The greatest war is not fought
on muddy, barren fields.
The greatest war is not fought
behind the meager drywall.
The greatest war is not won
with bloodshed of thousands.
The greatest war if fought
behind my forehead,
in my brain,
with bloodshed of a single person.

To drown in yellows is to stare too long
At those fiercely awkward moments of yours,
But it’s all I can do.
Even as alarm bells ring incessantly, over and over.

When something's seriously wrong,
I've no idea how to tell.
Something must be wrong with me,
I have no warning bell.
Liars, cheaters, chronic deceivers
seem trustworthy and kind.
I'll put my trust in anyone
who bothers to give me their time.
The benefit of the doubt
is a dangerous gift to give.
I see the fire, but still take the chance,
thinking "Either way, I'll live."
Pain seems easy enough to prevent,
signs alert me to imminent hell.
Yet often I turn my head and ignore,
because I hear no warning bell.

We search seas for rough
cleansing, but
some times, some new
some old,
we search for her to lap away
the warmth in our sun-born flesh,
to ease away the white-hot-heat and frenzy,
till her cold wet fatigue may kiss us full
of calm, of passivity, of loftiness, of sea-foam docility
and to chill our temperment some.
Sip her blessings, child,
but I warn you, her cup overfloweth
and in your wanting,
your pining doubt,
an open mouth spells a ominous quiet,
and a hushed sigh of grief--
for the sea mourns your passing--
or rather, the passing of the warmth
she grasped too quickly at
when your heavy head dipped too low
too weakly, and bright eyes closed cold
and meekly.

Used                        (used)
U sed us                 (you said us)
E dus                      (eat us)
Ed u sed                 (and you said)
Used                       (used)

The afternoon heat hung like a rising fever.
The old iron gates of the school yard wait to swing.
My feet planted near the outskirts.
Sweeping the sticky hair from my face,
alone I wait.

Chocolate melted in my pocket.
Minutes turn to hours.
A gallery of photographs has passed me by.
Panic snickers, searching for your face.
The waiting, the patience,
feeling more like a punch, than a verb.

The chocolate now a sticky ink, staining my pants.
I feel a voyager aboard a lost ship, floating,
hoping for shore.

Sudden without warning,
you grace my sight,
slow motion, near the gate door.
In one swing, you're here.
The wait long forgot,
hung on your beautiful stare.

I rewrite myself often
Never satisfied
With the person I've drawn out
...
I say this only once
And I say it as a warning...
Don't write yourself in me
Or parts of you will get lost too.