Let me tell stories about who I am,
Let me rob you of your proof that I am your friend,
Let slip secret notions that live deep within my soul,
Watch me process and twist whatever unwavering truth you've  believed you told,
All jumbled on the banks of a chaotic mind,
All broken stolen and now hard to find,
Please tell me it's okay to let ugly parts poke out of this heart you've painted gold,
Because keeping them hidden my body begins to fold,
This smile you cherish is a silent scream trying to escape my tightly closed lips,
This smile is me begging you to instruct me to cut the s**t,
Because without permission and direction I'll always choose to swim in it.

(I think I fell in love in the back of a theater
foreign languages on the screen-
mourning dew in your eyes.)

Empty bars encourage the best conversation
in the dead of winter
when nobodies feel the most alive.

they order Irish coffees and Old Fashions
to remind them of the
grandfathers they never knew, while we talk
and covet the ****** hair of exotic men.

(I always awake feeling close to you
and then go to bed
disintegrated by distance- by need

love is always easier when your face is numb
having mistook the blemishes its supposed to hide
for forbidden fruit within the promised land.)*

there's a depressed bartender talking to
a manic patron,
reminding me to visit my parents soon.

In this river of wine
I love my love with love
Never known before

Don’t walk into this river of hope
wearing a robe
You don’t take a good bath
wearing your gown
Come naked
In this garden
Without clothes, without figs

I am glad
that you found me
How pure a flame now burns
This thirst
with which I burn

Don't look at me and say you see
good,
They don't like that. The way
my hands are caked in colour. The way
the wall behind me is now
desecrated, they say, how can you
question those who wear
well with grain on their
lips?

The grain is their gun and
it's always on their
lips.