If you were in my shoes
Your toes would be crunched
But at least then you could
Stand where I stand,
See what I see,
Feel how I feel.
You see I don't like my
Own view anymore-
What I see from these eyes,
Standing in these shoes,
Stuck in this spot.
If you were in my shoes,
Then I'd be in yours
My feet swimming
Where yours fit just right,
And I suppose this reminds me
Of playing in my dad's shoes
As a kid...
His made me feel big
Yours just make me feel small.
So how do you like my view?
How do you like me in your shoes,
Treading on your heart
As you tread on mine?
Don't try to run,
My shoes are stuck.

John Lennon once said:
"How can I go forward when
I don't know which way
I'm facing?" And I, I never
know which way I'm facing.
You see my head is kind of
like an owl's, constantly
swiveling in circles taking
in as much as possible-
trying to find a way.
My pupils dilating huge
as they go, a feeling
I once knew well
when I placed tabs on my
tongue too often.
But, I'm not tripping now,
I'm just looking;
looking for any light source-
any star- anything
that can fill the darkness
I feel within.
I don't know which way
I'm facing and my feet,
those collections of bones
encased in flesh below me
meant to hold up all of this,
all of me, all of the worry
I've put in my pockets
weighing me down-
my feet, they don't know
whether to walk or run
or skip or hop
or spin me like a top on Christmas.
But spinning tops, they always
stop, falling down
and I guess if you think
about it that's finding their way-
laying down on the kitchen table.
But that's not for me,
face down at the dinner table.
No that's not my cup of tea,
or hot chocolate
because I don't drink tea or coffee
or anything with caffeine
for that matter because
it hurts my heart and if I
am ever going to have a
chance at finding which
way I face, which way to go
I need my heart in perfect
working condition.
I was once told there is an
eighteen inch path from your
brain to your heart
and that every communication
you have ever had,
every feeling you have ever
felt has travelled this path.
But, I don't know if my brain
is talking to my heart
or if my heart is telling
my brain or
if the two even know
eachother...
I still don't know which
way I'm facing, my feet
they don't know if they
should walk or run and
my head it swivels in
circles but I am always looking.
And I promise you,
when I find the way I'm
meant to face, I will go forward.
John Lennon once said:
"How can I go forward when
I don't know which way
I'm facing?"
I do not know which way I'm facing
but I know one day I will.

My father came home                                                             ­                                                             
wit­h a tube of blue                                                             ­                                                                 ­                    
for me.                                                              ­                                                                 ­                             
Dark as half-past midnight,                                                        ­                                                                
but when purified,                                                        ­                          
as clear as the sky  
and babies' bright eyes.                                                            ­                                                                 ­                                           
I warmed it between my                                                               ­                   
welcoming palms,                                                           ­                       
marveling at the thick, round                                                          
tube that, when squeezed, would come                                                  
opaque oceans                                                           ­                                                 
dazzling eyes                                                             ­                                   
mermaid hair                                                             ­                                 
and dragon scales.                                                          ­                        
                                        ­                                                                 ­                   
Yet this same wonder
held
monster claws
Yeti fur
vampire skin
and hot ice.

It was so
dangerously beautiful
my hands hesitated
to curl its delicate fingers
around this mysterious magic.
But then, I remembered,
I hadn’t unscrewed it.

So, consider this:    
There is a pthalo
to every robin's egg,
An indigo
to every turquoise.
Consider this:
Even the most righteous fall.
Trust no one.
Make no friends.
Love none except yourself.
Never dream.
Never dare.
This ode has just taught you
how to
live life
a sealed
tube of blue.

flip*                                           flip
      flip                flip
             flip      flip
                flip

you can
fly on a pegasus
whisper to willows
sing with sirens
and dance with dragons
with just
one
             flip

so, pick up
that softbound teleporter
that portable magic
that gift you can open
again and
again
and
again.
pick up a book

           flip

discover,
and
dream.

She bit down 
drawing blood from tensened shoulder,
rocking gently
as I fought to hold her.
Writhing flesh 
on flesh and bone,
cussing my name 
in empassioned tone.
Nails tearing 
sweat stained skin,
sinking down 
drinking me in.
Head thrown back
eyes wide shut,
slapping my thighs
with reddened ****.
Tongues flaying flesh 
from up turned necks,
teeth spittle stained
with whitened flecks.
Fingers tangled
pulling hair,
Beyond the point
of sweet despair.
Hips gyrating
screaming mouth,
as once again
the north meet south.
Passion spent
and shared and tasted,
nothing wanted
nothing wasted.