meet me beneath the churning river
         wearing a golden mask

oh

love
   have you awoken
from your deep slumber

have your eyes
     accepted the many
definitions
       of beauty
in this world

have your senses
    aroused at
the thought
     of a butterfly
landing on the tip
        of your crooked nose
          
have your plans
     recoiled
into petty
      dreams;
have they spoiled
         once again?

    have your fears
rebound
      pouncing like
a hound
       steady to return &
  desperate to be found

is there
    a sound so sweet
is there
     a beat
            so neat
   as the pitter
and patter
     of teeny-tiny feet

Ode to home.
Where the heart resides.
And comfort lies.
Memories build, and solitude fades.
Smells all so familiar
With sounds of ringing laughter.
Your happiness.
Your home.

TODAY I saw a face--it was a beak,
That peered, with pale round yellow vapid eyes,
Above the ****** muck that had been lips
And teeth and chin. A plodding doctor poured
Some water through a rubber down a hole
He made in that black bag of ***** blood.
The beak revived, it smiled--as chickens smile.
The doctor hopes he'll find the man a tongue
To tell with, what he used to be.

I cling to the rough,
warped edges
and **** in a breath
as I feel them tear
through my fingers.
The blood makes it slick,
easier to fall,
or easier to slide.

I shuffle my feet,
and I slide,
ever so delicately,
wind slapping my face,
but gently.  
We slide here.

I came out here to see
something.
I don’t know what.
I could hear it humming
in the back of my mind,
and it sounded warm.

My blood is warm,
and the cuts sting,
more when I grab on
tighter.
I can feel some going right
down to the bone.
I wince when it scrapes,
but my teeth don’t crack,
so I can hold on
a little longer.

It’s quiet,
and I know there
should be voices.
There should be
many voices.
Shouting.
Screaming.
But there’s nothing.
Only the wind in my ears,
and the shuffle of my feet.
There’s no sound for when I bleed.

At least it’s bright out.
I just wish I could see
something.
Anything, so long as
it’s warm.
I could hear it,
like a promise,
in a dark room with
bare white walls
and rain coming in
through the cracks in
the window.

It’s gone now,
even the room
is gone.
And it’s so quiet.
It hurts being out here,
so I slide, ever so quietly.
No one will hear me,
not out here,
not if I slide.

The ground is close.
I could make it.
I could let go,
and still bleed,
but the pain would end.
I could let go,
and maybe then I’d
hear them.

The ground is close.
I could make it.
Maybe even
land on my feet.
I could let go,
and walk it off.
Walk,
but where?

Even the room
is gone,
and it’s so quiet,
no one to even
scream.
I came out here
to see.
To hear,
to feel
something.

I walked
here.
And now there’s only
the blood on my hands,
and the silence,
and I can’t feel the pain
anymore,
it’s too deep,
there’s only the blasted
silence,
and the bright light of day
that blinds my every move
as I try to climb and wish
I could jump,
and if I could only hear them,
hear them shout,
scream,
“Climb!” or
“Jump!”
I would do either in a heartbeat,
just to stop the blood.  
Just to stop the pain I can’t even feel.

But everything is gone.
So I slide.