From you I learnt
that true love was
and endless cycle
of hello and good night.

Yet you and I
were stuck in a vortex
of stay and goodbye.

From you I learnt
that true love was
and endless cycle
of hello and good night.

Yet you and I
were stuck in a vortex
of stay and goodbye.

The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
But a raving autumn shears
Blossom from the summer's wreath;
The older is condemned to death,
Pardoned, drags out lonely years
Conspiring among the ignorant.
I know not what the younger dreams--
Some vague Utopia--and she seems,
When withered old and skeleton-gaunt,
An image of such politics.
Many a time I think to seek
One or the other out and speak
Of that old Georgian mansion, mix
pictures of the mind, recall
That table and the talk of youth,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.

Dear shadows, now you know it all,
All the folly of a fight
With a common wrong or right.
The innocent and the beautiful.
Have no enemy but time;
Arise and bid me strike a match
And strike another till time catch;
Should the conflagration climb,
Run till all the sages know.
We the great gazebo built,
They convicted us of guilt;
Bid me strike a match and blow.

On Tuesday,
I drank tea with a skeleton
named Eileen.
Her fingers were long,
and her lips were drawn
like a frown, unable to move.
It was a sad sight to see,
and it convinced me to be happy,
now matter the weather,
and she said --

If I were to die,
which I will, one day,
I would like to pass in a forest,
for surely it is curious
for a life to end
where so many
begin.

So we laid her body in a bed of daisies
and painted her eyelids with raspberry tears
and coated her lips with the Queen's honey
and covered her naked corps with ferns
so that she finally experienced the embrace of a Mother.
Cause she said --

If I were to die,
which I will, one day,
I would like to pass in a forest,
for surely it is curious
for a life to end
where so many
begin.

Like half written symphonies I wait for you.

I wait for you
like an empty house
so you come and build yourself
in me.

I wait for you
like the flowers wait for spring
to bring them
back to life.

I wait for you
like the rush of blood
my head needs
to feel alive.

I wait for you
like the warm earth
needs the kiss
of soft rain.

I wait for you
like the souls
that walk this earth
waiting for release.

I wait for you
like the heart
that needs a score
to play.

Like purity for
true love,
I wait for you.

I wait for you.

It's hard to explain
how this heart feels.
Like laughter lost in echo
and your warm touch
now long gone cold.

Anxious, breathless;
something lost I need
so desperately found.

Empty perhaps.
Abandoned like houses,
broken like silence.

These hands can't reach as far
as where you lay.
Somehow I feel like I burn at both ends;
the flames now reaching their meeting place.

But it's always better to burn out
than to fade away.

Loving me with my shoes off
means loving my long brown legs,
sweet dears, as good as spoons;
and my feet, those two children
let out to play naked. Intricate nubs,
my toes. No longer bound.
And what's more, see toenails and
all ten stages, root by root.
All spirited and wild, this little
piggy went to market and this little piggy
stayed. Long brown legs and long brown toes.
Further up, my darling, the woman
is calling her secrets, little houses,
little tongues that tell you.

There is no one else but us
in this house on the land spit.
The sea wears a bell in its navel.
And I'm your barefoot ***** for a
whole week. Do you care for salami?
No. You'd rather not have a scotch?
No. You don't really drink. You do
drink me. The gulls **** fish,
crying out like three-year-olds.
The surf's a narcotic, calling out,
I am, I am, I am
all night long. Barefoot,
I drum up and down your back.
In the morning I run from door to door
of the cabin playing chase me.
Now you grab me by the ankles.
Now you work your way up the legs
and come to pierce me at my hunger mark

Let there be a grim reaper of sentences
so that everyone will know that words
have an end to them too.
These phrases die eventually.
Yes, they live longer than their masters.
Indeed they survived further on paper.
But of course they became "eternal" on the internet.
Yet, these words eventually come to a stop.
So far, all dialogue has end quotes.
Up til now humans thought that commas extended these fragments...
when it only signaled the coming
of an end.
Eventually, these words will be lost.
They will stop being recorded, and
worshipped, and needed.
These utterances will be nothing more than dead particles that vibrated the air.
They will become just past tense.
The grim reaper of sentences does not even
wield a scythe,
but instead, a pen in which they engrave
the periods to complete the statements.
Oh, how the reaper is thought to be grim when in reality,
they are only bringing these nameless terms to peace.