I can hear my wrist watch beating in my head like a constant reminder of you- tick, tick, tick, tick. And  I'm not complaining but it would nice to know if you think of me too. My room is silent again - the kind of silence that you can hear, I'm not sure if its true but in hoping you think of me too. It's the middle of the night and I lay awake writing- I'm not trying to be rude, but am I the only one fighting? Don't get me wrong, I'm not in a hurry, I'd wait five hundred years if Iknew not to worry- that one day- you will or won't, be mine.

full circle, nearly, although
i'm not sure around what
it is i seem to be revolving,
for i am not moon, nor star,
nor planet nor body of astral
importance; i am a boy, and
even then, the definition could
be more secure than it is, for
i am not a ship, i have no anchor,
nor sails, my starboard side is
used for writing and my port
is lost in the stormy blue of
the stripes on your dress shirt,
those matching the woven bracelet
i still haven't had the heart nor
gall to remove from my wrist,
like a watch, hands however
not spanning minutes or hours
ticking off each grain of sand
to fall,
[like taking inventory of eternity]
           but pointing incessantly
back to you again, though you
are not the true north i seek, and
a wristwatch has no real business
dealing with dimensions beyond
its design and understanding.
a compass is perhaps better
suited to my purpose, though
the bearing would be thrown
by the lumps of iron remaining
beneath my skin, like braille,
and i the blind man groping
for a means -- any means --
to decipher the message left
hidden in my very fibers
by the electromagnetism
of your goodbyes.

if ever i needed you it is now --
and still the portal you promised
is closed, and no music sounds
for me as it did for you, for it
is you who has quieted it.

exchange me
in your sight.
let me grow
and soak in light.
my shadow's got me
trapped inside,
words crumble from my lips tonight.

admiring you, admiring me.
my actions are subconscious and timid,
not enough action to get a reaction.
I'm building mountains to destroy them:
mountains made of flesh covered drums,
vibrations of thought, and honey dipped bones.

I crawl to move forward because sudden movements make you flinch.
you want me alone
and you're alone
and I'm wrapped up sweetly
wanting nothing but to sink so deeply into my wrappings
that I become the wrappings
like a bird in the cage
that soon becomes nothing but feathers.

kiss me
taint
my lips.

eat me
absorb
my sin.

ink is on the page to reveal this sinking stage
and the time that it takes
to change from bad habits to new ways.
self-reflection is the stitch that broke the
dams that built up through neglect.
now the flow is aching for a record
of it's mass accumulation, only through this process
will it provide sweet stimulation.

you carry a heart of sand,
and you left a grain
inside my brain
to cure the pain
of a smoldering flame
for what remains
in my own sand crusted box of feelings.

We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.

Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.

Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
* Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science* —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.

Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.

I like the way you smoke your cigarettes.
And how your forehead tenses when you think.
I like the way you hold my hand.
How you tell me stories.

I can never get enough of you.

I wish I could draw back the curtains,
peer just behind your eyeballs, to the brain.
Sit for awhile in your beating heart.
Kiss your lungs and beg them to breathe forever.

Tell me a story, just one more story.

I'd miss the way you smile at me,
just after you know you've made me laugh.
I'd miss the way we sleep together, the
way we lay intertwined.

I'll close my eyes, and pray I never lose you.