we're god's babies.
tonight
i'm saying

god?

it's me again
with more pain.

god.

gives me a cup of chai
faces me
waits

there is always somebody or something
waiting for you,
something stronger, more intelligent,
more evil, more kind, more durable,
something bigger, something better,
something worse, something with
eyes like the tiger, jaws like the shark,
something crazier than crazy,
saner than sane,
there is always something or somebody
waiting for you
as you put on your shoes
or as you sleep
or as you empty a garbage can
or pet your cat
or brush your teeth
or celebrate a holiday
there is always somebody or something
waiting for you.

keep this fully in mind
so that when it happens
you will be as ready as possible.

meanwhile, a good day to
you
if you are still there.
I think that I am---
I just burnt my fingers on
this
cigarette.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.

just like you
could feel my fever
when it broke

i could feel
your fever
when it broke

i wept
like the ocean
for a few nights

you told me
to tell you
the truth

that's
what i'm
craving too

we're far
but i hear
your consciousness tonight

these bodies are broken down boats
our souls though
are still being

held
above
water

Sentenced to the sea until it is no longer salty

A ship and a box are all I have to aid me in my journey

Inside the ship, is a boy

Stained by the brine that pours from his mind

Forever dripping from his colourless eyes

And leaving his skin in the same condition

Inside the box, is a hundred pulsating shards

They once formed something beautiful and harmonic

Now a tentacled mass controls the rhythm  of my blood

No longer do I yearn for the safety of home

Even if my boat shatters like the muscle in my box

I shall have no fear

Because I will learn to surf

she let her blunt hang lazily between tight lips
i loved the way the smoke smelled as she exhaled
she couldnt resist calling me names she had made up for me
i cant say i mind that she calls me what she pleases.

sleep still in the corners of her eyes as she crawls out of bed
she could never know just how beautiful she is to me
underneath her false nails & eyelashes
lies a mysterious cavern waiting to be explored.

reluctant fingertips collide with her hips as we first kiss
how long have we been waiting for this, my dear?
delayed conversation carries on deep into the hours of the night
better late than never, i suppose.

120 hours, 7200 minutes, 43200 seconds until I have to leave again.

120 hours, 7200 minutes, 43200 seconds to make you fall in love with me.

120 hours, 7200 minutes, 43200 seconds to make up for all the lost time.

i asked her "where have you been all my life?"
the corners of her lips curled upward with her reply
"ive been waiting right here for you darling"
with sincerity in her eyes.

oh, but, lover... my innocence has come & gone
i ask you please refrain from abandoning me too.
for i must admit;
ive grown quite fond of you.

as i make my way back from California
like driftwood floating along the river
i smile & wave goodbye to you, my sweet
all though i know it is no consolation

you cant understand why i had to go
but there are many reasons i cant stay home

so as our last hour comes to an end
do not say farewell, my love, ill be back again

The problem with being invisible
Is that none of you ever see me
You see Friend, Person, Sister, Classmate, Girl
Never Me.
The problem with being invisible
Is that you do not hear me
You hear words, sentences, chatter
Not the inbetween, not what I'm saying
The problem with being invisible
Is that you do not think of me
You do not lie awake
And wonder where
Or who I am.
I come only occasionally,
Casually,
In the slums of your minds

**unedited and full version redirected