. *****. Knowing
that person your mother feared is me.

At least I have a reason now;
something to grasp how
I could disgust her so much.
But it's not.
I want to say it's not.

I'd rather you didn't know of my shame
that thing I feel
when I pull you back and forth.
I know, I know, I know
I'm to blame.
Wanting one thing for you
So I say it.
I don't want to play this game
But I know it's what you want to hear.
So I hold you close
because I think I'll hurt you less
if I'm near.

Leaving means retreating means fleeing
to you.  From something 'too real'
you think I'm incapable of handling.  
But that's not it.
I don't feel what you feel.
I will suffer repercussions of
not seeing you,
someone I've grown attached to
and feeling the void I've created.
I've instated.
And I know you'll be so mad.
****, you'd be such a
loyal friend to have.

TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.

The name on one all men may read,        
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.

On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;      
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.

To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.

O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.

'xxxxx,
where have you been all my life?'
the sarcastic exaggeration sends a chill down my spine.


where have i been?
right here baby.
waiting;

not for the postman who's late on a tuesday,
or for the world to find peace,

not for the politicians to stop lying,
or the rain to stop falling,

not for a little appreciation,
or even the pain to go away,

but right here,
right here baby,
i've been waiting, all this time,
for you,
5 miles away from your hotel,
with my arms
open,
my heart
open,
just praying for a phone call, a text message,
a ******* hello if anything,

but no,
i wait in vain for someone
who couldn't even give a ****,
about me or anything of the sort,

and then you come to me,
when its just too late,
asking
where i've been,
when i'm fairly certain,
you knew all along.

Going through the motions,
People crowd around me,
So many things to look at,
But we never really see,
People, nature, inanimate things,
Symbolism, politics, and what those bring,
One persons trash,
Is another's treasure,
Can you look at a flower and tin can,
and see both their measure?
I'm coming up blank, facing a block,
Into my brain, I wish ideas would flock,
But alas, the canvas is clear,
I'm as empty as a drum,
Can you please answer me this...
Where does your inspiration come from?