On Hellespont, guilty of true love’s blood,
In view and opposite two cities stood,
Sea-borderers, disjoin’d by Neptune’s might;
The one Abydos, the other Sestos hight.
At Sestos Hero dwelt; Hero the fair,
Whom young Apollo courted for her hair,
And offer’d as a dower his burning throne,
Where she could sit for men to gaze upon.
The outside of her garments were of lawn,
The lining purple silk, with gilt stars drawn;
Her wide sleeves green, and border’d with a grove,
Where Venus in her naked glory strove
To please the careless and disdainful eyes
Of proud Adonis, that before her lies;
Her kirtle blue, whereon was many a stain,
Made with the blood of wretched lovers slain.
Upon her head she ware a myrtle wreath,
From whence her veil reach’d to the ground beneath;
Her veil was artificial flowers and leaves,
Whose workmanship both man and beast deceives;
Many would praise the sweet smell as she past,
When ’twas the odour which her breath forth cast;
And there for honey bees have sought in vain,
And beat from thence, have lighted there again.
About her neck hung chains of pebble-stone,
Which lighten’d by her neck, like diamonds shone.
She ware no gloves; for neither sun nor wind
Would burn or parch her hands, but, to her mind,
Or warm or cool them, for they took delight
To play upon those hands, they were so white.
Buskins of shells, all silver’d, used she,
And branch’d with blushing coral to the knee;
Where sparrows perch’d, of hollow pearl and gold,
Such as the world would wonder to behold:
Those with sweet water oft her handmaid fills,
Which as she went, would chirrup through the bills.
Some say, for her the fairest Cupid pin’d,
And looking in her face, was strooken blind.
But this is true; so like was one the other,
As he imagin’d Hero was his mother;
And oftentimes into her ***** flew,
About her naked neck his bare arms threw,
And laid his childish head upon her breast,
And with still panting rock’d there took his rest.
So lovely-fair was Hero, Venus’ nun,
As Nature wept, thinking she was undone,
Because she took more from her than she left,
And of such wondrous beauty her bereft:
Therefore, in sign her treasure suffer’d wrack,
Since Hero’s time hath half the world been black.

Amorous Leander, beautiful and young
(Whose tragedy divine MusÆus sung),
Dwelt at Abydos; since him dwelt there none
For whom succeeding times make greater moan.
His dangling tresses, that were never shorn,
Had they been cut, and unto Colchos borne,
Would have allur’d the vent’rous youth of Greece
To hazard more than for the golden fleece.
Fair Cynthia wish’d his arms might be her sphere;
Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there.
His body was as straight as Circe’s wand;
Jove might have sipt out nectar from his hand.
Even as delicious meat is to the taste,
So was his neck in touching, and surpast
The white of Pelops’ shoulder: I could tell ye,
How smooth his breast was, and how white his belly;
And whose immortal fingers did imprint
That heavenly path with many a curious dint
That runs along his back; but my rude pen
Can hardly blazon forth the loves of men,
Much less of powerful gods: let it suffice
That my slack Muse sings of Leander’s eyes;
Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his
That leapt into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow, and, despising many,
Died ere he could enjoy the love of any.
Had wild Hippolytus Leander seen,
Enamour’d of his beauty had he been.
His presence made the rudest peasant melt,
That in the vast uplandish country dwelt;
The barbarous Thracian soldier, mov’d with nought,
Was mov’d with him, and for his favour sought.
Some swore he was a maid in man’s attire,
For in his looks were all that men desire,—
A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye,
A brow for love to banquet royally;
And such as knew he was a man, would say,
“Leander, thou art made for amorous play;
Why art thou not in love, and lov’d of all?
Though thou be fair, yet be not thine own thrall.”

The men of wealthy Sestos every year,
For his sake whom their goddess held so dear,
Rose-cheek’d Adonis, kept a solemn feast.
Thither resorted many a wandering guest
To meet their loves; such as had none at all
Came lovers home from this great festival;
For every street, like to a firmament,
Glister’d with breathing stars, who, where they went,
Frighted the melancholy earth, which deem’d
Eternal heaven to burn, for so it seem’d
As if another Pha{”e}ton had got
The guidance of the sun’s rich chariot.
But far above the loveliest, Hero shin’d,
And stole away th’ enchanted gazer’s mind;
For like sea-nymphs’ inveigling harmony,
So was her beauty to the standers-by;
Nor that night-wandering, pale, and watery star
(When yawning dragons draw her thirling car
From Latmus’ mount up to the gloomy sky,
Where, crown’d with blazing light and majesty,
She proudly sits) more over-rules the flood
Than she the hearts of those that near her stood.
Even as when gaudy nymphs pursue the chase,
Wretched Ixion’s shaggy-footed race,
Incens’d with savage heat, gallop amain
From steep pine-bearing mountains to the plain,
So ran the people forth to gaze upon her,
And all that view’d her were enamour’d on her.
And as in fury of a dreadful fight,
Their fellows being slain or put to flight,
Poor soldiers stand with fear of death dead-strooken,
So at her presence all surpris’d and tooken,
Await the sentence of her scornful eyes;
He whom she favours lives; the other dies.
There might you see one sigh, another rage,
And some, their violent passions to assuage,
Compile sharp satires; but, alas, too late,
For faithful love will never turn to hate.
And many, seeing great princes were denied,
Pin’d as they went, and thinking on her, died.
On this feast-day—O cursed day and hour!—
Went Hero thorough Sestos, from her tower
To Venus’ temple, where unhappily,
As after chanc’d, they did each other spy.

So fair a church as this had Venus none:
The walls were of discolour’d jasper-stone,
Wherein was Proteus carved; and over-head
A lively vine of green sea-agate spread,
Where by one hand light-headed Bacchus hung,
And with the other wine from grapes out-wrung.
Of crystal shining fair the pavement was;
The town of Sestos call’d it Venus’ glass:
There might you see the gods in sundry shapes,
Committing heady riots, ******, rapes:
For know, that underneath this radiant flower
Was Danae’s statue in a brazen tower,
Jove slyly stealing from his sister’s bed,
To dally with Idalian Ganimed,
And for his love Europa bellowing loud,
And tumbling with the rainbow in a cloud;
Blood-quaffing Mars heaving the iron net,
Which limping Vulcan and his Cyclops set;
Love kindling fire, to burn such towns as Troy,
Sylvanus weeping for the lovely boy
That now is turn’d into a cypress tree,
Under whose shade the wood-gods love to be.
And in the midst a silver altar stood:
There Hero, sacrificing turtles’ blood,
Vail’d to the ground, veiling her eyelids close;
And modestly they opened as she rose.
Thence flew Love’s arrow with the golden head;
And thus Leander was enamoured.
Stone-still he stood, and evermore he gazed,
Till with the fire that from his count’nance blazed
Relenting Hero’s gentle heart was strook:
Such force and virtue hath an amorous look.

It lies not in our power to love or hate,
For will in us is over-rul’d by fate.
When two are stript, long ere the course begin,
We wish that one should lose, the other win;
And one especially do we affect
Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:
The reason no man knows, let it suffice,
What we behold is censur’d by our eyes.
Where both deliberate, the love is slight:
Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?

He kneeled, but unto her devoutly prayed.
Chaste Hero to herself thus softly said,
“Were I the saint he worships, I would hear him;”
And, as she spake those words, came somewhat near him.
He started up, she blushed as one ashamed,
Wherewith Leander much more was inflamed.
He touched her hand; in touching it she trembled.
Love deeply grounded, hardly is dissembled.
These lovers parleyed by the touch of hands;
True love is mute, and oft amazed stands.
Thus while dumb signs their yielding hearts entangled,
The air with sparks of living fire was spangled,
And night, deep drenched in misty Acheron,
Heaved up her head, and half the world upon
Breathed darkness forth (dark night is Cupid’s day).
And now begins Leander to display
Love’s holy fire, with words, with sighs, and tears,
Which like sweet music entered Hero’s ears,
And yet at every word she turned aside,
And always cut him off as he replied.
At last, like to a bold sharp sophister,
With cheerful hope thus he accosted her.

“Fair creature, let me speak without offence.
I would my rude words had the influence
To lead thy thoughts as thy fair looks do mine,
Then shouldst thou be his prisoner, who is thine.
Be not unkind and fair; misshapen stuff
Are of behaviour boisterous and rough.
O shun me not, but hear me ere you go.
God knows I cannot force love as you do.
My words shall be as spotless as my youth,
Full of simplicity and naked truth.
This sacrifice, (whose sweet perfume descending
From Venus’ altar, to your footsteps bending)
Doth testify that you exceed her far,
To whom you offer, and whose nun you are.
Why should you worship her? Her you surpass
As much as sparkling diamonds flaring glass.
A diamond set in lead his worth retains;
A heavenly nymph, beloved of human swains,
Receives no blemish, but ofttimes more grace;
Which makes me hope, although I am but base:
Base in respect of thee, divine and pure,
Dutiful service may thy love procure.
And I in duty will excel all other,
As thou in beauty dost exceed Love’s mother.
Nor heaven, nor thou, were made to gaze upon,
As heaven preserves all things, so save thou one.
A stately builded ship, well rigged and tall,
The ocean maketh more majestical.
Why vowest thou then to live in Sestos here
Who on Love’s seas more glorious wouldst appear?
Like untuned golden strings all women are,
Which long time lie untouched, will harshly jar.
Vessels of brass, oft handled, brightly shine.
What difference betwixt the richest mine
And basest mould, but use? For both, not used,
Are of like worth. Then treasure is abused
When misers keep it; being put to loan,
In time it will return us two for one.
Rich robes themselves and others do adorn;
Neither themselves nor others, if not worn.
Who builds a palace and rams up the gate
Shall see it ruinous and desolate.
Ah, simple Hero, learn thyself to cherish.
Lone women like to empty houses perish.
Less sins the poor rich man that starves himself
In heaping up a mass of drossy pelf,
Than such as you. His golden earth remains
Which, after his decease, some other gains.
But this fair gem, sweet in the loss alone,
When you fleet hence, can be bequeathed to none.
Or, if it could, down from th’enameled sky
All heaven would come to claim this legacy,
And with intestine broils the world destroy,
And quite confound nature’s sweet harmony.
Well therefore by the gods decreed it is
We human creatures should enjoy that bliss.
One is no number; maids are nothing then
Without the sweet society of men.
Wilt thou live single still? One shalt thou be,
Though never singling ***** couple thee.
Wild savages, that drink of running springs,
Think water far excels all earthly things,
But they that daily taste neat wine despise it.
Virginity, albeit some highly prize it,
Compared with marriage, had you tried them both,
Differs as much as wine and water doth.
Base bullion for the stamp’s sake we allow;
Even so for men’s impression do we you,
By which alone, our reverend fathers say,
Women receive perfection every way.
This idol which you term virginity
Is neither essence subject to the eye
No, nor to any one exterior sense,
Nor hath it any place of residence,
Nor is’t of earth or mould celestial,
Or capable of any form at all.
Of that which hath no being do not boast;
Things that are not at all are never lost.
Men foolishly do call it virtuous;
What virtue is it that is born with us?
Much less can honour be ascribed thereto;
Honour is purchased by the deeds we do.
Believe me, Hero, honour is not won
Until some honourable deed be done.
Seek you for chastity, immortal fame,
And know that some have wronged Diana’s name?
Whose name is it, if she be false or not
So she be fair, but some vile tongues will blot?
But you are fair, (ay me) so wondrous fair,
So young, so gentle, and so debonair,
As Greece will think if thus you live alone
Some one or other keeps you as his own.
Then, Hero, hate me not nor from me fly
To follow swiftly blasting infamy.
Perhaps thy sacred priesthood makes thee loath.
Tell me, to whom mad’st thou that heedless oath?”

“To Venus,” answered she and, as she spake,
Forth from those two tralucent cisterns brake
A stream of liquid pearl, which down her face
Made milk-white paths, whereon the gods might trace
To Jove’s high court.
He thus replied: “The rites
In which love’s beauteous empress most delights
Are banquets, Doric music, midnight revel,
Plays, masks, and all that stern age counteth evil.
Thee as a holy idiot doth she scorn
For thou in vowing chastity hast sworn
To rob her name and honour, and thereby
Committ’st a sin far worse than perjury,
Even sacrilege against her deity,
Through regular and formal purity.
To expiate which sin, kiss and shake hands.
Such sacrifice as this Venus demands.”

Thereat she smiled and did deny him so,
As put thereby, yet might he hope for moe.
Which makes him quickly re-enforce his speech,
And her in humble manner thus beseech.
“Though neither gods nor men may thee deserve,
Yet for her sake, whom you have vowed to serve,
Abandon fruitless cold virginity,
The gentle queen of love’s sole enemy.
Then shall you most resemble Venus’ nun,
When Venus’ sweet rites are performed and done.
Flint-breasted Pallas joys in single life,
But Pallas and your mistress are at strife.
Love, Hero, then, and be not tyrannous,
But heal the heart that thou hast wounded thus,
Nor stain thy youthful years with avarice.
Fair fools delight to be accounted nice.
The richest corn dies, if it be not reaped;
Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept.”

These arguments he used, and many more,
Wherewith she yielded, that was won before.
Hero’s looks yielded but her words made war.
Women are won when they begin to jar.
Thus, having swallowed Cupid’s golden hook,
The more she strived, the deeper was she strook.
Yet, evilly feigning anger, strove she still
And would be thought to grant against her will.
So having paused a while at last she said,
“Who taught thee rhetoric to deceive a maid?
Ay me, such words as these should I abhor
And yet I like them for the orator.”

With that Leander stooped to have embraced her
But from his spreading arms away she cast her,
And thus bespake him: “Gentle youth, forbear
To touch the sacred garments which I wear.
Upon a rock and underneath a hill
Far from the town (where all is whist and still,
Save that the sea, playing on yellow sand,
Sends forth a rattling murmur to the land,
Whose sound allures the golden Morpheus
In silence of the night to visit us)
My turret stands and there, God knows, I play.
With Venus’ swans and sparrows all the day.
A dwarfish beldam bears me company,
That hops about the chamber where I lie,
And spends the night (that might be better spent)
In vain discourse and apish merriment.
Come thither.” As she spake this, her tongue tripped,
For unawares “come thither” from her slipped.
And suddenly her former colour changed,
And here and there her eyes through anger ranged.
And like a planet, moving several ways,
At one self instant she, poor soul, assays,
Loving, not to love at all, and every part
Strove to resist the motions of her heart.
And hands so pure, so innocent, nay, such
As might have made heaven stoop to have a touch,
Did she uphold to Venus, and again
Vowed spotless chastity, but all in vain.
Cupid beats down her prayers with his wings,
Her vows above the empty air he flings,
All deep enraged, his sinewy bow he bent,
And shot a shaft that burning from him went,
Wherewith she strooken, looked so dolefully,
As made love sigh to see his tyranny.
And as she wept her tears to pearl he turned,
And wound them on his arm and for her mourned.
Then towards the palace of the destinies
Laden with languishment and grief he flies,
And to those stern nymphs humbly made request
Both might enjoy each other, and be blest.
But with a ghastly dreadful

My piano sits against the wall

Hardly ever played at all

Things are stacked upon her mantle

Where once was music now just shambles

Creaking and clicking keys are everywhere

But no one seems to care

Who could love a piano untuned

My piano will fall apart soon

I look at her from far away

And my piano seems to say

*you too dear, are such a sight

for you see, you and I are just alike

I am a dust laden untuned guitar in a corner.
Come toward me and wipe away all my loneliness and tune the untuned strings in my life with your warm hands.
Chat with me the way you sing melodiously along with your guitar's melodious tunes.

Beat my fears the way you beat your drums.
Read , understand , remember and love me like your books.
Listen to the noises , voices , whispers and sounds in my silences.
Give me an eternal space in your poetries.
Spent such moments with me that gets carved beautifully on the walls of my memories.
Get lost in my love the way you are into the melodies of your violen and piano while playing them.
Love me above the boundaries of ether.
Embrace me tightly in the arms of your soul and coalesce me within your soul.
And take me away in the ethereal cosmos with you.

Purple skies and wounded hearts
Leaves drifting away
Growing trees and yellow planes
Night turning to day

Untuned cellos, crumbs on sheets
Grass blades in between toes
Aerosol cans and crooked shelves
Snowflakes that stay on the nose

Purple you and wounded me
Us drifting away
Growing you and yellow me
No one wanting to stay

Untuned me, crummy you
Two scarred, translucent souls
Aerosol me and crooked you
I'm dying, but nobody knows.

Strumming the untuned strings, he stares drunkenly into the setting sun of yesteryears songs, sung of lost dreams and the birthed ambitions of the dark, dark days to be.

Happily,  he tears up in the fortunate tragedies, of the reclamation in his dreams, as he seethes out the damnation of his steeds, galloping gallantly through his being.

All seeing, in the finite fleeting when he sings, of strummed dreams to the rhythms of heart beats lost, embossed on the epitaphs of kings.

Sad songs of dreams once had.
Be glad for that, which does not **** you, only to bestow upon you, the gratitude of the weirding ways, in passionate display for us all to play nice.

Shake these dice and jump aboard this bus of wandering poetry, from the porches of poets singing to the sun.

From the morning Moet, to the afternoon beer run.

we sing of dreams

of better things

we blaspheme

and spin the scenes

of our murdered dreams

and just clean the guilt away

I am so awesome as to be devoid of fault.

I am a god that cracks the asphalt.

I am the angel signing the clause, of deserved harm.

I am the indentured servant sounding the alarm, with the charm of a Trojan horse, forced to adhere to the most righteous path.

The first

The last

Laugh of inevitability

Honing in on the ability to capture the longevity of dream warriors, in the lock of predators, in the employ of a senator, from the center of the heart, to impart on you the fear from thieves caught in the plight of those fraught with the graces of an exterminator, exterminating the pro-creators of your world. Soldiers unraveled in the lavished gavels of real criminals drowning in their own subliminal theories of the self imposed heresies of intention.

Free will

A fragile blessing

I cracked, all so long ago, as i gently bestow my  belligerence upon your innocence and **** it all away.

I'm the ******* son

Strumming for the only one.

Once.

Before the lore of the storm.

Born of the swoon of a gun.

More than one.

Once.

As the day faded into night, his strumming turned plucking, as he slightly eased from reprise to silence, in the whisper of nights words, easing him into the blur, of sleep.

I am he
   who blistered and
   purpled his aching
   fingers, upon playing
   the saddest, dissonant
   melodies out of
   his old, untuned
   guitar, whose strings
   of somber used-to-be's
   he ceaselessly strummed
   and plucked under
   the dullest starless
   night sky; and
   sing of his
   weeping heart the
   poetry of melancholy
   notes half-composed.

It is me--
   the lone guitarist
   on broken avenue
   who never stopped
   playing his love
   song of rue
   since you left--
   whose only lyrics
   is your name
   and your words
   he dearly kept.

i am the frostbite
spreading through the frozen fingers of your new lover's
hands, transferred body heat
burning the skin.
i am 3 am drinks in the
pouring rain, swerving onto
oncoming traffic.
i am the ship lost at sea of our love.
i am a broken bathroom mirror.
i am an unidentified purple bruise
on the neck of your ex-lover.
i am the fork in the toaster.
i am an untuned guitar in
a filthy venue.
calloused hands against soft skin.
slam the whiskey shot down on your neck. wash the blood off in the kitchen sink.
broken blinds forcing unwanted sunlight into your nightmares.
i am the definition of breakup ***, i am the
aftermath of self-hatred and one more go around.
**** just for the fun of it, just to ****.
pretend you are making love. pretend this matters.
i am late night emergency room
visits for rope-burned necks.
i am the car alarm blocking out your
one night stand's profound moans.
organize your bookshelf to spell out my name in the titles.
every song on the radio
will sound like goodbye.
i am the perfect time for a first kiss. swollen lips. swollen throats. inevitably calling your name on my deathbed.
i am under-the-bed-shoeboxes filled
with ripped photos that
still smell of his cologne.
i am one more dose of ambien
to get you through the night.
overdose on love, starve your lover.

stop.

rewind.

i am the first glance in a coffee shop.

play.

In a corner
a quiet corner
he passed by every day

it stood
unnoticed
solemn
proud

in silent dignity

unobtrusive
content
intact

Until by chance

the light of dusk
skipped off its latch
and caught his eye

He paused
and turned midstride
without a thought
unsure of why

and then amongst the shadows

its silhouette appeared
familiar lines and shapes
like voices in a dream
that drew him close and near

He paused again
and wondered
if he dared
to touch its shell

He paused again
and wondered
if he dared
to reach within his shell

And then he heard a melody
played so long ago

a tune
too simple for a symphony

a song
too beautiful for him alone

But there was no sound

only a memory
of a time that used to be

only a memory
of someone he used to be

He closed his eyes
and held his breath
his hand outstretched

Until by chance

he found its latch
and opened
its protective case

he peered inside
and saw a vision
he once knew

blushing in the fading sunlight
glowing from its inner hue

He reached inside
and cradled softly
its slender neck

then raised gently
its graceful body
to rest beside his neck

he found its bow
still loose and supple
without tension
held with ease

and then he stroked its hair
on strings untuned beside the bridge

as fingers rose to dance
on strings untuned beside the bridge

by a crackling fire
with an untuned guitar
as the sun makes its way to its bed

just a few friends
and a bottle of drink
as we discuss all the signs we misread

the uncertain future
regrets of the past
we ask how the world keeps on spinning

from friends to lovers
and lovers to strangers
we're desperate for our new beginnings

so we stop all the talking
and find a way out
you pick up a guitar and you strum

we sing and clap
and knock our drinks back
as our minds begin coming undone

Her prayers are
Breathy I love you's,
Warm and pained against your skin.
Your body is her altar,
Her temple,
The cathedral surrounding her
In her heartbroken worship
As she unravels,
Crying,
Shaking,
Clinging to you with
Everything
She
Has
Left.
The shattered pieces
Of her heart are the broken winged swallows,
Flocking in fluttering storms
In your bell tower,
Nesting in your rafters
Alongside the owls you've let be
To this point,
Content to allow them to roost.
Her hands are your bibles,
The creases telling a thousand stories
Of the girl who weathers the fiercest storms,
But falls apart at the seams
For love of you.
Your laughter serves as her hymns,
Ringing through the expanse of you,
Singing in her ears.
Sometimes she tries
Laughing alongside you,
But her voice cracks
Like an untuned piano
Whenever she opens her lips
To add her laughter to
Your songbooks.
You each find a different kind of heaven
In the stained glass windows
Of the other's eyes.
Hers are the ocean,
Deep and stormy,
Only ever calm
Just before lightning shakes her frame,
Rain and froth
Pounding
Against the glass,
Breaking it's way through,
Trying to flood your halls
As the tempest carves new legends
In her outstretched hands;
New biblical stories to lose yourself in.
She finds summer nights in your gaze,
Bonfires dappling damp grass,
And a boy
Laying on the hood of a run down car,
Staring too intently at the stars
To truly register their fragility,
Their mortality,
Even as they plummet from the sky,
Bursts of white light
Reflecting gold through green glass.
The comet-light ripples,
Climbing to the rafters,
Startling the owls from their perches,
And you can feel them thrumming,
Beating their wings against the ceiling of your ribs.


k. f.

perfect girl
in reverse she moves like the minute-hand of the watch wound
up down through

pilot all in leather crash into the steel
ocean and eat the seaweed until
emerge looking like hubcap trash

fifty tons of water weight you move home
covered in barnacles and
flotsam out of the driftwood
you built your house

where the dogs come to eat dirt &
grasshoppers
beneath the foundations lie the
carcasses of chewedupspitout cockroaches
you killed when you were young enough to think that
racing greyhounds meant
chasing them across state borders

you and the peeling paint reading the tea leaves they say time to rip the
oil pastel wrappers off so you can't tell which color is
which and then draw draw everywhere until
you cover the world in color that can't be washed out up
off things are no longer crayola clear

in the sun you turn on natural lights to **** the
wolftooth glare of photophobia
sun sneezing out into the porch do you dare
doubleyou dee forty these hinges someday man, do you really
want this house to have the last word?

so that when you cover the fire pit (no stone unturned)
and roll over to the
cold side of the bed you realize
that the pipes are only leaking in your head
that the dresser did not collapse
that the broken glass & the ants on the floor are not the cause of the
blood on your heels
cracked like brazil nut shells all along the
corridor

(perfect girl runs
skirt flies up in the back hair whips neck turns
hips like a rose in the honeyed dew
melancholy untuned viola strings improve the flavor like
hints of saffron in her eyes--
she is taller than you remember)

the bats
(moths between teeth)
watch you curiously
as though you were standing
right-side up

cacophony caused by
one too few chairs at the
dining table.

So I see when
And how the wind bends
At last I'm alone
The stars have shown
To be as vulnerable as I
At last are we
Breathing toward the sea

We are endless lies
Tied to the tied
Memories of friends
To hard to tell when
Drifting through the leaves
My fingers like glass
Gasoline is leaking
Through her hair
She is peaking

I have so much love here
Yet I can't help but hesitate
See the star on the horizon
Death has no certain date

To the waters of open shores
To the souls always wanting more
The umbrella opens for the falling rain
Life is to hard to live
When all seems to show the same

Cannot you tell me apart from myself
A shattered mirror atop of the sun
We are the lords of passed time and men
The letters are writ', so send man, send!

And at last I press my hands upon the table
Awakening the soul beyond the ego
Forging what sword I can within myself
Knowing that life outside myself will always be left

We men
We women
We humans upon the page

Never give up hope
Never forget

We were born to be

However unfinished and untuned
The strings show to be
Do not believe what you see
And no' don't you dare cry
What you think you can't be
Is the difference between you and I

The top hat is spinning upon my head
And these pearl clouds are shining
All I want is your sweet self inside my bed
With my old arms around you tight

Now I'm not too old
And I'm not too young
But I know that all my heart can give
Will never be enough

Sometimes I
Don't know which is which
I see a face
That doesn't match it

I see a sun that is glowing
But it might as well be snowing
I never said
I was confused
But maybe, I'm caught
In the middle
Of a lie of being used

A slave once asked in thought,
"What's it feel to be free?"
And a free man said to him
"Living without chains,
But the chains then come -
Without notice or warning -
Deep within thee."
He nodded,
The cool of the metal
Comforting again comforting him.

Each innocence lost
Is like each tomorrow forgot
The river's pass through us
The wind blows past
And what we wish will last
Will soon be let go and cast

Our mother's and our father's
Are as lost as you are I
Peak a smile, show your teeth
Your skin cannot hide
The light that shows underneath

Wilting winter with no name
Who has showed its wrath to men all the same
Take no pity on me, I deserve no cane
For I once was gripped with pity and quill
But the pill made me lucid
Body soon to fluid
Forcing me to flight without wings or arrow
Lost in a winless war
Like a loveless Cupid

I'm walking toward a rusted gate
No dreams of recollection in my mind
What I had left of love
Is now only filled with empty time

The weeds are all brown
Each barber shop sign seems to cry
Our friendship is dying, don't you see?
I'm here to see you and say goodbye

There on the blood mountains
Those grey rabbits digging away
What else is there to say?
I got no more feeling in me that I can pay

It all turned into one rotten show
When light was there, the dark is what you obeyed
Everything is rotten, all's o.k.
You got your choice,
And I got mine

Each time piece we hold
Twists like a poetic rhyme
But we aren't living
We aren't seeing
The silence that roars like thunder

Yet Im walking
And I breathe next to you
Laying still right near you
And I laugh, and I sigh
Struggling to get untied

And the mystery of passing
Hits me as transient yet everlasting
Into the eyes and to the sky
Two hearts soon to forget the prize

Too young to understand
Scared into a fool proof plan
Outgrow the precious hours
Let go of future powers

Here are the whistling pines
Hear how they whine
There are the reflecting rivers
See how they shiver

Brown shotgun blast with the old disgruntled uncle
His hair wet from the unforgiving rain
God laughed as Jesus wept into a microphone
And what was lost then can never be found

Make me love you, make me see you the way you want
I will not beat you and I swear I will not wave my hands in taunt
No money in my pocket, no more change in the shed
All you wanted from me was food and a clean looking bed

Let me tell you a secret, let me tell you a little riddle
Each man in this life is born to die and born to be little
Put the books in their baskets, put the books upon their shelves
Haven't eaten food in months, give me a second to tie my belt

Now when the thunder rolls in don't you squint your eyes
The blues you were born with is God's only prize
Down the line the reaper waits upon the train line
The children laughing struggling to be kind

Ants within the hole of revenge against the enemy
Broken pedestals showing unholy God's defaced
No one deserving the hate they think they need
What's put in song presents life of an angular creed

Evening hours of playing
peekaboo with the sun
And i lay down lavender words
loping and longing in my
journey to you
Crossing infinities of time
Chiding my days
And chastising my ways
For you to return
When you retreated like a soft
murmur
Like gentle untuned ripples
Like the melancholic wind that
blows and draws in through
my window
Addressing my pages and
leaving without reciting my
rhymes
Like the fumble fuming puff
hailing then slowly fading and
failing
Foamy and fluffy with the
froathy cream yet not
savouring the flavour
Calling yet not caressing
Rhyming yet not flowing
Leaving me like a vagabond
With a foramen self
Grappling ,gripping and then
giving the grave,
the soul you gave

The Devil is everywhere
He's the telemarketer who calls during dinner
He's hiding in your untuned guitar string
Hell last I heard good ole beelzebub was down in Georgia
But where's God been lately?
We used to talk everyday
Now I can't even get a one worded text
I've been to his many houses but no one was home
Just more like me hoping to catch a glimpse of him hiding in the shadows
I call and act like he's listening but I know I'm just getting his voicemail
And I broke the machine by leaving one to many messages
Maybe he's behind on his phone bill

it was autumn last year when we first met,
just one step away from each other
(so close yet so far)
cherry leaves crunching under my feet
blue skies and russet cobblestone
the smell of cinnamon hanging in the air
branches snapping in two like brittle bones
and my unlit cigarette dropping to the ground in surprise
as he fell
falling down down down to the ground
gravity gripping him like a soul-******* monster
and his fragile limbs stretching out
rustling paper flying out of his bag
in a spiral dance to a song i could not hear.
frail eighteen-year-old knees scraping against the pavement
lurid irises latching onto mine
as he fell
and my hands shoot out as if to catch him
like palms aching to touch delicate butterfly wings
and even then
i now realize
he was asking me to save him;
to stop him from falling.
but he was already one step away
(so close yet so far)




it was winter last year when friendship was forged.
pink blossoms giving way for achromatic snowflakes;
shaky familiarity giving way for a solid bond
amongst wordless run-ins and shy hello's
and sitting across each other over cups of hot chocolate
(so close yet so far)
we learned about each other
reaching out past thickly built walls
about pets and family and friends
(china dolls and nickels and handmaids);
and maybe we learned a little about falling in love too.
but he bristled at the mention of dreams
and i learned
that in his world of half-shattered glass and dead seas
dreams were distant stars
not meant to be picked out of the pitch black sky
and he insists they were not meant to be;
i wondered
if he meant to tell me that neither were we.
i told him i didn't understand,
asking myself if looking into his eyes
have always been this painful
but he shakes his head and steps away
(so close yet so far)




it was spring this year when i admitted
i wanted him closer;
that i was tired
of having to reach him through broken chords
of him being a chapter i had to read over and over
of having to chase after a firefly slowly losing its light
tired of him always being a step away
(so close yet so far)
i told him
i wanted to keep his dulcet smiles deep inside myself
caramel bites sweet against my tongue
to tread my hands through his hair
like floss that would melt if i don't hold on tight enough
to have him sing to me;
velvet tones echoing in the silence
jars of honey reserved just for me.
i wanted to run my fingers across his spine
like the ivory keys he spins melodies out of;
to tug him closer and closer and closer
until distance is no more
and there's nothing but lips against lips
skin against skin.
but things don't work that way, he says
my fingers flat against his waist
(we can't work out, he adds;
as if i hadn't heard)
it was a whispered lie against fabric
his body shaking
like a man deprived of a drug he so desperately needs
his eyes irresolute;
uncertainty crippling irises that used to shine
as bright as the northern lights
but he takes a step back anyway
(so close yet so far)




it was early summer this year when i lost him;
he had a girl hanging from his arm
and debonair friends waiting at his every word
(they might as well be valet de chambres)
and not once did he spare me a look
not even when he was only a step away
(so close yet so far)
that month flew by in yet another blur
empty beer bottles in my hands
flimsy cigarettes back between my fingers
broken promises embracing me like an old friend;
as if the forced laughter
did not distort the syrupy voice
that used to drawl in my ear;
as if the empty kisses and i love you's
echoing in my head
did not feel
like repeated slaps against my cheek
like repeated punches into my gut;
and as if his vacant words
did not paint his eyes colours
that i never wanted to see.
eyes that never looked at me;
as if i was a discarded toy.
as if i was the soul-******* monster
i had (tried) to save him from.
someone not worth being around
someone not worth being near
which justifies, i think,
why he always remained a step away
(so close yet so far)




it was late summer this year when i realized
that this is how it has always been;
that to wish and to hope
was to wait for a shooting star
in a world grazed by neither beauty nor light.
that even prior to our meeting,
he had always been a step away
(so close yet so far)
i was born in november, he in october
i was born on the 6th, he on the 7th
i was born in 1990, he in 1991.
even before we were born,
we were already a step apart
like binary stars only destined to orbit but never touch
like parallel lines never meant to ever intersect
never meant to do anything but run close to each other
as close as it can get
but never meeting
forever a step away
(so close yet so far)




it was autumn this year when he lost himself;
gone were the iridescent irises i fell in love with
gone were the caramel smiles i wanted to keep;
gone was the boy i once knew.
like a tree kissing its cherry leaves goodbye
a butterfly bidding farewell to its brittle wings
the ghost of a boy i lost to shattered dreams
in a shell of fragile ribs and untuned keys
even then, he never strayed closer
not to me
not any less than one step away
(so close yet so far)
and i wondered if this was cruel punishment
for something i had done
handcuffs locking around my limbs
as i await the executioner's axe;
because there is no pain
quite like watching the boy i love(d)
crumble into himself
broken and vulnerable
knowing i myself was helpless
merely a felon awaiting my capital punishment
with him always one step away
(so close yet so far)




it was winter this year when the world lost him;
the boy i'd loved
with the fragile limbs and glitter orbs
having destroyed himself
giving in to the promise of a world
better than his tattered own.
reduced to nothing but a lifeless sack of ivory bones
like the branches and cherry leaves
from when we first met;
now contained in a velvet coffin,
still a step away
(so close yet so far)
i ran my fingers against the coffin glass
like he did with piano keys he loved
as much as the stars;
the coffin made with chiffon velvet
like the voice
that used to flow like milk and honey
in the silence of the night;
and his funeral clothes
black like the starless skies
in the desolate cage he'd locked himself in;
a stark contrast to the pastels
that used to paint his irises colours
that render the rainbow dull if compared.
only it's all in my head now
because he is gone
and even now, he is still a step away
(so close yet so far)

lack of rhythm keeps the music from flowing,
keeps the anger wrapped tight
and unleashes the screams of anxiety.

It's such a simple thing to want
such an easy thing to do
until you break down in tears
realizing just how pitiful it is.

I just want to play a melody
something beautiful,
hours each day
of nonstop practice
each ending with
the smashing of the keys
and the screams from my throat.

It all ends with tears
as I do not understand-
spending years on the same melody
yet it only follows one tune

How much longer will it go on?
When will this need to play a melody stop?
for until then
those sweet tunes bring tears to my eyes
in the knowledge
that I try every day
week after week
month after month
year after year
and those different tunes only blend
to a jumbled mess of one
due to my shaking
aching hands.

I just want to play a melody.
Why is that so hard?
It's the same song over and over
and though I try my hardest
it comes out the same
each time
and ends with
my screams and tears,
due to these shaking hands.

It is a never ending turmoil,
that breaks my untuned heart.

April is a month of forgotten dreams,
That began to fade away in February,
And drew their last breath in March.
Missed opportunities wax poetic
As the tumultuous spring wind pushes empty
Ideals into a realm of something not quite there,
But present enough to be felt over the roar of
Cryptic resolutions and half baked goals.

April is a month of resurrected love
That has already grown rotten and putrid,
Decaying under the warm, dirt ground
Built up over the heavy hopes of December.
Memories full of partial truths and "I love you"
Twist and pull at untuned heart strings,
Until a sad, sordid melody sounds out,
Almost completely evaporating before it reaches
Anyone brave enough to write it into reality.

April is a month that sometimes isn't really there
Until the middle of May, when a distinct pang
In the chest gives weight to its existence.

We make peace with closed fists
and sing poems to our children
about war;

“It only happens once in a while.”

We spray everything red and cry in our hands,
we crush our heads in our palms.
Shake tambourines for spare change,
and claw at untuned unfinished guitars.

Daylight fades, and darkness stumbles in,
alcohol on its breath,
a mix only sailors and their widows drink.
It’s harassing someone for a **** or a fight,
because it longs to be touched and feel it,
to shed some ****** fluid
and feel drained of the pressure
of desperation.

I saw the world through different eyes today
There was no clouded judgement, fake, pretentious nature
I could laugh at anything
Be anyone
Pity anything
Yet the moon still carried on shining

And although we squabbled over art I realised
Art is nothing but a squabble

For sobriety restrains the person I can be
And the person I am
And those restraints keep me in a place I don't want to be

They lock me down in fear and in shame
For the person I can be is caged
It screams out
Opinions which deter people and denounce

And as I see you run through the streets
Ever searching for a place to fit in
My ankles become weak
They buckle
They cannot carry me

For I find no easier place to fit in
Than my very own skin
The place of an outcast
An ungrateful brat
Who drools at the thought of an empty mindless space

Where no judgement, snobbery or scoff is placed
For the idea of a flee ridden rug,
A broken kettle,
A piercing mattress,
An unread journal

It SCREAMS to me freedom

A natural scribe,
A just life
An unjustified rhyme

It calls to me
It calls on and on

But tomorrow I will be the person
The world destined me to be
An untuned symphony
Beating away with a monotone rhythm

Because doubt rears its ugly head
Churns a putrid dread
Which I carry to my empty cage of a heart

And I carry it on
And on

If music is love expressed
Then I'm nothing,
But an untuned guitar,
Which gets tuned for a while,
And then the beats
Turn the keys,
Back to where they were.

The whispering music,
Goes on for a while,
Soothing my messed up mind,
Stretching my frown into a smile.

The waves of emotion,
Dance in air
And the major chord,
Dominates the despair,
Ensconced deep in our hearts,
Invisible ,
And with the songs, rare.

But then the fingers
Slip to a minor,
And the pain it lingers
All around our sober heads
The trance slowly slips away, 
As the song goes off tune,
And our hands that once together swayed
Are now still and apart.

If music is love expressed
Then my song has already ended,
Even before it started,
But then that day
Isn't so far away,
Even though the journey to reach it is long,
When in the gamut of covert tunes
I'll find my perfect song.

He was the blue sky
She was the rain
He was the sunshine
Who took away all her pain

She was the black sky
In the middle of the night
He was the brightest star shining Reasurring her
That it will be alright

She's an old untuned piano
With dust on the keys
But he sits down
And makes beautiful music from her
But she never ever will see

He was the smell
After the rain
She was like the seasons
Always eager to change

He tastes like cigarettes and jack
She is at war with herself
Ready to attack

He has the  universe in his hand  
The world in his palms
She has nothing to live for
She sits alone writing song after song

His soul is full of awe
His eyes are filled with wonder
Her heart is much too cold
Down her life it plundered

He is like a warm summer breeze
Setting all souls at ease
And she is like these cold december nights
Always
Chilling
Always causing a fright

How to break an addiction. Decide to live.
What can I learn from my pain. Danger.
And friends are merely friendly, live on independent
of your injury. You will not be missed in church on Sunday.

Grass. ****, broccoli, burrito, stink, ***, skunk.
I'm talking blue grama, upland bent, smooth brome,
riverside panic, wild rye, fowl meadow, spike muhly,
sweet vernal, salt marsh, bristly foxtail, little bluestem.

****** is unhealthy, opens lesions in the brain,
wormholes into hell, yet should be legal. I'll vote that way.
It may ease the pathos into non-existence
well as meditation, bird watching, last will and testament.

Each joint hurts, rib joints, spine joints, skull plate joints.
The head and hip and heart will hurt, all three.
Insomniac I like the way bones crack and clack like
wooden wind chimes, an untuned piano, a tree rack of wornout
      shoes.

Never forget, the mind is the body paying attention
to what it's doing. Without that connection, each finger bent
or toe smashed is just added to the collection
of anonymous body parts of holocaust victims

in their mass graves. Better when every life saved
or lost is a front page story, an illusion of shared
sacrifice or joy, but that expresses only the surface
of our emotions. I'm mostly relieved to have survived.

On a large,
Dead and cold
Stone,
Burned by emptiness.
Which is capable to influence the seas.
You
Feverishly whisper magic spells
In hope to change everything.
Our destiny went in cycles
By the nauseous drama scenario.
The oblivion holds our values and dreams in its teeth.
They
Considered that it is an illness -
To run towards tails of comets.
Maybe they were right after all,
Because our force disappeared,
We slowly descend into "nothing".
Air in our space suits comes to an end,
Our bathyscaphe is drowned in abyss.
Do you remember?
Those coward laughed and called a "bravado"
Our desperate flight to the moon?
You...
You call me "the last",
Life - a box of sweets.
Those, others, who believe in nonsense and brands,
You forgot, as if they were never existed.
I don't know why we laugh.
To see the truth - is it a gift or simply a defect?
I don't know,
Why all of us are fighting,
But only against our selfs.
Musician
Untuned a guitar.
On a scene he is drilled by a stare of abyss.
All of their books and stories is just an useless chronicle
of apes.
Strange,
Those who were invaluable were sold,
They ran on an aimless road and their armor have broken.
Those "Bandar-logs"
are seated and looking
On dances of mighty Kaa.
I hold you,
And stars laugh.
And space laughs loudly, hiding the book of secrets.
For them - we are only people
Comers from anywhere
And left in nowhere.