waking up
now reminds me more of
digging up bones,
rather than skipping stones.

water isn't all that I hyped it up to be.

I drove miles and miles just
to discover
that the heat was broken,
and that your affection
is more of an illusion
than an authentic token,
wrapped in ***
and compassion.

Through metal weights
and steel plates,
I make a living.

Through some sort of
endless storm,
I will live

the darkness will ultimately illuminate all of the light and altruism that we have to bring to this world.

--

If you asked me before,
I'd swear that love was
not for me
that a feeling
so soft did
not exist within
me
and that holding a gaze
was only for show

I've read a lot of books now,
and I've had a lot of
lovers-
and I've asked fortune
tellers for my
feelings I don't know,
sleeping so stilly within me

-would not wake
to the slightest or the sharpest
touch of a hand, and I've had
both-

I've had
10,000 miles and
too much coffee.
Pursuing and
withdrawing.

And after all this time
in the self's purgatory
I find you
and you dig into
my skin and pull
the tenderness out
of me like picking flowers
from the quietest
of meadows

I've seen a lot of things
and dreamed a lot of dreams
and finally after seeking,
you pluck and uncover me.

His skull
like the ivory of a shattered tusk
smooth
hard
the still-moist dull gleam of cream
lining the torn-apart flesh

Clean

Look inside the head
its void
the most inner part exposed

The white of the bone

Free from the marrow of the chaos
the thoughts inside contained

Clean

The hollow warmth of its hue

You won't see
where the bullet burst
through the top of his head
like a boiled potato
lying in its skin
gashed across
and squeezed on all sides

If you look at the white of the bone

Closer, closer

Just look at the white of the bone

when all of the home, or underneath
the bed, or even throne of dream
  all lay with life of felled bodies,

         — lest I feel forever the joy
              of the fall,

when all scrumptious light bend in
incorrigible water, strangeness pursues
all dark;

    soft, soft,
soft, encircling in cage
   the soft,
soft, aloft hills and dead pools
  of sweat
soft and supple      skin
  raged thud of fragmented name
on walling up lips

        love is man and man's prison sees
to it all silence when everything is set free
and we have no use for them anymore,
    
     imprisoning us, the love–

Something hysterical
or maybe
it's
classical
music.

I'm in the
shower room
plotting an overthrow
this body
just has to
go
soon.

It all turns to dust,
the days are getting shorter
the night's are much tighter
I long for the lighter
mornings
to come.

Something hysterical or
me
waxing lyrical while
the sun burns a hole
in my headstone.