...

Cast me not away for you have come too near

Cast me not to hell and bring me not up to shore

Cast me not into parched earth for I won’t rise

Cast me not into the sea bare for it is you

It is you

It is you

Maybes

"If I had to do it all over again" you said...
The sadness of your words crept over me slowly over the next few days. As if you failed this time around but a "maybe next time" stamped the endings of all your sentences and breaths.


What is there left at the table but scraps littering where we once ate like kings? Bathing ourselves in milk and honey, wrapping ourselves in the finest linens and casting shadows to their corner penitentiaries. Now, ants line up, our dressing maidens, waiting to clean up our mess as if we were never here. What will we become when we no longer carry our what ifs and could haves in jars around our necks like concentration camp name tags. Our regrets branding themselves inside our brains so deep they hide where the light doesn't reach and where the darkness creeps out from.

If I had to do it all over again....
This is what you said

You bleed through each moment

A glass on the table
Shining it's white blankness with such fervor
The vast winter and cardinal purity
bleeding into red with the delicacy of table wine

thoughts

Pull the covers off, lover

And share your morning with me

Pull the night's dreary pause off, lover

and walk in this world again with me

give to me your waking breaths

give to me your pulsing breast

and let's find eternity in which to rest

25 was a hard year

they said it'd get easier

sliding along too long highways into

busy wednesdays and weekends that never come

they said there'd be lights there

somewhere at the end

waiting for you, pulsing with all the love of the world

but I must have passed the exit back there

'cause now I'm on the shore

washing my hands in salt water

and waiting for night to come

so I can look up and and find some semblance of where I was...a long time ago

Shake it off/lasts night's disgusts and empty bottles

Tear off the ridiculous clothes and break the smiles

There's gotta be more than these wasted minutes

Spent on a stool and in front of all these fools

There's something about the stars tonight

I'm hoping to see something new

It all goes away so fast for anything to last

It's gone all too quickly and we're left with....

up late

i have been keeping things nice and tidy in here for quite some time

and then something like this comes my way

and i can't keep it together any more

and i'm falling apart at the speed of light

yes you fall apart in front of me

achilles isn't the only one

everything comes falling down around

burn it

burn it

burn it to the ground

let there be nothing left

let me melt with the cement that layed with me

for these centuries

making my bed with the dead

ones

i had grown happy with the dust

and the corners

and the rotting pages

melding my bones into the moldings

and at the speed of breath

you stood there

and all i could do was make calculations

of how much space I could put between us

before i completely lost it

and could no longer keep it together

you have no clue how hard it was to look away

to hold ground and

to let fate stop it's bottled letter and sail on

my god, all this for you. what am i thinking? what am i becoming? have i been relegated to some desperate late-night jostling with keyboards in hopes of pinning you down in between spaces and words?

what are you doing woman?

Let It Go.

the science of secrets

the science of secrets

the science of the the present

the science of too many what ifs

the science of let downs

you were too sweet, honey

a little bitter, ill-timed memory

little fish, you are too far gone

to make you mine

Musings on a lover

He who paints the upper echelons of the stars

with his feminine lips and begs me to suffer

for a simple glance, a touch, a sliver of gold

He who carries Michaelangelo under

furrowed underarms

and charms sorrowful magicians out of terrible

secrets

My love is the ghost of renaissance oils loosed upon

Ottoman carpets

grinding themselves into the backs of their

lover occupants

My love is the corpse upon which dark irises make their

beds, where grasses keep their basements,

and where time ceases it's dreadful

song

My love wears a crown of thorns caught in his wild hair. They cut deep and burrow themselves past thought

**Disclaimer: I've been reading A LOT Keats and Thomas.

Jeans

Sweltering summer hues

and too many

I wish I loved yous

These were the days when we were so young
These are the hours we have begun to count
Chimes on the
Grandfather
clock
Berating our loss
Strange days, these are the strange minutes that make up our
breaths
These are the nights I begin to
wonder
Where it went
and when the regret
sunk it's teeth in

going down

The days drag
and every breath
is slow

These days are slow
and every breath
is a drag

maybe if I lay down just for a little bit

Yellow Buttercream

I want to fold you into the batter
and whisk you silly.
I want to wrap you into the exquisite pink frosting
and set you centerpiece.
I want to slather you on cold thighs,
greased elbows and
viciously lick you off.

Encased in a deep slumber you wait

Poured forth from your decaying throne, you wait

And wait

and wait

------------------------------------------

mellifluous bones lacking any definition

jellied and canned for winter's feast
i am a meager heart at the moment

staring hard at you

wishing i felt

the burn, the itch, the desire of someone who was alive

------------------------------------------

back to the wall pull back the red curtain

and feel the velvet crushing between your fingers

these are the moments when pauses become the demi gods

you pray to

.watch the women who wait

eagerly for the next one

ready to sell their wares

upon plump barstools

and from dusty corners

rip the cigarette from his mouth with your lips

and watch the drama unfold

between rolls of flesh sitting on heavy hips

like cherubine smiles

watch the waiting passing from beneath the breaths

coded messages to the next one and the next and the next

these are the days of the women

who watch the hands on the clock

at night that watches the man at the desk

watching it

And they say love doesn't bloom in billfolds.

Dying in Bars

I was wondering what it was like chasing stars the way you do

I had been wondering what it was like flying over Neptune and Jupiter

And laughing in God's presence the way you do.

You sparkle fiercely, the way a diamond cuts the skin, you burn.

Sitting three steps over and two leaps from your chair, I glanced and glanced

Hoping to find a way through the maze of drinks and slurred words

And too loud music and find a way to melt into you, to take your skin

And melt it into the dark corners of this stained bar-napkin night

So that I will never forget what it was like to know what flying felt like.

For ten minutes I felt what sulfur and kindle must feel when they meet

And for ten minutes I felt the splitting of planets and the lonely serenading of black holes to one another

And felt God in the small things: your lips, your skin, the way you clasp your hands.

For ten minutes I died.

You who point to the stars and talk about God

You who point to the stars and talk about God and speak of the first hours and of the Two who sprang from His whispers

You from whom fear and ceremony bleed like disease spilling from your parched and yearning lips:

I say, look to Our destruction and see birth in these corpsi, see the universe in Our skin, see the blessings bestowed upon Us in the ashes circling Our feet.