There’s a place we should not go
Where white snow falls and foxes dive in, head first.
The trains that go there do not stop.
Their brakes are cracked useless things.
Their fuel is limitless. The lever is set to full speed.
It’s not an easy train to disembark from.
Not for want or for not wanting.
I’m of the latter currently. Though I knew boarding this train would send me there. I got on anyways.
Now I’ll just enjoy the ride. Have a little ski, perhaps even become a fox.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pur whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the ****** and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.

there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to ***** up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?

Sickeningly empty. Surrounded by silence
Its unerring and it aches. A single fruit on a monstrous tree
A car without gears a pilot without a stick
Biologically nonsensical, emotionally dead
And I slept

It’s a fickle thing that moves us to this
A miss said word here and a cut there
It’s barbs and fangs and sharp things that stab
It’s an unpleasant time for all.
A crucible to temper the soul and harden the heart
When it’s done is it impenetrable?
Is there an alloy that does not become brittle in its strength.
Too many times in the fire and everything breaks
Too much fire and we all are changed
I cannot be soft. It doesn’t suit me

3am. It’s alive.
a faster beating heart
It’s the whir of the air conditioning
Removing the heat and leaving the sticky sludge over the soul
deep breaths to calm
blades to sever thick ship lines to the past.
It’s the drip of the cat fountain.
3am it’s a brutal hour, it’s a painful hour,
It’s a dead hour.

You came in out of the night
And there were flowers in your hand,
Now you will come out of a confusion of people,
Out of a turmoil of speech about you.

I who have seen you amid the primal things
Was angry when they spoke your name
IN ordinary places.
I would that the cool waves might flow over my mind,
And that the world should dry as a dead leaf,
Or as a dandelion see-pod and be swept away,
So that I might find you again,
Alone.

THE SEA rocks have a green moss.
The pine rocks have red berries.
I have memories of you.
  
Speak to me of how you miss me.
Tell me the hours go long and slow.
  
Speak to me of the drag on your heart,
The iron drag of the long days.
  
I know hours empty as a beggar's tin cup on a rainy day, empty as a soldier's sleeve with an arm lost.
  
Speak to me ...