It is ten in the morning and the sun still has not risen. We sit on our balcony sipping scotch and stare at the moon. We think it is the moon that has not set. It must have organized a coup. It has grown jealous of the sun’s attention, feeling itself the lesser god.

We have been outside forever, our language has become foreign to the others, but not to each other.  Our words are sung to each other as if a psalm.  The world that is outside our embrace could have ended and we would not care.  We have been inside each other forever.  I stare at your sad face, framed by the rays of the moon’s subtle heat, and realize again just how beautiful you are.

We see the first awakening of light, the color purple of the bruised moon, and quickly escape to the inside.  We sit side by side in our dark room high above the lifting fog and feel crushed by the rising sun.

she speaks in a way
that speaks to me

she steals pieces of my soul
and hides them in her little secrets

everything she says
is an ocean

and I want to drown
I want to drown
falling into the deepest

parts

knowing that in her words
I cannot swim
I don’t want to swim
I don’t want to float

I want to lie at
the bottom of the
deepest parts

and lose my breath
give up my breath

I want to get eaten by
something with

sharp teeth and
a sharper mind

so I no longer exist
outside of her

and when she whispers
those wishes she wishes

they will be my wishes

she does not know me
but she gets me

the end
of words

at the end
of the night

I have not
looked up

its meaning

(I’m sure I
used to know)

it is so
ubiquitous

it feels
like it is

in us from
birth

something
primitive

perhaps it
is sexist

I don’t know

I’m sure
someone knows

even though
it is easy to

look up

I think I’ll just
leave it alone

somethings
I don’t need to know

what is silk?

skin like
creamy milk

whole
bodied
white

ghosts
envy

my eyes
whisper

sweet nothings

my voice
tears up

wanting more

than what is
possible

my heart
is a balloon

eventually

popped or
deflated

on one house
on one street

on that house
on this street

they wait

biding their time
watching me
as I walk by

slowly

everyday I walk
by slowly

I don’t want
to startle them

I don’t want
to alarm them

I don’t want
to be the one

who awakens them

they already
live in my dreams

I asked her
where she
was going

I asked her
where she
was from

I wake up hours before sunrise and stare at the silver stars
painted into the black ceiling of our bedroom.
They are now peeling, the falling sparkles  
covering my body;
creating a burning sensation
deep inside of me.

I have invested so much in space
exploration, computing the distance between life forms.
I notice our forms that once fit together
like Pangaea, are now drifting
between ever increasing expanses of blue.

Each night I play peek-a-***** into the abyss
alternately covering my eyes with the rapid movement of my mind;
skirting the topics of emptiness and happiness.

I sit on the edge, the outer edge, the very outer edge
of my bed
masquerading as the very outer edge of the universe
and I reach
for all that is larger than me, for all that is still
inside of me.

I stare into my hands, those tender uncalloused hands
that once held us together,
and watch as they float away.

her words
are needles

understanding
pressure

points
she can

give or
release pain

excruciating
or ecstasy

I am at
her mercy

ubiquitous

I feel like
the robot is

always looking over

my shoulder
trying to learn

my job
I say

you don’t have
to hide

I am always
happy to share

my knowledge
with anyone

***** angels
break open
their veins

spilling out
sugar dreams
into liquid fire

the sky is
dissolving

sight turns
inward

revealing
the emptiness
in everything

I only want to
love being human

vulnerable
imperfect
ugly
beautiful
freak

so many of us attack
our own beings

wanting to be
others

animals
machines
gods

am I really
that bad?

she never told me
she was made of glass

if I had known

I would have never let
her slip through

my fingers

we had joy
we had fun
we had seasons
in the sun

daddy at the bar
living in the dark
ages since he seen
light in his eyes

it is always night

in the jungle
the mighty jungle
the lion sleeps tonight

daddy on the toilet
head slumped over
snoring
as if not a worry

ben
the two of us
will be no more

daddy in the gutter
crying for
one more chance

And I know a father
who had a son
He longed to tell him
all the reasons
for the things he’d done

a moment passed.  an emotion felt.  photographs aren’t memories.  memories aren’t experiences.  angels aren’t humans.  and she is not an angel.

she is young.  but she has lived.  through more.  than me.

we are travelling.  up north.  in an old white van.  my eyes are closed.   her head is slanted.  resting on me.  she whispers.  she sings.  that song to me.  the old church song.  about salvation.  

she is thinking.  about something.  I am feeling.  her thoughts.  and maybe.  for a moment.  we are one.

The girl slips into darkness.  Her eyes swallow night. She seeks a crowd to be alone. She dances to electrons, rubbing against tight boys who could never matter.

She needs a night of empty.

She is trying to escape the nights of mourning the recently departed. The lonely boy in the tight black pants walks into the bar alone.

He is the sound of electricity escaping from the wires. Suddenly, the touch of the vulture’s claws on her pale thighs makes her sick. She loses herself in the white night. He floats above it all; the only pill to cure a night like this. She is incapable of swallowing.

When he whispers the name of another all she hears is a bird in a cage asked to sing quietly because the neighbors might complain. She disappears into the crowd to be alone.

there is no
perfection

there is
trying and

learning
changing

to adapt
to truth

the reality
we all face

if we are
honest

with
ourselves

the tall grass

in the wild field
was filled with

tiny stars
creating a

dance of light
and singers

creating sounds
with their legs

it was a free
performance

as long as I
kept quiet

which was
fine because

I had nothing
to add

the super
model

modeling life
as it passes

grasping
not in desperation

but in aspiration
for what can be

for us all

she is always
honest

with us

as she searches
for herself

who could want
to be more

super than that

I think of small
just a taste

a drip of honey

a whiff of
a pleasing

odor a
perfume

that lingers
but does not

penetrate
it leaves a

mystery
something

to follow

it is sweet
but it could

be more but
if it was more

it wouldn’t
be sweet

I want me.

everything I say.
gratifies me.
I grade myself.
superior.
I please myself.
in every way.
I tell stories.
about myself.
as the hero.
I tell the world.
how much.
they need me.
I am the beginning.
of everything.
good.
before me.
there was nothing.
good.

love me.
trust me.
tell me.

at the beginning.
of everything.
you say.

how great
I am. and.

blame me.
for nothing.

I cannot call them
“attacks”
they are smaller than that

they are subtler than that.

They pose as friends.

They are thoughts
turned on themselves

not unlike

“What did she just say about me?”

I cannot call it pain
it is smaller than that

…a pressure

…a regret.

It is the coming to know that
only a loved one
can truly say something that
feels unloving.

I desire diagnosis
more than ***

beauty is
connecting
my my my
mind to body

the flow of
neurogasm that
creates aha

pleeeease

put me under
your microscope
so that every cell
I have
is revealing

dig through my skin
with your needle

penetrate that
one vein
that is willing

sit me down
lay me down
inside your
machines

send the
invisible disruption
of your
magical forces

through my body

until it
tells you
my secret

she called me
soft names
like the first name

like a dove
whispering love
songs

and I was
an angel
with unbreakable
wings

until
she left me

and I slowly
lost my little
mind

I fell to earth
with a thud
it was not far

to fall

but it felt
like a new
planet

a dry planet
without flowers

a community
of soft white

extensions of
the earth

gifts for
the eyes

and the nose
maybe the

tongue

a mixture of
ingredients

water
seed
soil
light

who owns
the recipe

I don’t want
to know

I was in a church

I was in a school
created by a church

there were teachers
and preachers
and books

everything was certain

the beginning and
the end
were certain

nothing was gray

black and white
never kissed

and then there was her

she was mathematic
she was the differential

and after we kissed

she said
angels die

so matter
of factly

that it must
be true

I close my eyes
and move inside

wake up my senses
touching every nerve

feel them connect
to each other

intimacy

the beauty of
their simple language

they can’t see the
bigger picture

how they are
connected

to everything

they wouldn’t
care anyway

it is only the
closeness they crave

intimacy

the dragon is
without anger

it breathes
as any living creature

exhaling flames
without direction

it is unaware that
it lives within
a larger purpose

like cleaning the
floor of a forest
of the dead things

the things that will
not leave on their own

like the dead things
within us that
create a clutter and

refuse to disappear

sometimes we need
a dragon within us

to breathe without
anger or purpose

taking from us
those dead things
we don’t know

still exist

I like small words
because they can
mean so many things

I am a child
with a head

living

two flights above
everyone else
in the room

we speak the
same words

but we don’t mean
the same thing

so I stop speaking
my words

and speak their words
and it was there

in the house
of my first memory

that I learned
how to live alone

I like small words
because they can
mean so many things

the thought never occurred to me at least not in its complete form fragments maybe at best come to me at times I am not ready and then quickly abate into confusion I do not like sentences more to the point I hate punctuation I would rather throw words together and let you figure out the starts and stops because where you want to stop may not be where I feel like pausing and this way we can both figure it out on our own there are no obligations for us to ride this thing out together but if I look over one night and find you on the same trail that would be great not saying that it is meant to be just that at that moment it is and then I will know we are both honest living our own lives close to the same spot on this planet if I am near you because you are you not because I am me there is something wrong with that inherently the daily interactions of our simple lives should bring us together so put in your own pauses or let it continue without stops until it burns out whichever way you like is right and when I want to stop and pause or start all over or elaborate I will do that

I was raised
in a wild field

where colors clash
and everything grows

rain floods and
no one drowns

bees feed sting
and die

to be reborn every spring

weeds are beautiful
and grass is free

we live every day
we are alive

we are bounded only

by both stages
of the dandelion

bright sunshine
and silver dust

blowing free
in the wind

to land and
grow in another

wild field

Like a tall, thick tree
struck by lightning
I am shocked
at how quickly I fall
and how quiet
the forest can be
when I am alone

we dream
we are fallen
angels

falling through
the puffiest clouds

landing in
different parts
of the planet

destined to
learn faith

through the
faith of those
we meet

so we can
redeem ourselves

and find
each other

in our
final and
forever form

swallow hollow hallucinogenic
colors are manufactured

I walk white walls
and speak with a
red mouth

my arms are
contained in
artificial skin

there are more
mysteries in
this strings of
words

pouring the *****
into the machine

the biology of
plastic dreams

small *****
of black magic

mashed together
creating their own
connections

we control
the dimensions
not the relationships

I wake to print
in three

now you can see

the silver strands of a
splitting cell

she prints a blue
bleeding heart

mixing metaphors

we race to be
the first to
make the future real

I sit on the top
of a hill

curl into a ball

you stand at the
ready

all you have to
do is jump

all you have to do
is time your jump

and let me pass
under you

to stay safe

but you never do
and I roll into you

knocking you down
and we roll down

together laughing

I always thought
you had bad timing

but maybe I was wrong

after we expel
all the words

silence settles nothing

leftover feelings
are piranhas

each one too small
to matter

but together they
devour all that matters

last night

there was not
enough blankets

you didn’t take them
I just felt colder

than usual

she exposed
herself so

many times
singing her

pains and pleasures
helping you

to feel your own
helping you come

to come to terms
with yourself

it is her body
leave her out

of your mean words

she already
exposed her

most important parts
so many times

huddled in the
white corner

tomorrows wait

little golden hearts
breaking without love

like flightless wings
aching for meaning

almost the
perfect word

nothing is perfect
it conjures

innocence and
freedom in me

a time before
questions and

answers and
words were

for playing

when gardens
were free

and full of
birds and bees

and beautiful weeds

she is a feather pillow
now I can rest

she laughs and
makes me light

lifts the veil from
everything I hide

and makes me light

but tonight she is
rolled up in a tear

a soft little ball
of water and salt

I turn myself
into a container

I let her fall
into me

I make sure
she is safe

because she is
my feather pillow

and she lets me rest

alone on
a path

by a stream

my foot falling
on a fallen leaf

one crackle

and I hear a
sound

movement
something

rising from
the weeds

small head
beady eye
long beak

dark feathers
lift the skinny

body from
the surface

it glides
along the

stream and
disappears

alone

we are young
in the universe

of time

barely part
of history

but we think
we created

the modern world
that we are the

definition of good
in this complex

of worlds
I look in the

mirror and
ask myself

why five times
to find a cause

at the root

as I listen to
david sing

about being
afraid of

americans
I see generations

of myself
looking back

and I am
afraid too

the moon is full

the stars are
singing a
rock anthem

the earth is
deep and dark

and I am changing
so fast

surviving
everything

I taste thunder
on my lips

I spit lightning
from my eyes

nothing is
bigger than me

I outlive everything

when pain burrows
into the soul

of a child
it can live

off small things
for many years

growing slowly
it becomes an

attachment an
*****

another part
of his life

another part
giving him

life or so
he thinks

but it is a
symbiote

with a voice
of its own

seeming to be
just another

one of his voices

everything breaks

healing does not
mean the pain
disappears

memories
clench into
the present

like fingers
and teeth

bleeding all
over the future

I can’t look up
when you come near

for fear
I’ll drown

wanting for
something more

who are you?

protecting me
from you

who am I?

protecting you
from me

we search each other
with our eyes

maybe flirting

our masks move up
theorizing a smile

our hidden lips
six feet apart

ache for
something more

she is grounded
what is left of
her little yellow
wings won’t lift her
I cry when I
see her run
across the sharp rocks
she jumps and each
time she lands
she cuts her toes
leaving droplets
of blood
that spread leaving
a trail of red
that she hopes no one
ever follows

his soul breaks.
each night he sings.
we **** and slurp.
his soul like soup.
thick and salty.
we live for days.
off his life.

the vulnerable
drip

blood
sweat &
tears

leave stains
saying I

was here
they dare

not speak
the words

that they
feel

but they
hear

all that
you say

and don’t
say

they have
been

trained to
listen

to space
and this

is a strength
that will

reveal itself
eventually

I feel gentle in the dark
the overhead light fades

my heart race is over

figments swing dance
shape shifting

like a dream

I feel gentle in the dark
everything is quiet

even the predators

don’t make a sound
as they pounce

Music can seem
so much like salvation

Sgt. Pepper was a revelation to me
I knew all the words like,
It’s getting better all the time

and at 15, I wanted to believe it
but I was an angry young man

man was I mean

I mean I was scared
but I couldn’t admit it

didn’t fit in
still don’t

but it really doesn’t matter

if I’m wrong I’m right
if I belong I’m right
if I belong

I wanted to leave home
after living alone
for so many years

but I was only 15
and man was I scared