You are a stone tablet
You are a cold, washed thing
You have fear in your eyes
And the light that shines from you is cold, alone, all over

I cannot connect the things that will not be
I cannot communicate fake things
I will take communion from flowers, asking you to be the petals

We are forgetting the nature of love,
Fogetting that it is mistakes and pain that makes happiness at the end of it
That joy and suffering are karmic and designed
Do not give up on these things

When I can reach no longer for you my heart will pang
The sadness of giving up on a soul that doesn't deserve it
A wanting to give God's incarnations the love he gave me
She will not take it

I do not want these feelings to be the only thing I know, but the fear I feel with you is making it difficult

Please don't play me, I have walked a thousand lifetimes of it and I don't need any more.

I, naive

I believed that the break in the clouds
Was the end of rain

Thought those rays of sun weren't burning

I was lying
Myself in the grass,
Asking if the tulip chutes in Anatolia
Were the same sinking green I feel now

Where were we?
Love for a thousand spaces and bottling them into skins
Wanted to touch and know deeply all beautiful things

No you're not allowed, they don't want to let you in
That way, it's a distant place and means too much to understand
The biological and irrational
Crazed, sweeps gregarity above and within an aether-- like milky foam upon the waves

When I return home from excursions
I will be Ipanema
The soft locale, unabashed and known to no soul
Except empty elevators--

The lowly philosopher-king

Maybe then you'll think highly of me
Through the mixed feelings
Unable to handle
Straight through the socket
Ring of fire
Then and only then will you realize
That real life

Is more than just a zone or some local
Brewery on a Friday night

And every other Friday night

Ever thereafter--
You'll unlock the box of atomic intention
And listen deeply to her on the station
"Sade and Other Like Hits"

Slowed down for full potential

Letting your cochlea stroke themselves off to the tune of the universe
And the sound of air moving indiscriminately
Will give you
All this


Somewhere
almost fractal, imbibed
Decimated repetitively
There is a fragment of my voice,
Calling

"Love, how much I'd love to be. "

Today I'm filled with muted optimism
Something not often seen skulking around my peripheral.
Some retail therapy and a ***** free day.

I write you blinded, literally, consumerism blaring,
shining RED in my eye. My new shoes and sparkly
chemical incentives sitting comfortably on my feet
and in the back of my skull respectively

you know? Just above my nape.

The weekend is over.
That person has left, incised from delicate parts
where hurt feels more justified than starving children and
diseased refugees, "oh so woe is me" avoided.

We shouldn't have gone skiing together, the snow was far from ready.
The passengers leapt from the derailing train, terrified of sludgy wet slopes.

This time around I won't let them come so close. Stiff arm, no more than three. No more poems for you, or freedom for me.

My heart has turned catatonic.
I’m ready to explode.
All it takes is one good touch
and I’m ready to implode,
but I won’t admit it
untill I have given up my all.