You are so much to lose;
and for how I've gained
I'll accept all your burdens,
sorrow and pain;
but is it worth it for you?
with all my mistakes
I know they've caused you

melancholy and disdain.


It's mid-December,

but it feels like spring
such as the world, we are an
odd, complicated thing.


I just can't see you seeping
anything useful from me.
I am the raging forest fire that

mercilessly swept across the trees.


Lovely,

I don't mean to burn you,
I simply try to breathe


I can't help that it's within my nature
to destroy everything I meet


in time
with a heavy laden heart
my love

you'll fall to ashes at my feet.

my fingers have become bored with
the quicksand of routine
they prefer to dance erotically over my typewriter
frolicking like naked ballerinas
over an ancient stage
spilling their secret thoughts
onto blank page,
after their day job
threaded together
over my lap,
or bending over to
reveal the contents
of my burlap sack

they have taken instead
to jumping over cracks
in the nothing of night
stifling the sound of silence
with assortments of clicks and clacks
punching in the perfect pitch of keys
to leave Beethoven blind
from this symphony of notes combined

and just like that at last
they have unfolded some rhyme
unachievable with ink and pencil,
without the stencil of time
dictating to work inside the lines

Unburdens the dusky river

dreams of flow dead in the bog of hyacinth
harvest burnt in the scorch of aridity
ripples robbed by the silt of dogma
sunbeam denied by the **** of creed

I was meant to reach the sea,
now I would never make it.

I pick the river's shattered pieces
with my own from the wintry dusk.