I have pieces of myself
In boxes under the  bed.
Tonight I'll take each,
Neat brown parcel into
The woods
And burn them.

The parts that feel
The parts that sing
The parts that care for anything

The parts that remember
Will disintigrate in the embers
Of the first summer fire.
Erasing every trace of my presence here.

Time to disappear
Into the night like
A vapor in the wind.

Follow if you wish.

I'm no angel.
I'm not made of gossamer and dreams.

I am a painter,
I paint the world according to my whims.

Do not make airy promises
like a drunken sailor
On leave for a holiday.


Tell me your secrets
And love the bits of me
That are the least repulsive
For as long as you can.

It is all I ask.

Tonight
A storm  whips at the window
With impressive force.
The rain like liquid bullets
bombards the fragile glass.
I keep expecting it to shatter,
But it just shudders
And creaks.  

I put my cheek to the cool,
smooth, surface
And strain my
Ear to catch every oscillating
sound wave that passes through
The barrier of fired carbon and silica.

That's when I hear it.
A low voice with emerald eyes
And a silver smile.

And I-
I remember
What it is like to be known
Completely without fear.
I remember my soul
And why I gave it so freely.

"I would give it again"
I whipser,
As thunder rolls through the empty
Space in the core of my being.

I buried my heart on the grass
covered dunes,
And my soul belongs to another,
But he may have the love
And respect of my mind
And all it has to offer.

I.

I am the eye that floats on the wind.
The third observer
To your first person nonsense.
I see all and say nothing.
I am all and nothing.
Simultaneously the end and the beginning.
I hold your world together
With a steady stare.
If I blink you become a blur--
A quantum hurricane
In the blender of nonexistence.

II.

Or maybe
Somewhere in the multiverse
A version of me
Is drinking tea by a fireplace.