I am at random,
And the lines formless
In my mind:
A lover and the pain,
A cat and a dying master,
Memories while walking
Among the tombs,
The names are faces.

And the void is a mind globe
Spreading itself into a sphere
As the sweat scourges my forehead,
I wipe my third eye:
      Hours leapfrog from page
To page,
   The sound of poetry is among
Everything I have known,
    A dispersed word translates
Me for the verse,
    But I am insubstantial,
Much as my thoughts.
In my room,
     On my desk,
I brood over the wind of yesterdays
Erosions,
I am nailed to a tree,
Deep into a lifeless tree,
I am no poet saint.

     I am not here nor there,
And when all the words have convened,
      I will find a piece of myself
In every poem,
    Though I remain incomplete.

In that moment your soul sailed
Off into the profound unknowns,
With heavy eyes watching you go
And God's rain falling on those
You left behind;

There in the flint of the final star,
Becoming yourself once again
Into the ocean of stellar waves,
Your shoulders that burned before
Have found their wings once again.

You shall birth a Nova's light across
A stream of unknown universe,
Filling the empty space that was
And is now no more an oblivion;
You become a solar being.

You have vaulted the quiet reaches,
The timid space between stars you
Have birth a system that will grow
From your presence, and when the seed
Has grown to have it's own shores,

The first delicate breeze of your airs,
The birth a your new amorous Earth,
You will become a song without words,
An orchestrated living constellation.

And the long embrace we feel from
Your absence, the abyss left from
Your departing, it will be filled
And as we look to sky for Hope's
Sake, we will see a new place
In the night sky.

Your star will say, " I am here",
You're light will press against the
Eyes of those you left behind
And the arms of your light shall
Embrace everything we miss.

You will find yourself in new waters,
Know yourself in the sun,
As your soul catches the solar winds,
Make sure the star you birth
Winks for the eyes of those
Whom shed your tears.

In the end
I was, but I will cease to be,
A thought on the project called life.
And the thirst for answers
We don't know to ask,
Abandoned by time.

I am not what I was when I was born,
I have become someone else
In the elastic anxiety,
Which was really nothing to worry about.

What is beautiful
That is infinite,
Fleetingly we were all magnificent
In the oblivion,
        Death is a contrast,
Unlike life where nothing is guaranteed,
A revelation to our defined being.

    In the end
We we figure out the answer
To the questions that should
Not be asked,
Posthumous wisdom.

Should I throw a rock at your head,
Or should some ornate stone in passion
Be flung that it may open your mind?
There is a poem,
Natural in its state of emotional honesty,
And a bird can be on a branch crapping
On your windshield,
Or upon morning's first light
A golden bird gleams among
The verdant branches like
Emeralds in a feast of crystalline
Fields set aglow by calling stars.
      Still the truth of the poem
And its severed beauty is that it
Does not lie among the constant
Heart, that frail and vicious
Emotionally challenged furnace,
And the words are compared
Like a rare comet vs. a constant star.
       Holes in the words
Sap a poets blood, so he films them
With passions of flame and struggle,
And from fire to fire he spills
Himself within the pen.
     From here to eternity's moment,
They will never slay his thirsting,
From verses that hold him,
To words that overtake even the spirit
Where his poems are forged like some
Ancient blacksmith
Beating together steel wings
To fly the world over for one mans
Fiery thought come to life ,
And he is a star and a begging dog,
A broken hearted moon,
A fragment of dead things
And alive in his words,
Before he dies he wants his
Soul to shed its poetry.

Like cigarette burnt to the stub,
Like an empty bottle of Jack,
      Kinda the way it's been.
Like reruns of Seinfeld on a Saturday
    1a.m. slot.
And nobody notices, yeah my days
Have been like that.
     Like bloggers on a subject like
Star Wars and little
Pimple faced teens arguing lightsabers....
     Pertinent subjects have lost
Their way out of my life.
      There is a whole lot of nothing,
But like cigarettes burnt to the stub and
     An empty bottle of Jack,
Like days fading on a memory card
With 300 pictures,
      And the ashes that get swept
Just this side of the puke
Of the armchair.

A room, a bed, a closet,
A familiar setting,
A window and a storm.
The night without stars
And a thunderclap of wonder.
There are many people like
This, all around me who get
To know the storm.
The sunrise, the mist,
The birds at song under
Wet trees, lukewarm morning.
Here there is a woman alone
With no man, many like me.
And all that is and was
Or will be wants what the heart wants,
Love.
The night comes again,
A room and shadows long and
Madly the same.
I swell with a thought of a woman,
My dream comes to me awake,
I am alone but she accompanied
Me through many lonesome nights
Even in my imagined reality.
We had loved and made
Love many times now,
I don't know her name
But I know every curve of her face,
Her transparent slip....
The rolling curve of her thighs,
And while so close seems
So very far away.
I see her ****** in the shadow,
I long for her body,
No I long for her soul with me.
I love her more than I know,
But I don't know her,
Her wings clipped like some
Fallen angel,
Her flesh deeper than the touch,
This is more real to me than
Anything else I know.

Tonight, in a room, in an insanely
Familiar room I stand alone with her
In my thoughts,
I sweet song arises in my head,
We dance in the pale moonlight
And then I was interrupted by
A passing car,
And I knew the car was real.
Illuminating from my mind
I return to the last dance,
Forever the first.

I write her into reality,
Every lonesome verse filled
With an unknown woman,
She that I love deeper than
Any abyss,
She carries my soul away from
The room, the closet,
The familiar night.

One:

She sings in her bed
While she stares at a picture
Of her daddy.
On her lap is a razor
And her monsters cut away
At her lap, laughing.
The girl sings her song
In the empty house.

Two:

Her sky was a daddy,
There were birds and clouds
And the air was pure
In his hands.

The clouds caressed
Her face and her face told
Of a sadness,
Like a cloud her daddy
Wasn't there.

Three:

Heart full of dreams
And eyes filled with water,
I will share the girl's secret:
Daddy was taken away,
Her daddy was locked away.

Unfastened in her defenseless
Blood, she annoints herself interrupted,
She has the scars,
You can see the scars.

Her song sings:
Daddy do not abandon me.
I am alone
In the tears and the blood
I am home, alone.
You are not here,
And it hurts me truly,
You are not here.

My ankles transport me to work
Work on nothing
Nothing

A moth directs itself to light
Direction
Nothing

Who is this life for, anyway?
Some-thing or some thing?

Things someone thought about and it seemed right at the time

Nothing can beget nothing
No thing is possible without hope

The thing I want most is to be a wire.

And it begins at the end,
The finality of the body
In a stir of echoes.

The whole of the world
Curled into the womb
Of the woman I adore.

I see her in the mist
Weighted by words
Never spoken.

I guess everything
Becomes a haunting
When the moment is failed
With deep intention.

And my voice
Becomes a scream
Vowing to make up for
Lost things.

But one cannot go back.

In the fullness of the prime,
When passion beckons
And emotion is erupting

I tear away from myself
And scream to me
To speak the words.

Deep and intenful,
A murmur in the shadow,
The compassionate memory
Never said.

Uncertain, frail, timid
Times in the state of me,
It seems life sends no invitations
For the proper timing.

My love, my lover,
Uncomplicated as two,
I simply never spoke,
Those words

One final thing
Chasing her mist,
The unspoken "I love you"
Failing the moment.

To separate from youth,

The mind mastered
And a brazen flame forwards
The march

Watching all innocence
Fade, devoured by time
And taking every moment

Watching the son become
The father in a blank slate

While knowing the woman
Under the sun, every day
A work of progress.