Weathered eyes
Watching I
Wondering why
Stupefied.
Either the tale is
Wrong
Or, surely! not yet another
Lie?
‘Here within the story lies’
I heard you whisper;
And I just thought you meant
‘You made your bed’
(did i steal your whispers?)
So let’s not deny
The bed,
Another tale yet to be said -
Because another fable
Makes me feel unable
To know knowledge.
Then again.
Then again, Maybe it was never meant for
One.
One plus one isn’t always an equation;
Just separate entities
Together again, are you now an
Enemy?

In denial of the homicidal
In my mind

Who did I ****?
Eternally enveloped in ectoplasmic ethereal Blood
That’s not really there
It returns to the air
There’s no body here
Oh no
I’m empty I
I
I
Wait
He didn’t die

What did I ****?
I can’t possibly be aroused by empty notions
That’s not really true
It remains in the air
And the pieces are here
Oh no
I’m full I
I
I
Wait
Those aren’t mine

I sit and shine
With a smile inside
Fat with the deeds that abide
So say it
Shout it
Scream

I killed myself

Double homicide
I can’t deny
It’s not what you think
The old me long dead
The new me is too
The only me is now
Morning
Night
And noon

At the end of a great writer...

"The most important moments are at the end.
10 minutes in youth may be unworthy.
These last moments will make all the difference to me,
but I will not remember one of them."

The newborn speaks and the men listen...

"Is the soul in the mind of the writer, or in the writing itself?
How does our consciousness pass on?"

The old man lays down his glasses the last time...

"I will now sleep and dream, and in the morning I may cry my first."

Constantly on the mind, a burden seemingly undefined.
Monday to Sunday, occuring daily without falter.
A posit ineffable, some would say laughable.
Like silence when broken, cemented in time.
Do not fret, life's not done with you yet.
Your time is nigh, get up and fly.
Leave behind those dark fragments suspended in time.

My dear,
Me.
Thrumming underneath.
Sobbing.
My sure soft
Heart.
Sleeping between each broken
Part.
Have we waited here
Before?
Swallowed the lock
Afraid of the
Door?
Little one--
You're not so
Small.
Far far more than we might be  
Tall.
Far far more than we're often  
Limited.
Far beyond such simple
Primitive.
Bigger than these boxing
Halls,
Far beyond our fearing
Walls.
Little heart in petal
Glass--
Pink clear water of the
Past--
Listen now, your worried
Heart.
Don't just pull, but simply
Start.
Sorting through the worried
Ends,
Kissing every broken
Bend,
And laugh with every angry
Knot,
Smile because know we ought--
To know no better,
Or be more good.
Listen to right where we
Stood.
And hold it up into the
Light,
Abandon what we fixed as
right.
Abandon notions of
"What"
and
"Might."
And open now, to endless
White.
And healing
Dark,
Trace along each mending
Mark,
And I, sweet me--
Just simply
Start.