I'd like to lie and say that I have never
held affection for anyone.
That I watch people come and go as they always do,
and that I remain indifferent.
Let the story tumble from my chapped lips,
and tangle with the burning air of my stuffy room.
Because it is dangerous to care,
unspoken thoughts mesh unconsciously-
and I do not care for that.
To watch some one you thought
Trustful strangle your neck
with the very promises you made?
I do not care for that.
Alas, I have done this most dangerous thing-
Became attached.
It is a deadly tango with Hope and Fate.
One is always stealing you away from the other,
promising that your life will work itself out.
But, ever so naively- I have grown attached.
For the times I have loved are far and few between.
But when they arise, they burn in
what I think is my heart- engulfing me,
persuading me to stay.

Can I be forgiven for my impulsive need
to present my love to you
as a viking would after a day hard at work

I’m physical about it
and chaos theory is the dress
I choose to wear to ****** you
not those flimsy night-sky black things
or a cliché of words tucked up behind your ear


I'm dressed up in an imaginary beard
with a palm full of unpredictability
that makes you buckle
underneath forgotten desires
and we destroy ourselves this way for hours
only to wake up and repeat.

I absorb you alpha and you become invisible
like a woman over 50
I'm a force to be frightened of
and you are an empty shell.


Never love someone
who isn’t stronger than your darkness.
You will **** them every time
and spend the rest of your days
explaining the head on a stick
at the end of your bed
to your next lover
it can become tiresome.


But you never asked questions.
You accepted my grit
my madness
and lust for emotional bloodshed
so i kept going.


You just waited patiently
to see if the sword in my hand
would fall away in the face of your delicate beauty
unnatural for a man admittedly
more suited for a goddess
speaking ancient Greek from magic lips.

You could have spoken
incoherent babble for all i cared
as i marvelled at your fingers
just trophies on hands not from this world.


Again, I’m physical about it
and i saw myself arrange quickly
your internal magnificence
to match the outer shell, so perfect
whether real or imagined
I indulged my vanity
that you were mine
washed with your sunshine
every time we moved
into each other’s view.

Addiction to beauty
it’s akin to a serial art buyer
I’d bid my blood to have that prize
next to me each night
and that’s all you were to me
it must have seemed.


Your love was more than mine i thought
so i could afford to be careless
I was a swashbuckling hero to myself
because i never believed you knew how to be
so just lie there and look the part
and be there when I come home
from severing heads of out-dated ideas
about how to move through life.


Quietly though, you were writing secret sonnets to yourself
about the possibility of our “maybe” love
I rode right over that
like a warlord blinded by personal victories
making my way to a new precipice
another conquest
forgetting with eyes wide open
how to encase another in perfect intimacy.


You just waited patiently
to  see if the sword in my hand would fall
until one night, alone again
you saw the space at the end of the bed
where your own head would stand
and you ran into the night
dancing over misplaced dreams
now scattered all around like forgotten tombstones
as I returned home to my future of regret.


Now this weighty silence between us
has me filling the empty space with love songs
to myself
just to hear us again.

-

I'm sitting here in my office
watching steam rise in cursive swirls
from the black coffee in front of me
on this stormy Friday morning

Staring at nothing in particular,
I allow my thoughts to linger,
becoming completely lost in another
beautiful daydream of you and me

      we walk along a secluded beach,
         palm tree shadows sway,
     sand between our toes,
        a sunrise surf lulls hypnotically
          in rhythmic tempo whispers as I peer
       deeply into your maple syrup eyes,
    falling deeper in love with you
          with each longing glance
      We kiss and my heart melts
        at the feel of your sweet lips
      pressed tightly against mine…

A loud clap of thunder wakes me
as I once again realize where I am,
sitting behind a desk covered in paperwork
and another now cold cup of coffee, but…

There are many more daydreams where
that one came from that will always include
you because… they all originate in my heart
and there’s still hot coffee in the ***

Bathtub music and drums played on the surface
of Davy Jones's mirror: the ceramic holds
the sea, the sea, and all within it: ***** me.

Scrubbed you off my skin again for
the umpteenth night in a row. Row
row row our boat away from the constant,
constant rows. Stormy arguments and
weathered mistrust. You'll break me,
won't you? I'll break you, won't I? Won't you
come drown with me Ariel? Won't you
come up with me to the kitchen and lock up
the door then lock up the oven then lock up
ourselves in carbon-monoxide poetry?

But then how does cooking gas end up as sass
in a library? How did sustenance turn into
asphyxiation?  Why are our hands on
each other's throats instead of being binded
by the absoluteness, the certainty, the assuredness
of palms within palms and fingers interlocked
and question marks dispelled.

Splash! as way in and over my head
is the bathtub music
and my absorbent curls are
drinking, drinking, drinking, thinking
about the why you only call me when
you're drinking, drinking, drinking; thinking
about the way I cannot suppress you when
the cellphone has long gone quiet and
your Hughes of blue are still loud but
your red is dead.

Ariel, Ariel,
I want to be your dark-haired prince.
Ariel, Ariel,
my country is landlocked but I still see you in the sink.
Ariel, Ariel,

gurgling away as the bathtub music fades
into ugly brown rings around the ceramic
pause button
that shows no hope of continuation
Ariel, Ariel, you are the final splash!
as the false sea drifts away, the final splash!
that scatters bathtub music past the drain
and into the air. Ariel, Ariel,

you are the false rain
that my landlocked country never prayed for.
Ariel, Ariel, toneless, begotten and forgotten
Ariel, Ariel. I cannot sing for you. I cannot.
You will not sing for me. You will not.

The final splash! past the drain and into the air
is you Ariel. The false rain.

The rain song of our endless games.

Since my puppy died I decided that I need to start living more
For her
I know that's bazare because it was just a dog. She wasn't though.
She was the reason I fell asleep
The reason I didn't go through with plans
She helped me calm down
My best friend
I know its sad and pathetic that a dog was my best friend
I don't care though
Cause watching her paw go slowly limp
Holding her white fluffy fur for the last time
It was heartbreaking
It broke something
But it also flipped a switch
I need to learn to be okay with myself
Cause you never know who is going to leave or when they will
But when they do
You need to still be okay.

the modernists believed that
a whole life could be
represented in a day
like a strand of DNA
representing the whole
of a person.

if that were true if life
all of it
could be fit into
a day
any day
this day
then

this day, my day,
is cold tea
and empty rooms.

I forgot to have breakfast
and tried to write.
notes
post-its
pens
are scattered across my desk along with
empty cups
and passing thoughts.

if this day, my day,
is all of my life then
there is
so little
love
in it.


if this day is all there is
it has so little
meaning.


living for a day is dangerous she said she wrote

I wanted to walk alongside a river
to see where it would
take me

instead
I sat
at my desk
again

today
is what my life is.