I ask you, Ink Dreamer,
What did you write today?
Why won't you come out and play?
You sit at your desk
With your books and your pens
Lost deep in thought
And hidden away
Scribbling your stories
Day after day
Life will not wait
The world will go on
So why don't you put your quill away?
Why don't you come out and play?

I ask you, Ink Dreamer,
What did you dream last night?
When the world was asleep
And you turned out your light?
You lay there in bliss,
Freed by your mind
As your dreams
Taught your heart to take flight
Around you the world is dying
In the bedlam of chaos and spite
But you remain sleeping
Your heart gently weeping
And you dream your sweet dreams
Night after night
And you try to help others;
To give them the sight
You help them through stories
Through poems, and spells
But none of them listen
Too busy with life,
They wander on aimless,
Blind to their plight,
To your hopes and your dreams
And your glimpse of the light
Did you dream of the world
When you lay down last night?

So I beg you now, Dreamer,
As you sit there today,
Please write out your heart
Please write it away.

It's Friday night, I knock back five
Then stumble out to hit the club
I catch your eye looking for mine
Looking for a lover you don't have to love

A harried glance, we start the dance
With roaming, groaning hands
And sweat, and grit, and scripted friction
A masterclass of sham romance

But you're not you and I'm not me
And these red cups won't set us free
And I regret the way we met
As faceless strangers in a drunken sea

I wish it were morning
To watch the wind play in your hair
I wish it were morning
To see the sunlight in your stare
I wish it were morning
When I could tell you what I think
I wish it were morning
Without the help of all these drinks

The ***** on your breath, it smells like death
And your lips don't taste quite right
And your Levi jeans pressed up against me
Just aren't doing it tonight

The hiccup when you flirt, and the ***** on your shirt,
Match the beer-stains on your shoes
With your empty flask, and your haggard mask
I just can't stand the sight of you

And while I'd like to spend the night
And wake up warm between the covers
I tip my hat instead, and see you off to bed
Because poets are daytime lovers.

My clock, my watch,
I watch my clock.
The whip, the chains
The weight, the lock.
No time to lose,
I lose my time.
Wish I could take
The time to shake
and break this watch of mine.

Stillness,
Waiting for words to come while you sit still
Wanting the perfect simile
To tell you what you mean to me
But each passion charges right to the end of the pencil,
Breaks and falls off as mumbles
Like the pencil lead that crumbles
Until there's so space on the paper
Just the scars and scribbles
The pencil gives in and sits still

Seeking stillness amidst the busy city circus
It's the end of the longest day
We wait, wordless, wanting not to work
Letting the steady melody of Old Friends
And Bookends lull us,
Lead us, keep the world at bay
I'm mute except for simple words
But holding out for more
Biding time until it feels right
Finding the stillness inside
Stifling the roar
Fighting out a title
Then the page falls to the floor

You smile, say goodnight
Walk off towards the door

Still the pencil sits still
The pencil sits so still

The checkered wasteland between them                                                  holds the two sides back
She sits behind the white troops;                                                             He sits behind the black
Each player ponders awkwardly                                                           across the silent divide
Is this the calm before the storm                                                            or the lull between the tides?

She sips lukewarm coffee;                                                                     He coughs into his hands,
Each sizes the other up,                                                                        guessing at their plans
The long pause before the opening-                                                    emotions begin to unwind
But neither player moves forward,                                                     with the last game on their minds

He thrusts his pawn anxiously                                                          and the tension bursts
But He realizes his mistake-                                                             white must always move first
He reaches forward sheepishly,                                                       but She moves his piece back
They each smile and nod their heads,                                            then She begins the attack

Only the clink of pieces to breach the ears-                                no cry from the marble hoards
As casualties are cast asunder                                                     on either side of the board
He clenches his fist and She grits her teeth                              but neither makes a sound
Til a swoop of the arm leaves the table bare,                         with the pieces on the ground

Another lazy Sunday's spent                                              and none of the battles were won
The only noise is the tick of the clock                                as together they grasp what they've done
Both of them kneel and gather the pieces,                       feeling their rage fade away
After all, they think, when it comes down to it,              it's just a game they play

The rooks stand crooked and the knight's lost a leg,    but the pieces are all there
   They know that the game won't be the same           but still they return to their chairs
    Calm and contended they rebuild the board,        prepared to begin anew
      Aware of risk but confident                                they are ready for what will ensue

        The checkered field between them               holds the warriors tight
          He commands the black ones,                 She commands the white
            They still sit silently thinking,              though the mood is much improved
              Until he leans in and says aloud     "I believe that it's your move."

The leech, he slithers in hot blood, unnoticed, ***** thoughts washed
Up in waves of serotonin, lust, licking his sickly sweet fingers allllll over you.
Love-struck, heart-throb cupid mask, pouring honey over gall, lipstick on a pig, love sows flower words,
Rose-petal roads to your heart (bed). Slick trickster, hid even from me, creeped
In through our first hug, but quick to gain momentum, take the wheel. Feed my starving eyes,
My fingers, skin, flesh (***), a little step here, a little there, shuffling stealthily to home.
Engorged now, oozing, perusing, the feast is all empty plates and ***** knives
Looking up, eyes burning, through calm-surfaced quicksand,
from now-plumbed black, brackish depths. He casts aside your husk, your syrupy soul slurped,
even the joke of flowers wilts now. The core's poison, the cake is a lie, his bulge
my curved stomach is bloated with wriggling maggots, protruding, exuding slime, rot.
And I'm still hungry.