you used to make me feel like i was in flight;
above the clouds, with the breeze in my hair,
and no one around so i could actually be myself for once
nowadays, when i see you,
it make me feel like i’ve fallen down a flight of stairs;
all tangled up inside
and broken in all the wrong places
sometimes, i wish i could forget you
but then i remember i’ve avoided a lot of train wrecks
because of our atom bomb
we were the first of mine, you know,
the first to make me commit as big a mistake
as the fucking manhattan project
you screwed me up more than you can imagine
i lay waste for months, with no sign of human life,
or, life of my own, at least
i threw myself into the care of plants and cats
and writing love songs with terrible lyrics
telling tales of people who weren’t us;
of people who never fought.
of people would never leave the stove on
because something more exciting
was going on in life outside
i used to feel like i was always close to you,
to the world, to a bigger idea,
but now, when i think of you, i feel like
the bigger things are ominously closing in on me
closer, closer, too close, crushingly,
and you were always so physical
eye wood half loved ewe til the and
crossed the ocean to make yew sea
that my heart was write, it was an open book
two the mysteries within
you're eyes caught me starring at the void
but eye was just contemplating the darkest
of my own, be four being consumed buy
Homonym creation by son dark terror
Dark sun templar strides empty
He was born in the sewers
Preaching to orphans
Selling them drugs
Crash landing Foreign Exchange
Lawyer no habla ingles
Wife beating wincest victim/winner
Always liked the devil better
I am ink faces and paper traces
vowels and consonants arranged
in molecules and red splotches
vascular and musculature
an anthem to all of us.
Homonym hymn religious
nouns non- meaning
I am composed and disarrayed
like an alphabet scattered into a wind .
A Bic pen running out , skipping,
writing, for a lack of paper on the back of
poems written before,
I need a Quill and inkwell,
one thousand trees
to reach my destiny.
Sober, or hungover
One or the other
I’ll take a stab at writing
Something that’s too good
Not to know
And I’ve heard “I don’t know”
This past month
I fee like am starting to
I know you have none of my answers
I know my questions have been spot on
I know my effort has been worthy
As much as you do
You were my darlin’ Queen, the star of the show
Now you are someone elses princess
But you are still my Queen
The Queen of “ I don’t know”
A leap of faith
Growth and Humility
Laughter and happiness
These are more than things I know
They are my unrewarded actions
Will my attraction
To you ever waver?
Will I ever return the favor?
Are we friends or does that even matter?
I wont ask these questions
Because I know the answer
And its not "no"
Homonym, not vernacular
Yes it is
If they wrote about me,
The narrator might explain
The dangers of exponential decay;
Of how I might give my soul
He may call me
A slave to substance,
In more eloquent terms,
And to the inevitable pitfall
Where one hits rock bottom
But resurrects three days later.
The second coming,
But not as pure:
The heroine, but a homonym.
never invented - the vastness
of letters all twenty six
are not many to convey
how vast clear a blue sky can be
nor deep the depth
no homonym exists
the antonym is not found in a dictionary
or Thesauraus and will never be
to describe in fullness
the heart or truth
existing on Mother's Earth
though, the Bard, was close to seeing.
I once awoke, with another tongue,
composed in my head a rhyme,
of purest gold
never seen before a tome
of time and me.
But, my words, were composed of letters
from an alphabet not yet invented.
I could not write them down.
I sleep all the time, now,
Now and then I think of you,
That soft smile you left me with.
Now and then, I wish I could
Say that it's okay, I understand,
That if you have to go,
Believe me that nobody
The way that I can.
I knew I should beware of you,
This illusory complex that I wanted to be you.
And, still, when you knocked upon my door,
I answered your call.
But sunny days will always set, my dear,
I just didn’t know that
You’d make always come so soon.
Blame it on that sunny afternoon,
But I did, and maybe still do…
I really used to believe in you.
But it seems like this forgiveness
Is about faith, and knowledge,
And knowing when you’re too far behind,
And when to let go,
And how to make the best of a cliff
That may take a decade to climb.
Yes, I think it’s about
And you and me,
And how to be free,
And cutting you off
Like a hundred-year-old tree.
Now and then, you’re on my mind;
The things you said
Were only my religion, my life,
But now and then I remember:
That it’s not about who you let your guard down to,
But why you became so vulnerable in the first place.
All the same, despite my campaign,
Some things just remain
Burned into your memory.
Like two words the same but worlds apart-
Your memory is a homonym of my very own heart.
But it’s okay, I understand,
My will is not your will, just
Rest assured that I will always
Love you like nobody will.
Now and then, I feel like a fool.
These letters and boxes of what once was
Seem so dark and deceiving,
And now and then I wonder how long
It would take to make them full again.
But it’s okay, I understand.
There’s no use in pretending
That this grey cloud’s not looming;
Maybe someday it won’t rain.
But, now and then,
I’ve got to pay,
Because you’re gone,
And that’s the way it will stay.
I seem to only measure time
in units of when I last saw you.
black holes only devour what you feed them,
but I still try to fill this cavity in my chest
with your words,
with your love,
with your presence.
sometimes feeling whole is only
the homonym taking its place.
I gave up the sunlight
to lay in this grave.
I turned my back on life
to continue courting my demise.
I give up my grave
to bask in your warmth.
I give you the words of love
I used to save for death’s ears.
I give up parts of myself to fill in your blanks,
and though so much of me is missing,
I am better when you are whole.
Rolling in wave upon wave of words.
Sentences dressed right, en echelon, like pretty hued soldiers
with armor and frills of meaning unfurled.
I can see their smiles gleam
with the slap-dash of their waving standards.
The gypsy, unzips her paragraph
like the Red Sea before Moses;
she has rewritten the song of the seducing hand
that writes the words, that pens the curve of a gentle wrist,
that drains of the belletristic wells of the heart.
All to flow from Egypt through the canyon of the mind,
Weathered words, crumbled from the cave of allegory
Sliced from the loaf of pharaohs love.
Flow on river, flow by
leaving green brush in the crags where eagles nest.
Friend of uterus, swelled by spells of copulation
Hers is the scent that draws the sleeping bear
From carnal dreams, dripping blood-words.
Bleed for waxing moon, bleed the scent of still stars,
oh do I love this vicious bearer of words in sun struck birth.
Die dear gypsy on the battlefield of parchment
Expel the reek of your pen impaled body
Rise hoary hope on the wind inhaled by God.
He who draws her up, heart first
Through those once read lips, but forever colored…
Red, red! For they are still read by my heart
Hewn homonym from the hue of her lips kiss
There is a silent word mouthed in this nymphs holler.
And I press my ear closer to that womb.
To read, to read… listen please, my erudite heart.