I loved you so much, you
never knew. Some things that are
hearts inside lonely nights. So I know

you had to be alone, so I
could leave me no hope. Destroying all
my old capacities, they’d be

still guiding me. But I know that
I have to turn and fall off the cliff,
behind these clouds, cold snow in darkness.

You know I am lost, to depressed
storms below me. So when I float off
to a sun over that frozen moon, her brightness

displays all my pain.

I am lonely so I need to
be alone. I knew it more than you did.
I loved you ever more so you don’t.

You couldn’t love me.

I know.


© February 3, 2014

I'll be wearing a poor persons tattoo
Black and white
Of a tiger blazing through


© November 4th, 2013

When you know who you are and find out who you are not, how can you bother sleeping at night? When it holds us down and it’s done dreaming of the enslavement of billions because it has come to life inside our minds. The days’ endings are coming and seem worse with each passing slide of childhood memories and tearful age. Who you know is so tired. Each and every of the billions’ voices is stifled.

“I know my heart and I love my family. They give me joy though I watch them suffer every day. Of racial profiling, religious hate and sexism. I pray the young will be spared my fate. So I pretend not to see and enjoy all my moments with them because all I can clutch, keep my control of is now, is this very moment. Now is all I can see. No influence on my future comes from me.”


© October 27th, 2013

What is freedom? When we cross our
hairs with the final stages of love, do we
know what it was which made us feel at
all, as human beings.

When we take our own time and
tame these projections, that we fill into
the shines of animals, and our hearts grow
with the untainted of ties.

What is it, that makes us love at all?

When I look into her eyes, and all is known
to last days crying, shimmer joy and crafted
openings. Some time the flows come arisen on
their own, who are we to know?

Sometimes I know that only being alone is
the way of assuring I know the certain
way to love. And now this is time to see
that when I am with another, my love nor freedom

has withered with a shore line of misery.


© September 18 2013

Let it come, the memories, which come
up in broken waves, of times too fragile to
capture in rash stories. Moments that

fade within thoughts that try to keep
near; the image of you, words attached to
fragmentary pictures. I remember brown eyes behind

glasses, while in contemplation, and that how in
silence, one tried to examine the features on
my inside. Lying down, looking up, into dazes and

blurry reflections. Can you tell the future by the
shine in my eyes and shape of my lips? I want to know what lies
beyond your clear brown eyes, though you seem to

read like an open book, I still see pages unread, appear
unwritten in unpainted ink. Where is the earnest, how does your
mind travel through dark open spaces? Can I deepen the

effect I have on you? Make it last, and have my
self succumb to more than just your touch, which does
ripple over me like ravenous waters. I want to

swim, though formally I’m not allowed to. Would you
let me see what is beyond that horizon, when I fall off the
world, will I dive into our pages then?


© 2005

You know I can’t
love when you bring me to
my knees. A drop of
blood from your
hit teeth. Sorrow dipped

and sipped blue in ice.

When the past
becomes a flurry and it’s
hard to taste your sweet
thoughts merely turned
into sweat, only

to spit it out.

You took my soul and
clenched it to prove I was
wrong. Trusting and loving you
brought my knees
to the ground, and I laid

my hands on the cool soil.

How can I become one
with myself again? With tears I
let flow but myself
forgotten in the ground. Wings
above me in the air, curved through

my spine into a horned tail.
Tortured soul, I’ve known it all
along.

© 25 August 2013

There is more of me that simply
cannot be touched, lips of those who have cursed
mine cannot tear away pieces to keep for
trophies.

This hand with its fingers is
not hard. She wants darkness through the
bones around which bright lights are shining.

I am home and hope, these little
words curl from the ink in her fingers.

When my eyes are closed, I am
nothing. Who can dare blaze these thoughts out
from the hollow sides, encased by barefleshed
skin, but wind?

All the little noises and the sounds, they are
like water rushing through a river of me. She stands on
edges too frightful for the fearful to bear being on.

How she longs for tilt, and jumping cords that
have a hold on the bases of her. God does not know
to let her die. Simple molecules, we all
know, nothing of material is ever lost. Only mourned, that

is the recomposition of us.


© May 21st 2013