I crave a heart
that can feel.

I crave eyes
that will look at me.

I crave arms
that might hold me.

I crave your heart,
which makes me feel.
I crave your eyes,
which will never meet mine.
I crave your arms,
which only hold me
when it’s time to say goodbye.

please!
i want to grasp it
between my fingers without nails
(i bite them off in my neurosis)
and dig my dull digits into it!
please! the truth -- what color is its blood?

i want to hatefuck socrates while
he moans about the mixolydian mode
being drunken and sad.

we tried, that day, to find it
but looking up at the stars
is just a fancy way of looking down,
into our mineral navels
into our vegetable innards!

The egde
of a smoke

It's tapped
Out -

I seize
a whisking night

That brushed me
cajoling me
like lemon berries
bitten under the moonlit star sky

I was thinking
A thought

That turned into flashes
of grandeur, greatly mundane, yet profound storytelling
of the conscious mind's eye

Yet, I fall into the trap of tracing and chasing
the dream ...

I fall into the trance of
tracing back, a transient feel
yet, feeling so out of place

Placed - here, and here I hear it
A thought, that became a stream of opening
That fluidness of it's true nature
of becoming a story - that never happened

- Yet, feels like reality -

I wake up
And think about my memories of my day to day experience
I see them like I see my dreams
I can NOT distinguish between one or the other (in past tense)

Yet, there is something so real
Yet, fake about a memory
Because a dream is rememebered the same way as a memory

That is the fine line, I constnalty walk upon