Up and down,
Thats the way life turns,
Round and round,
Like a swirl of water in a bottle.
Like a bottle.
Like I bottle.
Bottle it all up deep inside.
Until the bottles burst,
Until the stress is pouring out of my ears,
Until my head is just full of glass shards
And shattered emotions.
And I'm just left frantically running,
Pacing,
Like a chicken missing its head.

And so I tell myself to pour it out,
At least till I can clean up,
Find some new bottles,
Feel some new things,
Before we start all over again,

Because the bottles will have fallen.

I'll tie the loose strings
Around the glass bottle
Slip in the letter
And throw it out to the sea
Hoping someday you'll read it
With my name scribbled at the edge

Your not so secret admirer
Erian

I internally write down my love, compassion and such
stuff it all into a bottle, and unknowingly push in the cork— no, shove
Later, it washes up on a beach but without the message I put in
but rather angry words, scarring words I had always meant to keep in
The words reach everyone that was never intended to hear them
In fact, I never even intended to breath them
But now that all my anger has been expressed
Saltwater tears are all that’s left.

pleasant is this adverbial, complimentary-angled accusation,
but a ball masque covering
the huge desert ****** stretches where
water and words are one hundred
days and miles apart, with
no filling station on the navigation app

the relentless sounding silences
reverberate angrily between the cochleae,
spiral staircases to no impulse power space,
the impulse to create needy for a clean sparking,
**** if life doesn’t get in the way,
the responsibility tonnage, the never altered
‘to do’ list that knows only additions and sedition

have come to believe that poetry energy,
cannot be created and destroyed,
so pray the unwritten poem souls
are conserved further, awaiting a rainbow
Noah signal, that the *** of poems
are poet-that a-way, in attendance for me,
in attendance for a parental permission slip
from me, my father, my sons, and the ghost
that has never left but promises,
one day he will, absconding with all the drafts concealed

4/3/19

if I could bottle your presence I would
take a sip if I felt too alone
if I could bottle your presence I would
take a hit if you're gone for too long

feel you all around
taste every vision of your mind
feel you from within
casting away the time

if I could bottle your presence I would
waiting for you to come home
if I could bottle your presence I would
waiting for you to pick up the phone

my fever dream is real
never without you, my friend
I can finally feel
the pain is subsiding again

he will finally save me
as I lie down in this tower
she will finally praise me
as I bloom for her like a flower

my genie at once
whenever I command
my woman, my man
come into the sacred land

you will never know how often I wish you'd come by
you will never know how often I crave you inside