I am the night owl
flapping its wings
stealthily through your dreams
with a soft  feathery touch
    you may remember
       you once imagined
like the figure at the end
    of the corridor
    whose face always remains
    in the shadow

I am the sower of images
   growing from the dark
touching your mind gently
tapping at forbidden doors
   closed to the brighter hours

I am the prowler of twilight thoughts
that lend shapes
     to your hopes
     and fears and desires
living their lives
     in between

I am the night owl
that shudders
    and folds its wings quietly
when the sun rises
    always too soon
patiently waiting again
until the day is done

* *

(but we)

good morning from the after life
the 2am program
battered brains and battered fish
take the drug, make the wish

(are still)

good morning from where its sunny all the time
where you are the laugh track
your smile stuck, held up like a hammock in a light wind
no need to forgive when no one has sinned

(followed)

good morning from the place where dogs always catch their tails
russian roulette with the chambers of a loaded heart
and we're happy and we're glowing and we're glad
love what we've got, forget what we had

(by our own shadows)

Love is a star
sometimes it burns bright
at other moments  its mood changes
it decides to stay away for the night-

when it's temperamental
it hides behind the clouds to avoid sight
when it's in its elemental
it abides gentle and glitters just right.

I wake up. The bed is cold.
I am cold.
A gray day awaits.
I stare into the blank ceiling,
And feel an emptiness I cannot fill.
Not without her.
I stand up and shuffle across my shattered bedroom,
To the door.
The glint of the golden doorknob is the only color in this place.
I drink a tea. My mother is worried.
She's starting to notice I'm not eating at all.
Maybe...
It's time for a haircut.
A change...
From who I am. It'll do me good,
To be someone else, for a moment.
"I still love her" I think to myself, but it is silenced when I slice a hole into my head.
It is clean, a thin trail of blood which becomes a waterfall.
It streams down my face, and I keep cutting,
Blood and hair and tears falling as I stare into this broken mirror,
And the most horrible, hideous monster looks back at me.
I hate him so much, and I cut more in hopes that he will look away.
But he doesn't.
His frozen, desolate eyes stare deep into my soul,
Or rather his own,
The poor disgusting *******.
He has forgotten what it is to feel anything but pain,
And even that is escaping him.

Green tea, red fire,
Glowing in the place.
Black screen, white tusk,
A poised trunk with grace.
Pupil-less and empty,
Stare into the soul.
Thick flesh-less life,
Ebony and coal.
Distinctly creepy in its eyes,
But beautiful without.
Distracting from its evil,
With the fountain of its spout.

I concede that the evening is bright,
  That the dawn does not exist,
That leaves were meant to be brown to be beautiful,
  That the sky will always stay blue.

The hurricane that came to be music,
  Windy days that fanned flames.
Can you catch my sighs and I'll keep your whispers,
  So nostalgic is your croon.
  
I taste the skins with whiffs of pepper and plum,
  Where my senses rise leaving me lost amongst the stars,
Giving a glimpse of the eternity of the galaxy,
  Will your lips feel this way?

Like the sights of autumn foliage in portraits,
  I only wonder about your touch,
Muster memories, scenes and scenes,
  Until you're mine not just in dreams.