when the edge of darkness beckons
and thunderstorms are calling to you
from distant mountains,

fall slow,

so I m falling slow

like rain turning to snowflakes,
like snowflakes turning into rain.

the rain running down my window pane.
an unshaded lamp and a cold bed.

I roll to face the wall

and how cruel the raindrops
to cast teardrop shadows onto the wall.


the poet's dream;
the moth seeking the light of a distant star.

how many dreams forgotten?

I'm searching for
the summer of dreams,
songs, and a voice, and words

floating through clouds like roses,

I'm searching for the distant star,
the mystery of tomorrow
and a pair of eyes to fall into,
the silent touch of raindrops
turning into words.

Ctrl-Alt-Delete.
Come sterilize history with me.
We'll whitewash every smudge
until its sparkles and shines,
like fool's gold.

Rich only in our own
limited heads,
we'll believe in
addition by subtraction.
Only this isn't math, it's life.

'Those who do not learn history
are doomed to repeat it.'

I am steadily thinning
             light blues holding me together
                                                      (t­rying to)
  a rambling wisp
                     nebulous and airy
I want to puff out my chest
    be abstract art
                              for your interpretation

  I look down at you
                         as you look up
                                                        I am dying
such is the cycle of it all
            I hope
                              simply
                       ­   that in my shedding
                                                     you will prosper
                  that when I rain down
                                                    you will catch me

or try to