do you want to know how does having feelings for you feel like? well baby, having feelings for you is like playing the piano for someone who can’t hear. having feelings for you is like that moment where you start to dance and the song ends. having feelings for you is like hitting repeat on my favorite song and forgetting the words every time it starts over. having feelings for you is like playing roulette with all the barrels loaded. having feelings for you is like having amnesia, waking up every day unable to remember why there’s a hole in my chest. having feelings for you was like finding out there’s no milk after i had already poured a bowl of cereal. having feelings for you is like drowning without the water. having feelings for you is like being locked in the dark while getting told to “look on the bright side”. having feelings for you is like knowing what a funeral feels like without ever going to one. having feelings for you was like being reminded of the first time i ever accidentally let go of a ballon as a child. having feelings for you is like unconsciously reaching to put my arm around a dead lover in my bed while asleep. having feelings for you was like spending years next to a hospital bed where you were in a coma you chose to stay asleep in.

THE BALLOONS hang on wires in the Marigold Gardens.
They spot their yellow and gold, they juggle their blue and red, they float their faces on the face of the sky.
Balloon face eaters sit by hundreds reading the eat cards, asking, "What shall we eat?"-and the waiters, "Have you ordered?" they are sixty ballon faces sifting white over the tuxedoes.
Poets, lawyers, ad men, mason contractors, smartalecks discussing "educated *******," here they put ***** into their balloon faces.
Here sit the heavy balloon face women lifting crimson lobsters into their crimson faces, lobsters out of Sargossa sea bottoms.
Here sits a man cross-examining a woman, "Where were you last night? What do you do with all your money? Who's buying your shoes now, anyhow?"
So they sit eating whitefish, two balloon faces swept on God's night wind.
And all the time the balloon spots on the wires, a little mile of festoons, they play their own silence play of film yellow and film gold, bubble blue and bubble red.
The wind crosses the town, the wind from the west side comes to the banks of marigolds boxed in the Marigold Gardens.
Night moths fly and fix their feet in the leaves and eat and are seen by the eaters.
The jazz outfit sweats and the drums and the saxophones reach for the ears of the eaters.
The chorus brought from Broadway works at the fun and the slouch of their shoulders, the kick of their ankles, reach for the eyes of the eaters.
These girls from Kokomo and Peoria, these hungry girls, since they are paid-for, let us look on and listen, let us get their number.
  
Why do I go again to the balloons on the wires, something for nothing, kin women of the half-moon, dream women?
And the half-moon swinging on the wind crossing the town-these two, the half-moon and the wind-this will be about all, this will be about all.
  
Eaters, go to it; your mazuma pays for it all; it's a knockout, a classy knockout-and payday always comes.
The moths in the marigolds will do for me, the half-moon, the wishing wind and the little mile of balloon spots on wires-this will be about all, this will be about all.

When I think of you,
My Mind detaches my Heart from my Body.
It floats alone.
It teeters to the rhythm of the words you say.
It nests itself in the warmth between my legs,
When you say "I'm still hurt".
It elevates and rolls in front of me,
As if powered by hot air.
But it easily deflates like helium balloons,
To the point where it sits empty on the floor,
With its legs straight out in front,
Cracking its toes and rolling its ankles in confusion.
Sometimes my Heart stands on tip toes,
Reaches with fingertips extended,
Waiving at my Body,
Pleading for me to put it back in its place.  
But my Mind pays no mind to its advances.  
My Mind's ulterior motive is to divorce my heart,
To separate entirely.
To be completely distant entities.
They were once lovers,
Who've now found comfort in each other's pain.

at your own pace you fill yourself up with good thoughts, a gradual build leading to a much fuller space
Your unique essence being released into the world
And as you feel the returned good vibrations of those you touch on your journey, you become aware of what filling yourself does for others but also for you
A high of all highs with views you never knew existed
Flowing with life and it's exciting twists and turns
You appreciate just where you are and how far you have come

I fill the void with hunger,
I fill the void with getting lost with people by my side who’s faces i recognize
but who’s souls i do not know.

i fill the void with you.
i fill the void with you because even though i know that we do not fit together like the perfect puzzle pieces that i wish we could be
at least
i’m not
alone.

i fill the void with consumption
i fill the void with cigarettes
i fill the void with inhale after inhale
until my belly is full with the heaviest of thoughts
and my nightmares circle around and around my skull until they come to rest exactly where you always said that i had that golden crown,
the one that i could never see.

i fill the void with madness
i fill the void with pointless anger,
seeping from my throat and drowning my tongue
tasting bitter like a rotten lemon
but the bitterness is better than tasting nothing at all
and it sticks to my chapped lips like an old friend.


i fill the void with endless calculations
meticulously measuring my emptiness clinging onto my insides
with a measuring stick
and even though i measure with repetitive precision,
it never measures up to my own highest standards

and I fill the void by hurling insults at your face
and even after you’ve closed the door, like a poignant period finally occurring at the end of a infinite infinite run on sentence.
i continue to spit, spit fiery slurs that in reality fall more like water droplets that ultimately accumulate mid air
and last a little while,
but never outlast the darkness that is fiercely stuck to the soles of my shoes.

And I breathe it back in
and I breathe it back in
just to feel a little bit more full.

I fill the void with a look of contentment that i plaster on my face because
i
i
can feel when you are looking
i fill the void with confidence
i fill the void with courage
i fill the void by carrying fear across my chest and over my shoulder like i’m going into battle and never
coming
back.

i fill the void with the hope that i can hope hard enough to fill myself up again
but no matter how much i fill

i can feel my insides draining
faster than a bottomless kitchen sink.

and regardless of how hard i clasp my hands against the gaping hole where i used to gently hold a relentless summer,

i can feel that the coldest winter has begun to replace it.
and i can almost still feel its warmth
just like I used to when i used to..
when you used to say you could feel it too.

my frigid fingers lock around my neck as i finally release that empty feeling that buries my deepest desires

and i feel my wild beating beating heart finally submitting to resolve.

and i realize
that i can never be full.
I realize
that I will never be full.

And so i float away
like an abandoned ballon

just like my mother said the others did
and when i join them there
they remind me that at least i’m not alone.
and they tell me that perhaps in the end
the point
was not to be full anyway.

fly with me.
i would do anything.
build a plane,
rent a jet,
buy a hot air ballon;
maybe even drink a nasty *** red bull.
sprout wings, and fly.
with you.
forever.
i would do anything.

To be a pirate the things I,d see,
the high waves as the ship goes
up and down, down and up on
the sea. Arrr I feel sick over the
side I will mostly be.

Swab the decks so they be as
clean asthey can be, **** this
boat of wood the splinters I be
getting, I  be needing tweezers
and me mummy.

I want treasure, I want to bury
it where no one can see, I,ve done
this many times but I keep forgetting
as I have a poor memory.

I want to be a pirate, the things
I would see, but I want to put my
flag on themast a smiling skull it
would be.

I,m not a normal pirate as they
seem to say, I be to nice, and
I,m not very good at sea As I,m
always over the side giving the
fish food that comes out of my tummy.

I,m a pirate all can see, I  dont
have a sword as I always  be cutting
my tummy, I dont think I,m cut out
for this life upon the high sea.

I think ill do kids parties with my
ballon sword, no more cuts for me just
out of breath, as it keeps popping in me.

My choclate coins I must remember
are not to buried or to eat, there for
the children arrr no choclate for pirate me.

candles of fire and flare
balloons float high in the air
their way of showing me
they finally care

the end of the rainbow
my soul now knows
the end is like the ballon
I've seen where it goes

doves fly peacefully
protectively on my side
I lay asleep
Eyes wide

I dance and giggle
as people cry and wiggle
life was complicated
death was simple

violas laid on my grave
tombstone reads:
no longer a sinner
no longer satan's slave

I am excited for your adventures,
But I fear I'm more excited
Than you are anymore.

We used to have fun,
Laughing and being silly,
Now it's hard to send a text
Without asking, "Really?!"

I want to knock some sense into your head,
I want you to know he isn't that great,
That you act differently now
And all because of some stupid date.

You may think I'm just jealous
But there is no reason to be,
I can be myself around my beau,
You won't and everyone else can see.

We played TMNT in college,
Our imaginations took control,
And now they can't because we're older.
Our lives now seem pretty dull.

I'll explain further,
If that's what you want.
Remember making ballon animals
instead of reading Kant?

Or maybe you'll remember
Our crazy delofting crew.
We tore down beds
For people we barely knew.

We used to do things on a whim,
But had responsibilities too,
You used to care abou your grades,
Now I question if you do.

We both survived college
And you had an awesome G.P.A.
Then he came along and well,
you ****** it all away.

Now it's all about drinking
And trying to be that girl.
We used to make fun of them,
The ones who had to wear pearls.

Now if you want to go this route,
Let me buy you some Uggs and a North Face.
Because no friend of mine would change
for a guy or to fit into a new place.

Don't get me wrong,
I want you to do well.
I just hope you don't settle for him
Because you aren't yourself.

He's a nice guy and I can tell he cares,
But until my friend's personality can return,
I won't like you two as a couple,
And I pray you'll eventually learn.

I clutched tight to the string of A red ballonIt clung to my hair, making it stick straight upA red ballonI drew a picture onA red ballonThen let the air out ofA red ballonI watched the drawing shrink on A red ballonAnd listened to the air coming out ofA red ballonI bounced and kept in the airA red ballonI went outside withA red ballonThe wind got faster, and blew awayA red ballonIt flew into the skyA red ballonUntil there was nothing left of A red ballonPlease tell me if you findA red ballon 

Mine drukne indvolde afskyr deres beholder.
Gennem nervebanen sendes stødende gnister af had.
Hvor vil de overbevise og kalder på den sødmede gift
hvor vil de have dens spreden af koma lignende afkom.

Først ubehagen,
så oppustet smerte der brister som en ballon
og brændsel med selvantændelige kræfter.
Den springer og opkast omsluger horisonten
af mennesker,
klipper,
udviskede farver.

Ujævne striber af rød er udfyldte billeder
der drypper en anelse ro på mine øjne,
det leder
det fører
ind gennem nervebanens flod.

To mørke eller fire
i hvert fald én
gør døsig
gør modig
gør opgivenhed
udholdenhed.

De dage der kommer er vel taget imod
i skrigen og styrke og tomhedens sod.

Selskrevne ord fordamper salt.
Efterladt,
afsluttet,
genfortalt
i latterlige evig kedsomhed
der udfylder fyldte *** af bevidsthed
hvor pladsmanglens rod eliminerer sig selv.
Usammenhængende lort skaber lyrik
gør intet som helst
og findes for ingenting.

Jeg læner tilbage og betragter et snitteværk
en udhugget skulptur.
Stærke farver vender tilbage i kindrødt
gennem abstrakt maleri
og så rammer svien af blomster og fryd
på eksperimenter af målrettet kunst.

Skammende lys i hvid og i sort.
Nøgterne syner synes skarpe for blikket
og lukker en port.
Brosten for brosten lægges på ny
og en fejl af en vej af smil og meditativ.

writing for non-recognition**

“It was exhilarating to get the chance to be useful, which is always an issue for a writer.”
          Garrison Keillor


a hundred readings, so flattering,
the heart tickled, nicely fluttering,
then one day it is a thousand,
and the crushing soul flattening
has set a new higher,
a low base needs an achieving
in every thing

**** writing for recognition,
need a few thousand, ten will fill the bill,
now
to consider myself ok average,
which shhh,
I know I am

now have to choose each word
with great daring caring,
worthy of the great writer
whose devotees demand,
offer a simple choice, want want
pleasured ooh ah's of perfection or
face sacrifice
on the poetry altar
of the Feed Me Seymour plant of
being ignored to a
vegetative death

**** writing for recognition,
you want my I-curse,
steal my purse,
reach in, take my cigarette styx,
exhale a **** poem

**** writing for recognition,
please don't read my hand crafted,
diamond cutter designed,
succulent crap
go away, don't like me, and for god's sake
don't dare love me,
that's a killer,
then my busted ballon ego can't be taped
back together again by Humpty Dumpty's men

after this will never revisit the prior past,
that will not - shall not exist

one anonymous poet
spilling with unfazed unglued fluency
disregarding what pleases,
writing spilling that which surged
that electrify
my soul
and then never
to them return

**** writing for recognition,
no more subbing
no more sinning
no more using
just me using me
up

As hard as it is to color outside the lines
It’s even harder when you have the wrong coloring book to begin with
The kids who wanna be the blue or the pink
That the world recognizes as right
When they were born into the wrong colors
Their mother held them under the wrong ballon
It should have said “congratulations it’s a tough fudging road ahead”
It could have said love lets say love
Instead of he
instead of she
lets call them everything
Cause its for shame that their name won’t fit
Any better than the clothes that don’t fit
Somedays a dress is barbed wire knit onto the flesh of a boy
Crying help me, I’m so lost and i wanna go home
This world is filled with hearts without shells
Bodies with doormats that say “welcome to hell”
Its not lack of trying
people are dying
To be the right shape of girl
the right shape of boy
When the world told them they’re not the right shape of anything

That night when he said “i’ll never be the man I’m supposed to be”
But “she” never fit me and I just wanna fit
I didn’t know how to say i’m sorry
I couldn’t say I know and mean it
So i just held him in the rain
His body gave way
Felt pieces in my hands
The wreckage sobbing against my chest
Until all that was left was a cleft heart
Torn between trying to fit into his own skin
And trying to stretch his own skin fit him
His skin begs for normal
Like a dying plead
like a prisoner on death row begging to be free
Later he said he wished he’d never said normal
When he tried to tell me what he wished he could be
He knew when he said it
It meant breaking down every shelter he’d ever worked to build
In a single second a bomb can be dropped
And some bombs take lifetimes to build
The bombs we build out of our own skins
Fitting them around the word normal like it’s our only hope
We’re making rope for the hangings and then asking why
Writing music for the hate songs and saying baby don’t you cry
Those songs are so loud they keep him awake
And it feels like a nightmare and he can’t break free
He’s so tired
I wanna wrap him in sleep
lift him up to the stars and say
“look, this is beauty “
I think he’s so beautiful it’s hard to look at him sometimes
I wanna say “ I’m sorry that  I think he’s beautiful”
When his body feels like quicksand I wanna hold out my hand
And promise to save him
But his body is a trap not safe from the bombs
That drop so loud they stop him from sleeping
So I’m keeping every piece of him as he falls apart
I’m calling him everything
So he knows he can be whatever he wants
He can be a  ferris wheel, or a gumdrop, or a bow tie, or a pink sky
I hold his tears on my lips
Try to kiss away every name they ever hurled at his body
Every hate line they’ve ever drawn in his coloring book
Every time they’ve told him he’s not what he’s supposed to be
He’s already gone so many rounds with his own demons
And the time bomb on the clock is screaming for mercy
I know the scars on his chest are nothing compared to the rest of them
Sticks and stones are nothing compared to the rest of it
His bones hurt from calling each other names
That leave bruises on his insides
So i’m standing ringside watching his boxing match against the world
And wishing with all that I have
That the world looses
And he wins the title of everything

The children of the cloud live high above the places we all call home
They play and laugh with the sun all day
Way up in the stratosphere they collect the things
That our hands do lose
From kites with tails
And ballons with strings
Folded paper shaped like planes and cranes and flying things
And hearts badly broken
And hearts sad and lonely
And hearts far from home
The children of the cloud
Love all the things we lose
They run with the kites and chase their tails
They dance and jump from ballon to ballon and play hide and seek with every string
The race and zoom and vroom with every type of paper wing
From folded birds to creased precision fighter planes
And the hearts
They love them best
The gently mend the broken first with thread entwined with purple colored rain
With innocent kisses they wipe the tears away and tell tales of comfort and of places where no heart is every lead astray
With stray soft clouds they shape and sculpt brand new wings
They teach each and every heart that has forgotten how
How to laugh and play and sing and fly again
Every heart loved with gently care
Each heart made welcome and at home
They can stay high above or go back down below
No rush for the hearts to decide
The children of the cloud are grateful for their time and the  chance to help
And each and every heart is let known before they go
Whenever needed
The children of the cloud will welcome them back to their home
High above the stratosphere
To play and laugh and sing and fly with the sun all day

At the peak of midnight
sequined eyes peek
wide awake,
soaking up the leak of light
pouring from darkness.

I am drunk and high
as a kite stuck in a tree
a red ballon touching palms
with the clouds;
Ive done too many shots of moonshine,
drank way too many stars.

I am lit.
Extremely intoxicated.
The houseparty upstairs is live.
I can hear it through the wall
and like a pendulum I two step,
solo dancing to the music,
the rhythm of crickets;
intrusive thoughts in my head.

Welcome to insomnia,
the club that never closes,
the city that never sleeps.
Where the mind just keeps
wandering into wonderment,
drunk on belief,
****** on a dream.

Exténué de nuit
Rompu par le sommeil
Comment ouvrir les yeux
Réveil-matin.
Le corps fuit dans les draps mystérieux du rêve
Toute la fatigue du monde
Le regret du roman de l'ombre
Le songe
où je mordais Pastèque interrompue
Mille raisons de faire le sourd
La pendule annonce le jour d'une voix blanche
Deuil d'enfant paresser encore
Lycéen j'avais le dimanche
comme un ballon dans les deux mains
Le jour du cirque et des amis
Les amis
Des pommes des pêches
sous leurs casquettes genre anglais
Mollets nus et nos lavalières
Au printemps
On voit des lavoirs sur la Seine
des baleines couleur de nuée
L'hiver
On souffle en l'air Buée
À qui en fera le plus
Pivoine de Mars Camarades
Vos cache-nez volent au vent
par élégance
L'âge ingrat sortes de mascarades
Drôles de voix hors des faux-cols
On rit trop fort pour être gais
Je me sens gauche rouge Craintes
Mes manches courtes
Toutes les femmes sont trop peintes
et portent des jupons trop propres
CHAMBRES GARNIES

Quand y va-t-on

HOTEL MEUBLÉ
Boutonné jusqu'au menton
J'essaierai à la mi-carême
Aux vacances de Pâques
on balance encore
Les jours semblent longs et si pâles
Il vaut mieux attendre l'été
les grandes chaleurs
la paille des granges
le pré libre et large
au bout de l'année scolaire
la campagne en marge du temps
les costumes de toile clairs
On me donnerait dix-sept ans
Avec mon canotier
mon auréole
Elle tombe et roule
sur le plancher des stations balnéaires
Le sable qu'on boit dans la brise
Eau-de-vie à paillettes d'or
La saison me grise.
Mais surtout
Ce qui va droit au cœur
Ce qui parle.
La mer
La perfidie amère des marées
Les cheveux longs du flot
Les algues s'enroulent au bras du nageur
Parfois la vague
Musique du sol et de l'eau
me soulève comme une plume
En haut
L'écume danse le soleil
Alors
l'émoi me prend par la taille
Descente à pic
Jusqu'à l'orteil
un frisson court Oiseau des îles
Le désir me perd par les membres
Tout retourne à son élément
Mensonge
Ici le dormeur fait gémir le sommier
Les cartes brouillées
Les cartes d'images

Dans le Hall de la galerie des Machines les mains
fardées pour l'amour les mannequins passent d'un air
prétentieux comme pendant un steeple-chase Les
pianos de l'Æolian Company assurent le succès de la
fête Les mendiants apportent tout leur or pour assister
au spectacle On a dépensé sans compter et personne
ne songe plus au lendemain Personne excepté l'ibis
lumineux suspendu par erreur au plafond en guise de
lustre

La lumière tombe d'aplomb sur les paupières
Dans la chambre nue à dessein
DEBOUT
L'ombre recule et le dessin du papier
sur les murs
se met à grimacer des visages bourgeois
La vie
le repas froid commence
Le plus dur  les pieds sur les planches
et la glace renvoie une figure longue

Un miracle d'éponge et de bleu de lessive
La cuvette et le jour
Ellipse
qu'on ferme d'une main malhabile
Les objets de toilette
Je ne sais plus leur noms
trop tendres à mes lèvres
Le *** à eau si lourd
La houppe charmante
Le prestige inouï de l'alcool de menthe
Le souffle odorant de l'amour
Le miroir ce matin me résume le monde
Pièce ébauchée
Le regard monte
et suit le geste des bras qui s'achève en linge
en pitié
Mon portrait me fixe et dit Songe
sans en mourir au gagne-pain
au travail tout le long du jour
L'habitude
Le pli pris
L'habit gris
Servitude
Une fois par hasard
regarde le soleil en face
Fais crouler les murs les devoirs
Que sais-tu si j'envie être libre et sans place
simple reflet peint sur le verre
Donc écris
À l'étude
Faux Latude
Et souris

que les châles
les yeux morts
les fards pâles
et les corps
n'appartiennent
qu'aux riches
Le tapis déchiré par endroits
Le plafond trop voisin
Que la vie est étroite
Tout de même j'en ai assez
Sortira-t-on  Je suis à bout
Casser cet univers sur le genou ployé
Bois sec dont on ferait des flammes singulières
Ah taper sur la table à midi
que le vin se renverse
qu'il submerge
les hommes à la mâchoire carrée
marteaux pilons
Alors se lèveront les poneys
les jeunes gens
en bande par la main par les villes
en promenade
pour chanter
à bride abattue à gorge déployée
comme un drapeau
la beauté la seule vertu
qui tende encore ses mains pures.

I went to the ocean today
It was warm and muggy, I longed for the spray

We drove the short distance to park
Then took our time to look for the shark

With a towel, surf board and shades
It does not take much to make the most of the place

I picked up a straw on the way to the shore
I thought of the moments of pleasure it gave just before

So many at the beach this time of year
So many enjoy plastic cups filled with cheer

My feet hit the sand, it’s warmth filled my soul
The sound of the gulls filled my head as they soared

Pink beach towel spread out, I positioned myself
Watched as children laughed and played for their health

When my skin became hot I decided to go
Into the surf crashing to and fro

First steps are tentative, the braver I become
As the warm ocean laps around my tum

Seaweed strands wrap round my legs with
Burst ballon strings and single use bags

Bird feathers are scattered and head for the sea shore
I dive beneath waves through bubbles am born once more

As people we live the way we want
We must incorporate our waste in agreement

Otherwise we have no luxuries you see
No straws to make our fizzy drinks quite so fizzy

No lids to hold our mommas milky coffee
No plastic bags to carry our goods from the shop so cocky

So embrace the ocean and all that lies within
But do it now before it’s turned into one mega bin

i remember going to sizzler
with my mom and my 2 brothers
and some random guy and lady---

all at the table.


and she'd load up the tray with dinosaur nuggets
and cabbage
and parsely
and split pea soup

and swirly icecream

of which you could fill a bucket and

only get a light scolding from the waitress with her 4 freckles.


i'd eat that stuff,
and there'd be faint music and clinking

and dishes breaking
and children laughing and crying

and burps from old people

and farting
from overzealous husbands
who would proclaim flatulance as being a sign of
gratitude for one's meal in
China


if you've ever heard.



and the carpet would be drenched in animal ****

and the air
thick will fillaments
and greasy dust--

and my eyes would water,
and the memories
would be a haze,


but it was always rather pleasant.


and the best part was the red ballon with the 'S' logo.

and it'd pop usually upon arriving home after you sit on it or something like that---


Then many years later
i went back with a friend
and his dad who happened to be pretty drunk
and we were listening to Lennon's "Wheels Go By''


and the waiter
was younger and better looking and had less disdain--

and i just got chocolate icecream.


but there were no swirls.

the swirles were long gone.

dead even.

dead .


and then i flicked my ciggarette into an immaculate ashtray

and a few ladies
talked about the lunch specials.

and my stomach gurgled
and we went
to ihop instead.

The thing's been done before
Water fountain's jammed up
Spilling over the metallic silver side
Popped ballon's lay limp red plastic
Between the greasy black finger's of
Tearless nuclear children

An awakening is upon us
Not much time

I sit with my beer
Listening to the buzz of of it all

Tell me where to go
My shackles
My freedom

Chair creaks beneath me
A voice speaks through me
Readjust

The mind's voice
Rests

Then everything begins to build up all over again

Rare dollar bill tough as leather
Thinly spilled for  faceless men
Battles they believed in
For reasons they now have
Eternity to ponder next to kin

Newly washed hands
Eyes closed
Freshly fallen snow
Stomach stinging with laughter

Recoiling mind
Unfortunate passing of events
Do not spend life in misery
For the ministry of happiness's door is open
There are no locks
Only the one's you ordered for

There is a way through the labyrinth of self-doubt
Lack of worth and confidence

It must be there

I admit I have not found the door
Though in ear these mysteries are whispered:

Clues from necktie wearing blue-jays
Grinning two toothed fish
Snapping turtles with their tongues tied
Alabaster granite for Her teeth
Smelling of chestnuts and volcano ash

The light at the end of the tunnel is being mended by no one
Prepare thyself for the worst
The heat and sharpness of the sword is precise
The game was designed that way

Attend the hatches
The moon has abandoned us
Tonight

We ride together side by side into darkness
Our wills the only thing to truly save us
Watch the gulls as they float in the warm wind over head
If they pass or disappear, pray we not be lost or dead

Marcus,

I left a message on your answering machine
but you have yet to respond. It's been
two weeks, perhaps more. I lost count.

At the moment, the streaks have accelerated
and multiplied. They resemble an arial view of
cyclists competing in the Tour de France; they're
like multitudes of ***** pennies vying for that one
eternal slot.

Hey, man. At least I tried. I'm drained of all that
is sacred. The me you knew as a child, is still that
innocent figure left standing by the door. Except
this time, he's not coming back anymore.

I guess you could say I'm finally free.

How silly it is to depend on such modern
machinery. Man has come this far just to end up abandoned.
And yet  man is constantly searching for a self to wrap up
in a tidy little package; to display for the entire world to see.

I thought I'd drop by, in the form
of random sequences; this present motion
is like a ballon being released from it's
needy little string. The desire was always
following me around, but now
I'm fathoms deep in the sky;

Drowning happily.

Marcus, if you find the time
to put aside the nuclear children
and wife. Please call back,

so we can have that man to man

talk you promised for so

many years.

Welcome home,
My soul gently seeps into my body
Filling this hollow existence
Like helium to a ballon,
Honestly,
                                                       go
                                         you        
I’m                    letting
       sorry  for            
For if I could know
I would of kept you away from the heat
As you would snow.

Now you’re back I’ll let you flow
For now you’re the reason I never gave up hope.
God is great, welcome home
You magnificent, amazing, beautiful soul.

The little lame balloon man
He holds my
gaze
He beckons my presence
And I beg him to stay
But            far          away is he
He turns solemnly and skips
away
With that little red balloon
He's left it here
it's here to stay
The little lame ballon man
solemnly away

Like a well oiled engine, my heart whirrs in pleasure at your sight
Found a biker boy and rode into the sunset

I'm a ship honey. Take me from my harbor
A sailor caught my helm and sailed into the horizon

Are you a black hole? Because you **** me in.
The physicist sat me on his lap and we got lost in space

Are you Messi ? Because I'm a Ballon d'or.
Shots were fired. Goals were scored. And they ruled the field together.

I have reached the top tier of Maslow's needs.
After extensive psychoanalysis, we found our counselors in each other.

If you're a rebuttal point, I'll always have you covered.
She and the debater found their grey patch amidst the black and white.

I'll make you a sandwich if you are male, white and a misogynist.
She found love with the racist and waited on him hand and foot.

I'll draw your heart with HB pencils and make an acrylic out of our relationship.
The artist found her bluetiful and incRedible.

I'm a South Indian who loves dosa, an uneducated Bihari, the patanjali promoting Hindu, the Muslim terrorist, the Christian converter, the Russian spy, the fake Chinese, the blond cheerleader, the ladyless female football player, the classy British, the poor illiterate, the fat American, the mannerless slum dweller, the conservative Indian woman, the dumb ****, the unromantic geek, the bald science teacher, the old librarian, the charisma less nerd......
Stereotype found it's soulmate and lived happily ever after.

I fall in love with words. Ink is my blood. Emotions and thoughts are my food.
The poet smirked and said," Haha! Nice try."

~Pacific Wolf

He made me feel trapped
My mother said in a tone that made me check under my bed twice at night
I never understood why my mom  referred  to her husband as he or him
Maybe she didn't want to take ownership of her mistakes?
My mother has never been the type of person to let her emotions break levees
I guess that's why I always thought she was so strong

I wondered if some nights she was terrified
Lying next to a man that made her heart feel like a needle to ballon
Their marriage like a torpedo to a boat

I wondered if some nights she wanted to run
If she could just slip between the wall and the lock close the door quietly she could be worry free
I wondered why my mom never cried or
If she waited for the two baby girls in the room across from her to close their eyes?
Or when she sinks beneath the bubbles in the bathroom she handcrafted with her fingertips


My mother went on like this for too long.
I wondered many nights if my mom was ever really in love
I wondered why mom kept holding on  
I wondered if mom could sleep

Cause I know when her eyes saw her eye lids pictures of dad with another woman would be painted
I wondered when my father wrapped his arms around my mother he was wishing it was the one he slept with the night before
I wondered if when my father kissed my mother she would hold her breath
Holding on to the next time she could exhale exhale

My mothers foundation never cracked nor dripped anything but love
My mother never let sleepless nights get the best of her
My mother still smiled as if her wedding vows were still sitting on her tongue

10 years later my moms eyes still water like the night she shoved me and my big sister in the car and drove away

My mother still loves like her heart has never been ripped and slashed from her chest  

My mothers levee will never see a flood

He stood on the edge of the cliff
dressed in his black clerics
a single yellow rose, pinned to his shirt
the breeze from the sea lifted his brown and grey curls
he was smiling.

7 balloons of different colors
danced around his head, taunting
veins bulged in his hand
from where he clenched the plastic strings

slowly, one by one, he let each ballon go
black, green, red, orange, white race towards the sky
the rest follow

The priest dropped to his knees
face upturned
watching each balloon
disappear
into the clouds.

INTRODUCING FRANKENSTEIN TO CHILDREN

I'm a very put-to-get-her-at-the-
-last-moment 'me.'

My eyes stuck on
mere coloured paper & glue

like something Year 2
would do

a  pair of lungs
fashioned from

a deflated blue ballon
a pierced Fairy Liquid Washing Up bottle.

My mouth...aghhhh...my thoughts
all full of bile...vile!

This trying to put one foot in front of
the other...oh what a bother!

Oh I remember now
it's called walk-ing.

The mouth moves
but the talk doesn't come out.

My brain bits of string *
tin cans & things.

Yes yes & YES
SILENCE PLEASE.

SILENCE THE BEST
CURE OF ALL.

Oh no Year 2
are lining up in the hall.

You share a strange similarity to a traffic light that’s out of order
All I receive are mixed signals
I don’t know whether to stay safe and stay put
Or to take the chance and just go

you emit green light
when
Your left hand reaches out and caresses my thigh
Your head finds a spot leaning down on mine
But then you shift to yellow
and I can feel the cold from your chest pushing into mine
in a way that makes me wonder
how I am able to support your entire weight
Why doesn’t it burst the ballon under my skin?

My thoughts put to a halt when I see the red light in your eyes
and you say
“I don’t want a girlfriend”
I have to trust your word
Because your forehead part times as a unbreakable fortress to your mind
and today there are no lines nor crinkles to give me a sign on what’s going on in there
I do know that your mind is running rampant
as always
I know that mine is running 90 miles an hour
on a highway that never intersects with yours

You repeat:
“I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”
What I don’t say is
it’s okay, I don’t mind
I just want to be your ex
Because
I know
even if our highways were united through a bridge
we would stand on each side and wave at each other
But never dare to take the first step out on it
In fear of falling into the water

Because
I know that
I’m the type of person that burns my bridges
To ensure I don’t cross them
I know that
You’re the type of person who wouldn’t call 911
But instead stand still and try to heat up your chest

What I don’t know is
whether to hit the break or the speeder

We all are falling slowly
To whose fate is holy

The yellow sailor drifts away
Yet, a ballon will never stay
The touch of a finger
Yet, never linger
My love changes quickly

The blade of a knife
Yet, she lives a long life
You see how this Earth is fair?

The girl sits alone
Her life never shown
The sound of the button tone
9-1-1
Yet, no sound of a gun

She falls to the floor
Wishing for more
The decision,
she isn't sure

We are all falling slowly
Her fate is holy
For, child, do not worry
She is happy now