I had an idea
  Of what to write
                          say
                        recor­d
But got lost
like a rabbit who took
the wrong turn at Albuquerque—
and so I’m lost for words,
but here I am.

I remain an iteration of past mumbles
No future do I yearn to.
I'll tell you about a "Once upon a time"
Instead of the coming blue.

In no present have I remained,
Only in "once" and what if
I sing of the begone days
In the tavern of lost grief

Here I pour wine to newer cups
Which time forgets to brew.

I asked if you recalled
the time in the snow
to mega bed you hauled
your bag and your speedo
Got there, you sprawled
said your back had a blow
Said the mushrooms you did
made your self-worth glow

You claim you're too busy though
I know you still care
but something warm fills me whole
not happiness, its unfair
How you once trudged through the snow
just to smell my hair

How the squirrel drops the nut-hat,
Perfectly where its to be used
For the millipedes to hide in
But I’m just confused

I have no skills other than to annoy
Unless my mouth is to be used
For reasons like his and her joy
But I’m still confused

(    )

      > where drifts the self?

frore strath
  where stalkers
drip their sultry rest
  and our shoulders
thaw
  into
the moor of dumb ”Earth”;

  > where do the ARROWS lead?

   to the soft cortège of gut
  slunk in eve’s
inferring weave;
  often whit’s
threnode
  where bre^th ignores its end

       > what stirs now?

  wearing the guise of lack
   [...]
ego, and
a patch of moss in sombre ”snow”
  lurching
beyond limbs,
  beyond need

       > when loosens time?

  the night clasps
 thin as the sigh of origin
  and i
(and we)
  one sunken, shallow leaf;
  do not rise /
do not recall

       > none beside?

  only the dreary,
  detailed fatigue
  of being
  unmade, unmade...
  
       >  ▍

I held my pen,
ready to start writing something new—
something that reflects my life.
I think, and think, and think,
but nothing comes to mind.

Whenever I close my eyes,
her sweet memories cloud my thoughts
like mountains in the middle of June.

I always try to bounce back,
but no matter how high you jump,
it's inevitable that you'll fall.

Now, I’ve lost my touch;
I’ve lost the sparkle in my eyes.
She didn't just leave my life—
she took my pride.

Is that me now?
A soul who roams
in fields of pitch-black solitude.

Her delusion was
that I had moved on,
and mine was
that she would find her way back home.

Step into my heart
Step into my heart, my line,
Step deep inside and enter my soul in peace.
My wound is your wound,
My pulse is your pulse,
And the words, we speak to them the same.
The street of sorrows begins in me,
A wound awakening beneath my ribs.
And it ends there too,
When one day,
We can finally speak it aloud.
My line, my line and inside my heart,
Step in and enter my soul in peace.
These words yes, they are the same.
Oh, when I speak and you believe,
Believe in the truth and let it rise from your lips.
When I speak and you believe
The truth will find its sound.
From your right,
From your left,
From there, from here
Know me.
You will find me
The possible truth.
Hug me and hold me,
Throw me into the air
Draw me, colour me,
A bird released, flying free.
Oh, when we meet
Meet in the space between our words,
When we meet again,
Let it be on the words
That rise from our hearts.
Step into my heart
Step into my heart, my line…