Frosty air contrasts the steamy window.
Us together?
Big swigs of hope followed by long snorts of despair
Us a pair?

Throbbing hearts and shattered smiles.
Us inseparable?
The decline of our worries became the decline of
Us.
Single.

smoking a blunt
on my own
just me
inhaling
and exhaling
pretty smoke
it makes me calm
helps me feel fine
even if just
for a night

Be composed—be at ease with me—I am Walt Whitman, liberal and ***** as Nature;
Not till the sun excludes you, do I exclude you;
Not till the waters refuse to glisten for you, and the leaves to rustle for you,
do my words refuse to glisten and rustle for you.

My girl, I appoint with you an appointment—and I charge you that you make
preparation to be worthy to meet me,
And I charge you that you be patient and perfect till I come.

Till then, I salute you with a significant look, that you do not forget me.

I am he that aches with amorous love;
Does the earth gravitate? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter?
So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know.

We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going—North and South excursions making,
Power enjoying—elbows stretching—fingers clutching,
Arm’d and fearless—eating, drinking, sleeping, loving,
No law less than ourselves owning—sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming—air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulfilling our foray.

I wish henry didnt do the thoughts that he thought
Was his suicide.
I wish henry could talk.
The point being henry is gone.
Feels like the empty pit of an ocean poem.
The empty walrus has a beard
In it grows the bankers heart
And the crooks on wall street.
My father wasnt what destroyed
The crazy heart of a thurough poet.
Im to normal to feel the big haul
Of the god of henry.
But never the stinking less.
The god that kills poets.
The god who always comes back for more.
If the posh bar in new york closed
Henry would of went next door.
Henry would of been around
A little more to know where he sits
In the book store.
The ****** way to be perfect
Was the nastiest game in
Snowy Michigan.
There ought to be fences on that bridge.
But he would of just climbed over.
Mr.  Bones what made henry do it.
Mr. Bones what made henry
Killed henry like the banker
And the revolver from
Oaklahoma.  
Empty is every ship returning home.
Henry isnt on the list of survivors stranded
In the aftermath.
Captain henry stayed on board.

no abnormal  amount of sleep could cure
the tiredness that rests inside my bones
fatigue fills the hollow cage that
dreamlessly becomes my hellish home

no obscene quantity of food could satiate
the hunger residing in my soul
my heart is empty, craving for something
adventure, fire, or the great unknown

no blinding light could truly dim
the shadow living inside my mind
whose darkness overthrows all I do
drowns my pleasure in endless night

no sins of the flesh and gloried closeness
could still my desire for intimacy
to just be held, finally feel wanted
and like I mean the world to somebody

*© Tara India.