You ever think about
the vast nothingness
of space
or
the emptiness
between planets
and galaxies
I wonder
if the universe writes poetry

I find it is
Much harder
To muster the ambition
To write
Out of emotional precaution
Rather than
Out of emotional necessity

Isn't it funny
how the older
we get
the more we know
but the less
time we have
to use it

I don't want reality
Just
Some facsimile that provides
Me with the emotions
Necessary to write

When I connect with a poem
I don't really care
Who wrote it
Or
Where they're from
Still
I weave a tapestry
In their honor
Composed not of facts
About who they were
in life or death
But solely with the colored thread
They have hidden
for you
and
for me

The Lizard man
Set down
His cigar
And wept
For himself and
The world and
All those
In
Between
Us
There has always been
The Lizard man
And his cigar
And his tears

I'm too far away
from those summer nights
when we would just sit
and listen
to each other
breathe
i don't remember
i think you tried
to change me
but
i know
i tried to change
you
if I remember
you said I wasn't
there for you
but the face you put on
is turning old and gray
and my sympathies are withering
maybe one day
you'll see
i was the shoulder you said you need

Mortality is
The meaning
Of life

Homesick for a moment
That doesn't
Exist
Now
Or forever
Hold your peace

If you
Meet the truth
You know
It
If you don't
Know it
Then you didn't
Meet it
I think
That is somewhat true

Our story was written
In pencil but
Your name is
Written
In ink

Indefinite freedom
Promises some
Sort of change
But form
Without
Substance cannot
Do much
In this world
We all need glasses

Being
In love
With the moon
Is hard
Sometimes
It
Isn't

She recedes and
Crashes
As an ocean
Waves the eternal
Give
And take
Of a boat
Helplessly cast
Away

But now my
Thoughts turn to
December and
That morning when we all
Unloaded the dishwasher
Together and
It was perfect

There is something
Attractive about the life
Of hermits
Whether it's the
Courage or
The cowardice
I can’t decide