Today I've decided to work
Harder than I ever have.

First day of work
In the rest of my working life.

This good old job
Deserves as much.

I cannot fix
What is broken
Inside you.
All I can, is to be a
Band-Aid; a soothing
Breath upon the bruised
Knees of your heart's
History.

The healing itself
Is up to
You.

I stand.
Back against family; a human shield.
Feet firmly planted on homesoil
|Dirt dark with ancesterial remains|.

I stand.
Front towards future; a human sword.
Hands clamped tightly around the jugular veins
|Of any threat|.

Invade from neighbouring lands, or distant worlds
In the outskirts of Outer Space; you all stop here.

I protect
With the selfless ability
Of man
Alone.

Forever was not
Or even more than
Years  

We grew
Then apart
Leaving

Me with so much
Ground
Rain

Air all
To
Myself

Progressive, she says about the music
The red wine has made her
Put on the stereo,

And I'm glad I have no neighbours, but
At the same time I wouldn't care
If I did; the way her

Hair smells when she headbangs
Is worth more than summer lilac
And lakeside pine in air. Or silence.

I have surrendered to you day after
Day, tonight I put my sword to the ground
And kick dirt upon it

So it will not awaken. I am without
Arms, touching your face with
My unreachabilities.

Rhythm is the only God we have.
Tone is our Saviour, Melody the Holiest
Of Ghosts . *How can we live

Like this? I ask, then shut my mouth
And do as she says: Just listen to
How it climbs; moves; is.

I have no more fight in me. So I
Won't. I'll just let her decide the volume
And music, and when I need it, Dream

Theatre gives in to Enya, and all my
Needs for rest finally make sense as I
Try not to close my eyes and leave my

Head somewhere between her shoulder
And chest, and ask anything that might
Listen not to, for the sake of ****,

Take me to anywhere that isn't where
She decides that we're listening to music
That is anything but us.

I fall asleep a king
Awake a god
I am a master at my job

I accept full responsibility
For my life;
Set myself free
Daily

Wherever I turn in my
Everyday
There's art

Music
My home is a gallery
There's masterpieces even inked

On my beautiful woman's skin
Her whole person is perfection
Her smile is a .44 shot in darkness;

Blinding, then deadly
She is all I want, and she's mine
It's a ******* dream

It's Full House, Aces over Queens
The gods love me; read'em and
Weep

Your life.
You are the hero.

Start from
There.

Now
Write.

Every page is
Blank after

This
One.

That is
Power.

Pen
Power.

God is a
Poet.

You have that in
Common.

Tummy jitters with
Infantile anticipation.
I am a tiny puppy let loose
In a giant green park.
All words in the world are too big
For my mouth.
I am standing at the absolute centre
Of my heart's deepest dream.
Here Am I.
Nothing is
Other than
Home.

Slip through the barred windows
Like sand through open hands.
Grasping love with
Force is like
Pushing something sharp
With your wrist and
Crossing your fingers.

That house,
With the paint barely
There, windows so *****
They're no longer
Windows,

Was beautiful once.

Yes, I see her.
Street scars; concrete cuts,
Nothing in her eyes but
The ghosts of morning ******
And her father's endless
Sadness.

Walking on
Shards of
Mirror. I have a
Thousand clones
Sharing
My pain.

Such is
World. Humanity. And
Tragedy.

She sleeps, so I treat myself to
Country Music Awards
and breakfast beer.

I know how to open every door
silently.

this is my
home.

I know the creak of every
floorboard,

every
not-to.

I not only want you as much as
I do (as a man must be dead  
Not to); I cherish your friendship as
If it had followed me for
Decades; not months.
Is this how romance is born?
Will I die again
Now?

Thursday beers
With thirsty peers
I really don't understand why they
Choose to ignore that
There's one day more. Now I'm
Not looking forward to Friday.

We talk past each other.
Look behind each
Other and each talk to
A person the other used
To be. We talk
Past each other.

I remove what is left of my
Work gloves
And sit down on a pallet of
Tiles to
Drink water

Project Manager walking by
On his daily survey
Stops
It's a comforting thing to
See a break taken

That is well earned enough
Not to call for
Hiding behind a corner
I suppose it says
What it says

Sweet sound
Morning darkness
Breeze's whispers of
Snow

Ahhh... I'm almost there
She moans against the
Naked back of
Everything

The queen of
Inbetween
Seasons
Touching greens

Not to **** but lull
Not to take but
Present
This

Is -just like any other
Ending- not an
End at
All

Your true life began with your
Hands putting colour to  

Paper.
It was your first breath.

Words came to you, one by one;
Like steps; you learned to walk.

We held your hands as you
Progressed laughing, singing:

                       I want more.

I want to create. Transfer thoughts.
You reached your teens with your

First poem. The one about kittens.
Sometimes you fell.

Came home from school crying
Over painful words; rejection.

We had been through it too, and
Knew how to pick you back up,

Sit you down at a table to write
It out. *Just write, sweetheart.  

                       Just write.

This place scares me.*

So why do you come down here?

*To be scared.

I made myself a healthy
Dinner today.
It was not delicious.

Wondering whether
I have.

I shuffled off my armour, fought with bow, then sword,
Then knife, then handfuls of gravel and stones.

Pebble for arrow, the ones who joined my flesh
I tore out and hurled back in crimson sprays.

My children were too young for slavery.
My wife was too pretty to be left alone.

Home redused to ashes.
Family lost in an inferno of boots and blades.

I would rise from this.
I would arise a cold and hungry demon,

Composed by the devil that is revenge, justice in blood,
And plain, animal violence.

And you would see -before the life left your eyes-
That you created me.

You had nothing better to do,
So you created me.

You killed all I was,
And created me.

You were laughing

When you
Created me.

She looks at me like
I'm not an
Angel.

I'm good with
That.
Some of us fly

Either
Or. Wingspan of good things
Or not.

This must be happiness.
So much more than enough
Food and drink.

This must be bliss.
Sun setting over silent seas,
Warm arm against my

Back as she puts her lips on
My shoulder, exhales a
Whispered I Love You, then

Moves along. Windows to beauty.
Both
Ways.

When admitting own flaws
Rather than pointing out
Those of the other,
Compromise paves the road
To shared progress;
Forgiveness goes
Four ways.

She's been hurt so many times
she no longer seems to care.
I'm not bruised, she points and
whispers, *here, just place your

punches there.

Such a waste
Spending as much
As a week

Waiting for something
As brief as a
Weekend

It's one of those nights.
This ancient house makes noise
With every gust of cold wind,
And I'm all alone on the farm.

I'll throw a log on the fire and
Watch a Paranormal Activity-
Or Blair Witch kind of movie.
As loud as I want, with the lights

Out. Play a trick on my own nerves.
Challenge this old, beaten-up heart.
Eat some cheese, drink strong coffee,
Unplug the nightstand light.

Open the creaking door to the hallway.
Then tuck myself in.
Set myself up for one for the books.
I love a good nightmare.

I'll let my imagination set the scene,
Then drift off into its realm.
Who needs movies, to dream is free.
Tonight, no one can hear me scream.

Hoping for my favourite ending.
The one where it's all so terrifyingly
Horrible, that I pray to Whom it May
Concern: Please, let it just be a dream..!

I'll do anything for this
Not to
Be real...

*Ok.

All this fear of change.
Of being shaped by
Others.

When became identity
So frail? Let me be
Myself.

What else could you
Ever be? Multitudes and  
Motion are

Inevetable. Living is
Growing. Grow
With me.  

We cannot stop this train,
But we can set its course.
Let's change together.

And with us, the world
Around us. Come into
It with me.

It is a long,
Slow
Journey.

I know parts
Of the
Way.

Have you laughed with pain?
Have you cried with pleasure?
Don't tell me you haven't
Lived.

Ants build.
Locusts destroy.
Everything that moves
Dances.

Listening to the constant murmur
Of a crowded train station

Collective voice of
Man as ant

A choir singing
I'm lonely

This is how words form
This is how we find others

This is how
We call

Unto
Us

Reflections.
Reminders of something
In you I dislike about
Me.

So far from selflessly
We pat the shoulders of our
Loved ones when they
Remind us of our own
Rewardable sides.

We did good when they did good.
We harvest from their
Achievements.

I suppose mirrors are
The eyes of the
Soul.

Leave scars on the cheeks of her man.
Scars deeper than any left by angry
Fists, or gravel.
Deeper than those slapped on by wedding
Ringed fingers; now naked.

A woman's tears.
Each heavier than an ocean.
Deeper too,
The chambers in which their source and
Remedy rest.

Outside the walls of which
Water falls.

Each drip-drip-drip
A vertical sea in the uncynical/
Cynical eyes of
Timelessness and male poetry.

I don't care how
Angry she makes you.

Be gentle and kind to all
Women. Their

Hearts are closer to God's
Than our fists will ever be.

Would you please stop
Not believing in
Yourself?

You're the
Only one
Who doesn't.

Funny how a four year old
Can answer "because that's
Just what that does" to a

Question, knowing full well
That the grown up is the
Spiteful one, who refuses to

Hear such solid
Truth and find it
Enough.

That itch you find
So annoying

Is that of a wound
Closing.

Learn to be grateful
For any tissue

Keeping the red stuff
On the inside.

Heartsplit*

A measure of the time
Between one part of a relationship
Not caring as much
Anymore

And the other responding
The same way

Slightly longer than a heartbeat
Slightly less than
Love

Perhaps being aware
Never takes us
There

Skies, open your eyes.
I don't mind the overcast,
But miss the sunlight of
Your iris.

I drink not for the dead.
They needn't escape, nor
Celebrate.

I drink not for the lost.
They need not flee from
Past or fate.

I drink for all the rest.
For those who have no
Cup nor wine.

To them, I'm raising mine.
The ones who stay to
Work and fight

Through the day and darkest
Night. Who rest beyond
Sobriety.

I suppose I drink for me.

Your true life began as you
Picked up your first pencil.

Learning your words and
Sharing them; thoughts became

Things.

Another weekend
Preparing retirement;
Well earned.

The sun awoke me.
Next to her.
Twice.

There for him
At his own convenience;

Waited at a set table
To watch him eat, then

Gave herself to any other
Thirst he might

Crave quenched. Treating
Her like an appliance,

Seeing her as a machine, dead
Eyes silent when she dared

Ask when will I see you
Again?

She cried for a year.
I'll never blame

Critical eyes burning
Holes in my back.

I love them for watching
Over her heart.

These are days of contrast,
Little girl.

I mean every
Flower.

To allow myself to be
Weaker than one
When I need to.