“hey” is the only thing you say
pressing your hand against the doorframe 
and leaning in
looking past me as if you would see anything different, but it's all the same
nothing has changed except maybe you and me
and whoever decides to fill my body next
the chain on the door covers your eyes
 and i can't help think about how different you look
like a stranger; one i wouldn't expect to meet me 
at my threshold with groceries in a brown paper bag
now, of course, you only bring me a heart 
and say it's nothing

“hey” is the only thing i say, 
unlatching the chain, and letting you inside
 like i'm letting you drip down my throat
i busy my hands with the locks,
 the locks i put there, at first, to keep you in, and then, eventually, to keep you out
but now it seems, to anybody watching this exchange between our worlds,
like i put them there 
to keep my back turned to you, 
to avoid you while you spread out on the couch 
and let all your dead-eyed visions collect on the coffee table

“hey” is the only thing you say
when you notice the missing ash tray,
the one you used to use as a church,
where each burnt shell was an empty prayer,
and each smoke tendril was a hand to send it up to heaven
now it's just a black spot engrained in the wood
now you're just a black spot engrained in the wood
some things did change, i guess, but nothing as much as the two of us.
i remember when our old bodies fit together so well,
and how they rested so easily right where you’re sitting
i remember when i shared that smoke with you and helped you send it up to wherever you wanted it to go
i want to talk to you about that smoke, now, among other stupid, half-symbolic things that i'm not entirely sure you’d understand or even remember,
but i don't. instead i finish with the locks, which are also stupid and symbolic, and spread out next to you on the couch
i wish i had my own dead-eyes visions to unload next to yours, but then i remember that i left all of mine
somewhere inside of you

“hey” is the only thing i say, and sometimes, its the only thing i can say.

Waiting for that creaking sound of girls hostel
he waited for the entire night thinking of the day to blossom.
Devastation of those unlatching tensions
revolutionized his dreams
which were burnt alive
by those thunderous storms of love.

He remember that old odor of her tears
mingled with cosmetics on her face
whose fragrance almost demanded
unpredictable love
to which he bowed with his heart.

Breezy winds flew
as unintended emotions brewed out
materializing the enlightenment that i feel in love
wetting the brevity of my poetry with those wet dreams!

Hypnotized by the lavished love
which tuned frequency of my intolerable heart
instantiated
my vocal cords to reverberate in a different passion
in a musical way...in the direction of wind
trying to make it resonate with nature

I LOVE YOU

Life, a dream unfulfilled,
Years advnacing
In their stride, reaching  the end  
With a tottering  gait--

Or a dream realised
On an empty canvas
When the years themselves
Are beating the hasty retreat

Leaving the body paralyzed
Unlatching  the gate, releasing the soul,
A blessed prisoner
Of hope!

Life, a  journey within or
Without, a destination
Or an inevitable cul-de-sac
Reaching, yet not reached

Whatever it is
It goes on
Images emerge and merge
Of those met on the way

In the ocean of memories--
Searching for meaning
And substance,  you
Seem to be glum and dumb!

You stand and wait and ,
Pause to think about
In the middle of the road,
"On The Move 'Man, You Gotta Go"

Dear Everything
Tonight I may die of over stimulation my frontal lobe ****** by a televised illusion- of her listening to records black coffee the needle scratches
Her eyes shotgun blast to my chest second glance whiplash running
All the red lights in my brain she steps onto the street as I follow beneath in sewer tunnels like the rat to peanut butter smeared traps Squirming between the cracks in the pavement To
An old brick high rise looming I watch from the alley as one window
Lights her slender shadow ******* heart beating watch ticking
I climb the rusted razor wire fence the old fire escape to the window my knife blade slipping between the catch unlatching silently I slip into the bedroom flower
Scent engulfing my senses her form softly breathing eyes closed
I stand above her wishing I were dead ripping at the hole in my chest How must she taste?
Picking at the wound she has created crawling inside to infect with her canines snagging the muscle tissue startled awake she looks into my eyes snapping the trap on my neck

Spinning in the dark
Looking for the summer light
Flying into the Kiwi's nest down under

Gasping for not breathed air
In the frosted midnight grass
Arching towards the muddied moon

Searching, wanting, craving
Needing that blade
To pour out all the wrongs
And set attention on the

untouched tomorrow

Crying, gasping, spinning, losing, gaining, loving, hurting
Unlatching

Through empty hallways
and the wide corridor of life
days, like doors, are unopened
for fears of welcoming strife
reluctantly, we refuse to look
into a new day, like a locked room
known only by unlatching a hook
to find the futures not so gloom
Yet running to the day before
We drop ‘Today’,  like a lost key
that unlocks the day behind that door
where ‘Tomorrow’, could’ve set us free.

Is this where it ends?
The pouring of words,
The same as the rain against the window.
Moisture to the grass.
Safely unlatching the gate,
The horses huff in the darkness.
The sky so bare,
But it reminds me of someone else;
Beneath his chin, beneath our dreams.
Is this where we have come?
To my insincerities,
To my lies, disguised as truths.
Half-truths, we will say.
Your arms an honour:
Your doors are opening,
Finally,
But I am locked behind my own.
Is this where the road ends?
Cooped up for too long,
The light has escaped our space;
Casting shade in your eyes
And doubt on me.
With the road that lay ahead, breaking slowly,
Crumbling in slow motion:
So loudly, so harshly.
Is this where we end?
Individual thoughts on the unknown:
Opinions and perspective
The world went upside down when you spoke,
Tossing me off my feet,
The red of my hair the last thing I recall.
An inner voice spoke then:
The clucks and the chatters faded.
Until it all became void.
But this is not the first time,
This will not be the last.
Although, it is the end:
To the vanilla latte air,
To the inconvenience.
The pins on the map are all mine now,
The administration is yours.
I have no more debt,
And the circles never combined anyway.
The sun sets while we look away,
As always,
And then we drift off:
Into the abyss, into our own worlds,
Into individuality.
Until we find our voices,
And start again.

Putting it mildly,
Sleep has discarded me.
My once restless nights have
Turned to now restless days,
And in ways I guess this is the better than sleeping…
In sleep I know I would only find myself
Dreaming about you.
Getting caught up in the fiction
That my mind has so kindly made up for me,
Because in reality,
I know that things wouldn’t be so great.
Things would be problematical,
Complicated,
Intricate.
Sleep is nothing if all I do is dream about you,
Because having you in my dreams isn't good enough for me,
I want to hold you in the embrace that I have mastered in the time that you were gone,
Kiss you in a way that you will remember every time you smell my perfume,
And love you in a way that I know you will never find again…
If left in just my dreams
Soon enough you'll just turn to another
Monster lurking in the corridors of my heart.
Knocking on the doors of our memories,
Unlatching the caged demons in my soul,
Baby things have gone a bit out of control here.
Skies that were once baby blue
Have turned to a new shade of depression,
Oppression,
You held me down.
Scratch that,
We held each other down in power struggle.
While I added bittersweet delirium to your life,
You put faultless certainty into mine.
I found that with you…
Things don’t have to make sense.
They can be messy and
Perplexing
And confusing,
And it will only add to the beauty of the situation.
But I still do not want to dream about you.
I fear what dreadful panorama my mind will paint me every night,
If it will be Romeo & Juliet
Or Harley Quinn and Joker…
The confusion of what will happen
Breaks me apart
Yet I can't help but want to start this all over again.
Go through the motions with you till you
You fracture my heart
Split it in to a new galaxy
Where pieces of my heart become stars.
Where monsters in the hallways won't scare me
And I am still free to be in love with you.
You captivate me like no one ever has,
Inevitably you are my Picasso.
Taking my heart and squeezing the life from it till its dry,
Using my blood as your paint
My heart your new paint brush.
As you create a portrait
Of what Love looks like,
And when you do
All you will paint
Is two people sleeping.
One in his bed peacefully asleep,
And the other,
Restlessly awake,
Afraid to start dreaming again.

You're always evolving for what you are doing,
like big burger eating and bad TV viewing,
inheritance wasting and CO2 spewing
and world undoing and logic eschewing
and though we've been at it for just a short bit
it seems we've already achieved a good fit,
but what we're now sowing we soon will be reaping
and then we'll commence with the read 'em and weeping
and start to evolve for new habits we're keeping
like alley-cat roasting and cold-culvert sleeping
and valuable snatching and cholera catching
and have-a-rough-patching and brain-come-unlatching
and so for a while we will be in a bind
'til the traits of the species become redefined
and the tastes of your offspring begin realigning
with boiled rat dining and garbage pit mining.

It has been said many times before, ‘Old
Habits die hard’ and I agree, without
Condemning any of my own, as I begin
Unlatching eyelids, shutters to the real world,

To gentle caresses of sunbeams, furtively tiptoeing
Around the room, invading space, consistently crawling
On my bed, to reach my forehead and grant
A longed-for princely awakening kiss.

My feet touch the floor, a few steps next door,
I cleanse my face with tepid water, always
Appreciatively contemplating the billions years
Old interstellar ice, molecules composing each single drop.

I slowly walk downstairs anticipating the day, prepare
The espresso coffee ***, as I allow the radioman to shower
Me with the latest news I wish to block,
Roll my cigarette and open my precious laptop

Containing me and all my thoughts, a second brain
To register what I forgot. Look about in the meanders
Of a virtual world other than my dreams
And proceed typing words that combined create

Meaning, unleashing imagination, feelings and evanescent
Memories, observing my surroundings, once more asking
Myself why, each time I take a break and lie
By the lake, ants climb over my body.

I unfurls to sail,
stretching my arms out.
Gust of ecstatic emotion surges,
silent agony fall to pieces,
torn & tattered.
I seek floating away,
unlatching imprisoned soul,
fleeing deep dark abyss.
Pity and regrettably,
I don't feel free.
I am wingless.
Silent, constrained, caged
trapped for life.

Dadda
There's something I need to say
Dadda
There's something on my mind

I'm watching stars come crashing down
As the moon screams in delight
the wind whispers my name
Saying, "Everything will be alright."

I can't see your eyes and I'm tasting mud
But pools of static are haunting mine.
I wish to hold on to something strong
but the arm that I'm grasping is unlatching now...

Dadda
I'm telling the jury the puppet is dancing
Dadda
I've had your shoes, I put them on for size

Though I never saw the gun by your bedside,
Now I can feel your breath fading
I'll go crawling down
Looking for a dead body

He can't hear me scream his name
the jury's decided no more playing
Deathrow for the man with a tender embrace

Dadda...

Dadda...

Dadda...

I wander between heart and mind
Between daydreams and reality
Between tormenting silences
And tiring screams
Between yes and no
Between beauty and tragedy
Between being stripped and layered
Between passion and comfort
Between hurtful truths and comforting lies
Between search and rescue
Between sky and roof
Between full and empty
Between realization and delusion
Between whole and pieces
Between gaining and losing
But most of all between
my own inner landscape
Weeding watering
Planting uprooting
Building dismantling
Fencing unlatching
Acknowledging that this garden is not perfect
Not by any stretch of the imagination
It has been the Atlantis of the soul
Seen layers below the rock bottom
It has been a traveler
Who has found a home
In happiness and in pain.