Where you're not
Is where you wanna be
But once you get there
You'll forget about all the time it took
And all the suffering

You look at my face
With searching eyes
And I think I should want you
But I don't

Don't live in a narrative
The result is only more heartbreak
When you realize the story's not true

Having trouble
Sometimes being is hard because....
But you can't stop being
And I don't know what's going on.

Moment
If I think of the time
When  you accompanied me
From whatever to whenever
Then you have already passed
All is fleeting

Punch the wall
Throw yourself against it
It will not break.

yellowing page
Animated only by sentiment
-Even that is dying-
All is fleeting.

Heaven must be a dull place
If all the beautiful things are ******

Purest being
rather than muting all that is,
Water to my lips, warm breaths,
On cool skin

old memories
Like water swiftly rising
From waist to chest, my mouth and nose
Suffocating

The little lights
Between here and there
That's where I'll be laying
Casting my gaze in your direction

I hope it rains today
Like on those short summer afternoons
When things were different

Sometimes
My mind is a well
And I have fallen in
Sinking limply
in the cold black

The conversation takes us
With fits of laughter
And that pretty look on her face
Into a blissful unconsciousness

My mind
A stone
Sitting at the bottom of a river

Slowly it weather's away
Until there's nothing left

people are like autumn leaves
swirling in the wind
and shimmering at the edges of my perception

far over a long stretch of dense wood
the earth casts downward to reveal a basin of still water
shaded slightly by the swaying leaves
and a crouched figure

into her reflection gaze, those near-crying eyes
wavering slightly as little mists catch evening light
odd shimmering shapes mists make:
like a lock of golden hair
and a tear, falling slowly downward
which just rests placidly on the water's surface
as to not disturb its holy silence

no matter how many tears she cried
no tear could ripple that still pool of glassy water
from which her reflection looked-- almost mockingly
if something can mock wholly unintentionally

some things have to stay unaffected
even if it's uncomfortable for a time.

I can feel sleep tugging on me slightly

Like the pleasant little ripples that lay on top of deeper water

Small remnants of something larger and more powerful

All of a sudden
a great warm wave grasps my body

Transforming into a little leaf or a tiny shell
I am carried weightless into the great warm abyss

Once there, I will float limply for a time

Simply waiting for the new sun to reach my face

Dewdrops on the grass
Shudder in the new sun
as they disappear

Words
Like stones at the bottom of a river
Black and molded by the running water

The stones cannot understand the great undulating liquid above them
Crashing and pounding against the bank

Soon that powerful unrestrained energy settles to a languid flow
Tapering off slowly
Until the river dries
And the stones crack in the hot sun.

Closing my eyes
in a fleeting moment

One of those times when you seem to be awake and unconscious all at once

all of a sudden I turned into a small blue bird
Who fluttered up high
Wanting to see everything below

And I watched myself walking

Noticing some small things

He looked like someone out of a book I've read
Something about the look on his face
As if this was the beginning chapter and a long journey lay after

On that hopeful thought
I flew back down to my head
And opened my eyes

Little dewdrops on the yellow grass
Shudder slightly in the morning light
As the colors change from blue to white
And I feel the warm sunlight on my face

there are lots of questions that dont seem to have answers

i sometimes think

or answers too awful to endure

so i just let them drift off in the languid water

Shimmering forms fading away

Raindrops from the old oak tree
Fall very slowly
And run down my cheek

What's next, then?
Suicide or Madness?

All the things we neglect to say or feel
are stored up somewhere
swirling and undulating in the deep

Eventually, they all rise up--
in a single violent urge
it exits our cowering bodies all at once

and there's nothing one can do but shake

There is a place, before the kings keep
Where those looks of solemn dignity
Go resignedly to weep
Between the gray trees and under gray canopy

To the place where wildflowers wilt and muses mutter
Little words, falling like white feathers in the muddy water

If one walks between the trees
There is a basin, and liquid of silvery green
Imbued with the mutterings of agony unseen

It is the words of those sorrows frail
Spoken with a breath and then a look of fright
And then a frantic run from faces clothed by night
Dissecting looks unrelenting judgments
upon the unredeemed

all who have felt the pain such as muses sing
And cried at night or betwixt the thorny leaves
have drunk of this basin green
And felt the hot swell of sorrow rising from the deep
crevices of our frail corporeal shells

And the voices of all those who filled it up
Violently swell in undulating liquid wail

From those who walk betwixt the trees
Is sounded the great collective scream.

Laying in the lawn
On a boring day
Looking up at the plain blue
"How unimaginative"

I throw the little knife into the air
To see where it lands

damp grass from the hillside
is cold on my feet as I walk
hands in my pockets and head looking down
legs leading slowly downhill
towards the sea.

There's something about going for a walk
that makes it easier to think
even if you completely ignore your surroundings
or don't go very far.

The sand surprises me
the soft white powder that shifts between my toes
and my feet slip a little with every step.

For the first time in a while, I look up
the sea is darker than usual, it's turbulent as well,
but I stop for a moment on the edge of the water.

Imagine If I fell in
I'd probably turn into driftwood and then just float off
until the water pushed me up onto some deserted beach
and then pulled me back in
and then pushed me up again
eternally caught in the space between sea and shore

the space between here and there
between is and isn't
between impulse and inactivity

I'm already there.

Melodious moonlight thy clear liquid spreads
painting all in lavender hue
and moistening lips wait for the kiss of your words, muse
You sing through her parted lips your cryptic hymns and poetry,
words wound together in strange nightly meter
that twist together and shift like tree limbs tangled
and petals cast down the stream

To bathe in the rippling water
and wait for clarity to wash away the rough edges of the mind
let the stones become smooth
and mind like bowstrings, taughtened.

But the crowds protest in collective indignation
all members chained together by common trepidation
lest altars crack under the weight of strange words
and the diety's light grows dim
they sharpen what was dull and loose arrows in laughing mirth
into bodies' crooked minds uninhibited and feet unshackled

The ones in the crowd yell with groans and laughter
but they groan also with the pain of what is constant death and birth... they are resigned to their tradition's lies
and perish ten thousand times.
Nascent generations yell out in incredulity until voices become hoarse and skin turns gray, resign themselves to murmur their insolence in dreams as they whither slowly away.

But the one who, in nighttime, sings
and bestowed by muse's mind, from human lips part
words and strange poems spoken blaspheme
will live but once and one day rest
by the shifting branches and on grass by trickling stream
and not by chain's clanking arrest.

Sands and seashells as white as moonlit night
And water tugging slightly at the small boats
Trembling in the wake

“Far across the silvery sea”
Those little waves whisper to me
“From ocean dark and brooding blue, cross horizons bleeding red
is a land where the mists travel languidly through
and dangerous things betwixt the paths you tread.”

“There is a city that some say glows in the night
Whose towers ***** to glorious height
Domes and great structures stand below
Upon white stones, blue moonlight does glow.”

“If you swim out during the brooding storm
And torrential city make, with towers of black swirling wake
The sea will take and change your form
You will enter the depth and the depth will enter you
And sea imbued, you emerge anew.”

“On the second day, and the crest of red rising light
When Phoenix fly against the night
You will be ****** from water by the fiery wing
And to a new land take you as Phoenix songs it softly sings.”

“There you will encounter the dangers and things of strange delight
And the white walls of Elyse, whose light is cast upon the height.”

Ere those despairing months have come to pass
And befall my pensive condition
With tempests that hide a southerly sun in undulating expression

I examine my place here
Mind swaying like blades of grass

With neither voice nor sound of breath
I consider the evanescent present.

Books on the shelf
The pages yellow with age
marking time's passage

Part 1: (The traveler speaking)

"I follow the winding, the way beyond the farthest places
between trees knotted menacing with darkened faces
under mossy roots that twist and trip with a mischievous cackle
over heights and falls that beckon death's clanking shackle
and if you fall in, lose your precious breath
to tree limbs tangled scratching at vulnerable flesh.

A green roof above and green floor below
but my eyes look ahead, to where the silver meadows did grow
Remorse remembers all that passed before the eye
burnt of fire forgotten and ash was strewn across the sky
and now only memory does remain
of silver meadows and the golden rain.

This land is dampened with the morning dew
that daren't melt but for the light of moon
where mossy things are stowed in sunken places
and beautiful wonders lay behind rock faces,
I know the way, but do not lightly follow
As sunset brings forth demons beyond tomorrow.

I wish to find her: the lady silk
Her hands weaving threads of fates who twist and separate
her threads she brought from those older places past
Where nascent fauns with youthful voices fastly gleam and chatter
and deftly danced to delights in the silver meadows
When all was false and truth was shaded
all liars happily in reflections reflected
pale faces feinted in humorous deception
and all charismatic affectations were familiar expression.
singing songs of passing pleasures in strange dialect
All was serene was silver mirrors reflecting
save the flow of golden liquid cool and still
which seeped from sky to hill and then chalice filled.

I walk to see the lady
who has one eye black and one eye white
and carries a silver knife which- in moonlight flashes bright.
I will wearily watch for it's flashing tomorrow night,
for she doesn't know it, but I was also born of moon's pale light."

Part 2: (The lady singing)

"The meadow shifted softly that fateful night
in breezes blowing warmly and songs of ephemeral delight
melodies swell and shift like the swirling blades of grass
Grass not green but silver shining, all moonlight reflecting

Gods with silver hair and silver eyes danced in shifty iridescence
Voices sang clear and wandered wistfully through misty hills and hollowed places
Oh they delicately weave the lines of notes around my ear
under over between and in, I wish I could hear those notes again
but alas their time is passed-- the daytime took the nightly hymn

There are few who remember things as I have done, but waning pasts are of worth to none.
Oh the night was never meant to end
and it is left the earth but for what I have kept for mine, things broken never truly mend.
These silver threads for weaving time and fate together again
a mournful burden, but I cannot abandon them
for the tapestry of time is my from the gods of ancient past
As long as my fingers can touch the strings, my mind will see
what I have preserved in memory

the tapestry, though, will live before I die
All fates will cease to meet as edges cut
and gods will from sky return
to chase away sun in blue and silver flashing eye

And so I hurry to finish this task over which I mourn
so in silver laurel, I will be adorned."