bring me your silence
bring
     me, full of wonder at the waterside
bring me
         a lifetime of long walks
bring me real
               freedom for two, for here
               far from worshipped lights
bring me you
                      and
please take all that I have,
all I will be in your hands

Flowery perfume, floats on the sound,
Forcing its way out 
From behind your teeth.
The chemical that numbs our senses.  

Now dead to the world,
I sit alone in the dark,
As your frosted window kills the sun.
Let all my blood rush out my core,
Don't freeze us, piece by piece,
Thick and sluggish blood,
Dead. With an ice cold heart.

How noble, such a pretty face.
That mask of porcelain and lace.
Dressed high and mighty,
It's no wonder why you fall
So far.  Here on the ground,
No grass, no soft silk to cushion the blow.

We people, of dirt.
Must learn to turn what's brown to clay.
To cook from earth a bowl and plate.
We survive, and we sing away the night.
We make filthy our clothes, and lie in the sun.

Lie in the sun and not to a face,
Equivocate. You fill your words with grace.
Justify your lie, prevaricate.
Then *******, all over their face.

Catch your flies with your brown honey.
I'll burn away all the world's impurities,
With the fire in my words.
Nurse the damage, with 
Cold hard truth.
Build scar upon scar.
Become new. Evolve.

i am abrasive
personality functionality deficit
yet i attract
beautiful women
to befriend the hermit of solidarity
will you go out with me
brought answers on no
my friend i could not lose
yet for the end of altruistic bargaining
i end up ahead
with false promises of a beginning
to an end my own personal
apocalypse
david lee roth would understand
that as i write in this
mindset
brought on by reading
778 comics in 12 hours
and a 4 day binge of  job for a cowboy
my mind wanders
as insomnia sets in
would i be one of the great
dissociative poets?
a dose of the unrequited free associative minds
free thinking form of diet coke with a side of purple strawberries no i meant blueberries
my mind wanders
and yet i look forward to pad thai on wednesdays with cute blondes whom with i stand
the chance of a bat in the mosh pits of a metal band
suckers
i win
for you all know the taste of yellow mustard
ramble ramble ramble
this indie pop poem
would it be ironic to like it
if one truly hates the wording
and yet loves the idea
one of lives greatest life mysteries
alcohol i bid thee a fair welcome
nimble bubblegum monkey wrench
how long will you read?
enough to to see my lack of coherent sentence structure
or that i am a flawed creation
going on and on about existential non existent problems
for i shall exist regardless of my best intentions
as the wheel continues to roll on despite the moss covering this ice slicked track
metal boar slayer of a thousand suns would be a good metal name from sweden
the mooring dove coos to the beat of an undead drum
boo hoo boo hoo cries the witch at the stake
i am done

Come bother,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

I have seen the cycle of the moon
time and time again,
and in that sweeping sequence
I stand in so many colors,
in so many faces,
spinning round and round
like liquid
until I am stole away!

I wish to remove these robes
and be seen in barren.
Stark as the sea!
White like December pines,
still green underneath.
For when i'm release
the colors become untangled
but never die.

Come sister,
give me your hand
so that I may let go
of my own.

Day out and day in
She moves in unimaginable ways
Through thick and through thin
Horrifically sweet sounds seem to always play
As she makes her way
As she makes her way

To die alone and out of sight
Seems a fitting end
To go out with not a flicker or a bite
Seems just around the bend
With walls keen to swiftly close in
And windows prone to paint themselves dark
The only way through fire is to sin
As all the water's been sprayed through a hole from a pin

One so beautiful, so smart, who can apply themself.
One who walks into a room,
Everyone smiles just for them, they're in control.
It's natural, without effort.  
They don't worry about disconnecting,
From the people around them.  
Don't have to over-analyze to get there,
Where they are.  
Don't have to write their feelings down
In some mock poetry, everyday, just to understand them.

Woe to me, to be
Compared to thee.
That I should be in competition with you.
A contest that I know I would lose
Again, and again, and again.

One who can make it all up as they go,
They're great and they know it.
One who has passions.  
They can worry that they didn't do their best
Even when they were above the rest,  
Because they are so above the rest.  
Because they're beautiful, they're smart, they're kind,
They're, naturally, not a *****.  
They're just a genuinely caring person.

Woe to me to feel
Compared to thee.
For the last thing I could be,
Is equal.  The last status I'd attain,
Is to be a tower by your side.

To be in contest with you,
To have to formally face this.  
This knowing that,
You are everything I want to be.  
Nothing that I can be.  
I have to face that I'm not as confident
As I was or thought I was.  
There's a chip in my wall.  
I just can't compare,
But I can't complain.  
I'm a pretty face.
  
So. Woe to me to have to see
All that you can be.
Who am I? Who am I to think,
To wish and hope that,
Maybe. Just maybe.
I could compare to thee.

i am singing soft pinks,
after my too bold reds;

i mean,
maybe, my great, round bursts of
clumsy heart
didn't bruise as sweetly
as i'd hoped.

i haven't a thing against
climbing to middleground;

my lips are left
less chapped.

--

I am a
yet, wild queen -
learned-head bowed
low.

heart lifted

-in anticipatory gusts
of questions,
peppered with thanks,
for the inner knowing,
melding into my all-

to the heavens, above,
lifting up fervent
pleas and blessings:

thanks, for the continuing cycle
that continued
long enough
for me to believe
and is continuing,
even still -

this was something
different.

not singing after?
but, softening to?

this feels much,
much more like home.