I got Jack Kevorkian in the trunk of,
My 911 Porsche Sport
With a leaky transmission and
Lighter fluid in the oil pan to,
Set myself ablaze
          because
I'm the hottest killer in the game
Just a poet
Who pulls his threads of passion
From the sickness in his pain
The ink is blood that
          leaks out from my veins and,
Scribbles musings so desperate on the page
My mouth is like a leaky faucet
           but
My hearts a busted watermain
           Flooding and empty room
Drowning out the poor excuse of
           The boy I was
In my wasted youth
A denizen of ***** diner booths
            With napkin rhymes that in my mind
Create the grand design of wasted time
That draws pencil lines
            Sketching out
This life of mine

You have the most pleasant touch,
most pleasant eyes, most pleasant wrinkles.
Kotschka, you have turned me into a fire
without knowing it, without seeing it.
Now that you do, look at me and show
me remorse, and give me your condolences.
This is my very first time saying this:
I died when you looked at me
and I died when you said 'hi.'
I died when you smiled,
and I died again when you touched me.
This is how it's going to be, but know
that I can die again and again
as long as it's for you and because of you.

There is one thing that you cannot replace in this world; the man and the sea,
A magical life runs in his veins, interconnected on the depths of its history.

The sea is a giver, it is a lullaby creeping on the shore. He is the sirens of the storm
If he could only reach me,
I would bear the anchor beneath the waves.

His eyes are sinking ships as the stars crashed on the sky; he is the embodiment  of a lost piece of your dreams,
the heart is as deep as the sea.

The time wouldn't keep us
but my words will linger deep in the sea.

Born the son of man
made in his image
losing humanity
following the ways of man
I bet my life
putting it all on black
until the red filtered through
and I became a man.

Being a man is effortless
but being two men is impossible
getting through to men somewhere in between
men mourning every day storming
incapable of sight after being dehumaneyesed
men must come together to make man
palliation for a lifelong abortion.

Vultures perch on my body
saying "we've got a live one here"
devouring my finger off the pulse
their tasteless tongues
receive no sustenance
from the known nothingness
of the cycle of life.

The price of membership is dismemberment
paid for with pieces
that are swallowed whole by the hole
man puts in his head
donning the cloak of fatherhood
concealing the void while claiming purpose
making someone in their image
before dying as the son of man.

same face
different looks
same man
different books

woman and man tools
of freedom stand and be true
you say you say you do

He has no rest, he has to
think ahead all the time
because politics is war

trade is war
and war is trade
if you just think ahead

and don't stay at home
to enjoy what you have
until you suddenly lose it

He is a man, he has to
succeed, spinning around
like a bullet he drills himself forth

against the current through
the wavy bed of narrow channels
with sticky banks, he has to

be the winning *****
he laughs himself strong
he has dogs that bite

take me to Paris, she said through star-filled eyes
through which she couldn't quite see
and his shadow beckoned her delicate hands into the unknown

and when she touched the Eiffel tower it felt almost as cold as his hands had been
when he picked her up from the grass
but she ignored his ice hands
and instead
hummed to the tune
of his contralto voice
even when it raised with every hoarse breath
as it turned to terrifying storms of thunder

she lay in silk as her artist's muse
soft fabric against skin
chills sweeping up her back
goosebumps against her arms
yet she smiled

but she longed to hold the paintbrush and swim amongst the bright colour

when she traipsed across sunset fields
she felt his grip tighten
but she treasured the security
that he wielded
in his rough hands

and when he hit her
it felt like a kiss