I have  loved
    swollen at times
           to the size of mountains
over the brooks and streams flowing
        warm  'tween my arms
issuing
       the life flows
pleasures and sighted
            of afterglows.
If then the sun stopped
           shining,
I would never
               notice.

anticipation mounts
as time lapses,
real time movement
quick, power, force
dark.
inertia spread for hundreds of miles
announcing its arrival.
its call. its loud. I feel it.

he’s beautiful.
I remember always
to look for
his speck of bright orange.
he knew a day or so
ahead of time.
since youth I heed the warning signs
signaling darkness.

my connections are sharpening.
this time I didn't need
his.
I watched the dark roll in

the darkness of creation,
of cells multiplying.
the darkness of your blood
rushing at the feel of
the storm coming in.

the task of light is commendable…

the geometric puzzle
can have no missing pieces.
the destructive force of
the storm
is necessary for new life.

if darkness is truly desired
one must dig ever so deep
beyond the identity
and the memories,
the causalities even
the perceived authorities.
to the spark that
still isn’t you.
analyze that space
darkness will truly come true.

fear not.
this darkness is you.
you percolate into
the presence as the light.

she said she fell
for the drunk me -

well, i liked me
that way-better, too

how very sad
- but true

i'd drink again
if i knew i could -
if it would do any good

- to lick her sweat
one drop at a time
all along the jawline

- making her salt mine
one more time.

r ~ 11/15/15

She was perfect
but she was too much, too little
a riddle that'll fiddle with your mind

She was perfect
but she was too little, too much
a riddle, touch tingling, her crutch

But I didn't hold her heart
like she held mine.

Where has my light gone?

It used to be there.
Inside my chest.

You could reach in and peak at it. Glowing always.

Time is slipping

or maybe time is constant and I am falling behind.

Is it to late to save the memories, as time floods past me?

What was I when I was small.

That child so fierce and true.

Present, curious, always prepared, in training for a life of wild possibility.

Now alone, sick, and lazy, uninspired and utterly unmotivated,

I search for the spark that lit me before.

That light that I knew was unique to me.

I am special. I am meant for great things, I am the hero.

Who whispered these false words to me as I dreamed.

Was it my own strange ego elixir that I concocted and fed myself daily?

Was it angels who told me these things?

Are the still true?

Will they ever be?

Where has it gone. That light that fed me and kept me alive and angry...

Caged and dependent; I was still free.

My mind is in a cage now.

attached to wires that beep and pulse and need constant energy.

I want to cut them away from me, but those wires are the only things connecting me to my world.

Do I want to be a half dead battery leaching away at my own life?

Could I escape before it’s to late?

I search for pleasure, distraction, entertainment, stimulation.

Make me feel again.

Anything.

Approve of me.

I have to escape this maze. Rip out these chords, let the blood remain on the ground.

Time to run to the silence, let me hear silence.

My ears will have to break the addiction too.

No more white lines blocking their sense.

Time to be alone with myself and finally hear the universes heart beat within me.

But what if my boss calls?

What if i am too late?

I will open the tiny box inside my chest, and it will be empty.

Darkness.

No light remaining.

I.
Ive been eavesdropping on the autophobe;

my boyfriend doesn't believe in ghosts, doesn't see the dirt on my shoes.

He wants me to get myself off, to break out the winter blankets.

II.
My companion candied her scalp, says she quit using ******
because it messes with her complexion.

I think thats like riding a bike, like going back a few years and
falling in love with your dads mechanic.

III.
Someone coughs up a lung, prays like hell for a sign, for a clean bill of health.

You are an amateur prospector, found a geode cave deep in my stomach, split it open.

Twin hickies near the knees; my boyfriend tells me to forget
about alien abductions, to quit picking up the strays i find at buick city.

This has potential. Hold the cup that isn't for drinking, that possesses endless points. Hand bridges one cliff hip to the next, space beneath feathery and somewhat beveled. No point, sum potential; luck 4 sale, keep on ice. This is me faking thrill at the top of a hill that is way below sea level; glaciers overtaking my liver. There are many who send help, but nobody can hear. There is a radio crackling years down the road and it drowns out everything for miles.

Envisaged realities
Dangling before eyes
Fading away
Out of reach
In pursuit of glory
Teetering on the
On the edge
Of reason and insanity
The long sharpened probe of fear
The awakened dreamer
Plummeting out of sight.