My pen is so hungry
Starving, aching
For something, anything
Substance, truth, paper
It wants to nibble existence
My ink longs to gnaw away
At the heart of life
My scribbles thirst
For perfection

Warm whisp'ring through the slender olive leaves
Came to me a gentle sound,
Whis'pring of a secret found
In the clear sunshine 'mid the golden sheaves:

Said it was sleeping for me in the morn,
Called it gladness, called it joy,
Drew me on 'Come hither, boy.'
To where the blue wings rested on the corn.

I thought the gentle sound had whispered true
Thought the little heaven mine,
Leaned to clutch the thing divine,
And saw the blue wings melt within the blue!

In South America, truck drivers are paid collossal amounts
of money, to deliver supplies between towns on
roads, no wider than the width of their trucks.

When you turned up on my doorstep that sunday in the rain,
your eyes told me before your lips did.

Sixty three hundred days is a long long time to wait for someone,
but I would do it all over again,
if it meant I could fall asleep in your arms one last time.

Next Autumn when the leaves turn rusty and fall from the trees,
I'll remember the afternoon we spent in Victoria park,
where you waded to the middle of the duckpond,
just because I said you wouldn't.

Your mother always told me when we stacked away the good china after Sunday lunch,
that your stubborness always got in the way of what was right.

You've been gone eight hours and still nobodies reminded me how difficult I can be at times.

Eight months later and everytime the phone rings I imagine your voice crackling down the line "come get me from the supermarket, I have sugar buns. "

in a time of peace and love to float
scarred the baby embraces being shook
backward forwards into the coat
we flip through pages of the book

like a sigh we're fading away
to the stars and the moon we see
time allows us to embrace May
you have meant so much more to me

than people elision the star
we are crossin' everyon' over
(to smell the smell of your pretty car
that i've never been in all sober

always i'll be here sitting You
beauty change metamorphoses
your Love your Peace we are both two
all of these i'll take all of these

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

Day after day,
I came to that room,
on my back, every little thing.
A place to just forget,
a place, I'd learn to call my home: room 217.

Day after day,
I'd enter that door,
not wanting to do anything,
until I saw your face,
shining through the darkness.

You gave me hope
in the smallest ways,
in daily actions
done with a loving heart.

Day after day,
I'd sit on that desk,
Loving dark thoughts,
glaring at the world
through my black-tinted glasses.

I'd feel quite alone,
isolated by my judgments,
unwilling to step out,
onto the boards, with you.

I poured my worries into paper,
into binders, into packets,
I created my own world,
full of facts, full of practice
Day after day.

The contest came,
a Victory.
Turning us to one another,
for one moment, unity.
Still, just one, more day.

Then, day after day,
I'd stand up in front,
preaching algebra, statistics
just hoping something would stick.

But as they say,
you can lead a horse to water,
but you can't make him drink.
(Though the salt before sure helped)

Day after day
Questions answered,
reflections made,
life lived,
busy, hectic days.

And though all I taught was Math,
you taught me love,
you taught me joy.
You taught me how to loosen up,
how to look at life right.
For perspective has never been my strong suit,
from this view here near the ground.

And I can't thank you enough,
for countless little moments,
a lesson taught,
a concept learned,
a smile appears, as success draws near,
if only for a while.

Day after day,
the tension builds,
the string pulled taught,
all eves on us.
(or so it seemed,
in our own little world)

Now it's two parts down, just eight left,
And each one of us, a team,
every minute given, a gift.

So onwards we marched,
though states and through mind,
to the city,
to the lights.

And my nerves are on fire:
the embers of anticipation
lit by sparks of competition
the flames licked up my spine,
I saw my hands were shaking,
my heart beating faster,
than it has in a long, long time.

Now a wave is building,
Now looming overhead,
Now a wall of pure terror,
the fear of failure towering,
over all.

My heart is a battleground,
for was of Reds and Whites.
My flickering passions,
my blinding anxieties,
WARNING: PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR IMPACT

I try to calm the tremors,
It's just one more day.

Moments pass, every second, a century.
Now a wind at my back,
pushing me forwards
shoving me onwards,
shaking the foundation of my entire soul.

Now, I stare into the forest
of everything I've done.
Screaming, Shouting, Searching for an answer.
Peering, Peeping, Pursuing a response.
All at once, a sight emerges,
I perk up, expecting fruition.

But all I saw is a cloud,
a blackness, rolling, building, tumbling,
rippling like growing hear
flickering like dying hope,
and All at once, it hits me.
As a river flows form my head,
seeping drop by drop into my heart,
and all I want is to be alone,
to choke, struggle, and drown
in my own salt-water sea.

So I step back,
and all at once,
I am entombed.
A rock guard,
A light snuffed.

So now I say to myself,
Day after day,

Everything I do is in hope of the Resurrection.

Again, I hear,

Everything I am is in the hope of the Resurrection.

A final time, I know,

Everything, is in hope of the Resurrection.

Blood is lava,
Boiling hot in my veins,
When your eyes gaze upon me,
Dancing carelessly over flesh so hungry,
Begging for that touch,
Sensual warmth of another,
Who ignites excitement,
Wanting,
Creating unknown needs,
And unimaginable wants,
I crave,
I desire,
Your body,
Your love.

i still have those pictures
from your disposable camera
you gave me five years ago
when my hair was still long,
when we were still in love.
i don't look at them anymore.
and to be honest,
i don't even know where they are
or when i looked at them last
but i find comfort in knowing
they are taking up some space,
somewhere, in this disorganized room of mine.

i still have your name carved into
the top of my ceiling
which is funny because
you were always the one so quick to define
the meaning of impermanence.
i guess all ceilings eventually
collapse.
i think i clung too tightly to the possibility
of you never leaving, and so i carved
your name into my ceiling to comfort myself
during all the noise that not even your name
could silence.
i don't look at it anymore.
and even though you're gone, there are some people
who leave traces of themselves behind
in the most obscure places that not even they
become aware of.

i still have all of the love letters
you wrote me when i was sixteen.
they are sitting in a box beneath a pile of books and papers
on the bottom of my bookshelf.
i don't read them anymore.
i contemplated burning them more than once,
but i stopped myself because
what's the point in loving someone if you can't even
prove that the love was actually there
after everything has been said and done,
after all of it has left you?
i get so terrified,
to think that perhaps memory
is more unreliable than anything, and so i keep the things
you gave me as secret stash to show
that
we
happened once.

sometimes i wonder what it would have been like
to have given you the chance to explain yourself
face to face
i will probably never
know what it feels like to land on the moon
but that does not stop me from
gazing at it night after night paralyzed
with wondering
how anything could ever be that beautiful.
somethings should be left unseen
while others, simply left
unknown.

when people look at her, they see a girl who’s eyes are wild in her head, who never slows down enough to let the fears catch up. she has bruised knees, she kisses too hard and laughs at her own sadness. she has always just woken up from a nap, talks in riddles and thinks in haikus. she tricks everyone into liking her, but she isn’t capable of liking anyone. she definitely does not like herself. she is broken guitar strings, eggshells and forgotten secrets. but the first time you looked at her with your full moon eyes and too many eyelashes, you saw a girl who just wants to fit into someone like a puzzle piece, she wants to be lost in someone else’s bedsheets. she wants to count the freckles on your shoulder and kiss each one. she wants to sing you to sleep because she never wanted to sing until you looked at her. she wants you to trace the bruises on her heart and then give her new ones, because she is tired of being alone.