When surrounded by nothing permanent,
it amazes me
how engulfed in the finality of this anguish I am.

I fear roses will be no more
The last dew drops against the white stone
Disease kills
Hell cries night
Alone, I'll go home again
To be alive
Tears kiss the world goodbye

Do not stand at my grave and weep..
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.

I saw a chimpanzee baby,
getting raised by a dog.
I saw an elderly man
cut his food for his uncapable wife
and
I saw a young couple looking at them
wanting to grow old together just the same.
I saw my mother
taking care of her new baby
now we have grown up.
I saw my uncle taking care of me
(He knows we haven't).
A woman trying to find a childs new home.
A child saving an ant from death.
And a boy replacing a girl's bad memories with good ones.
It reminds me, that it's not so bad.

Some days I think I need nothing
more in life than a spoon.
With a spoon I can eat oatmeal,
or take the medicine doctors prescribe.
I can swat a fly sleeping on the sill
or pound the table to get attention.
I can point accusingly at God
or stab the empty air repeatedly.
Looking into the spoon's mirror,
I can study my small face in its shiny bowl,
or cover one eye to make half the world
disappear. With a spoon
I can dig a tunnel to freedom,
spoonful by spoonful of dirt,
or waste life catching moonlight
and flinging it into the blackest night.

But next to my tombstone, sunflowers won't grow,
and what would it matter anyway,
I wouldn't be there to see them

Darling dear, your face is what I see
before I fall asleep
Darling dear, your face is what I see
when I wake.
I protest to thee
I am not in love
merely bored and your lips were the last I taste
Believe me darling dear,
I don't want you
just your touch
your hand on my thigh
stating "she is mine! Not yours!"
But I am not yours
I just like the color of your lips
and the way you bite your lower lip
before you grab my neck to kiss me.
Darling dear this is lust.
I hope it is that much
anyways.

Oops!
I dropped my pen.
Now you will have to admire,
I mean,
watch
As I pick it up.
Oops!
I let you know
That I enjoy
I mean,
abhor
The objectification of women.
Well,
woman,
well,
me.
If you can call an 18 year old girl,
a woman.

Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,
And the sun looked over the mountain’s rim:
And straight was a path of gold for him,
And the need of a world of men for me.