Soblivious

All these hunger games have led me to exhaustion
And I’m tired of this, sick of that
sycophancy
Cane toad cattle starve me dry of any hope for anything, I guess
So shoosh and stay quiet
Soblivious to my sorrow
Hushing horseback soldiers away from my dreams
Third person, first, second, twenty-seventh, honestly enough!
Snuff out my wishes in a candlestick matchbox
And pray that He’ll come again soon, with much provision
Because I cannot calculate obsequiousness, nor navigate flattery
I pine for reality
I grown for the effortlessness of your touch, my partner
I dream in my mind’s eye of catching this moth
 & sticking air holes in a jar of honey
Your dust is my sugar
And somehow, your warmth sustains me
In this desert.

There once was a little boy,

Who was sure he was right

So he climbed a mountain

And flew off it, like a kite

He searched for his answer

Enduring the difficulties of the flight

A lone & fragile star he was,

In the darkness of night

He seeked out his truth

Using up every ounce of his might

Until it seemed that all hope was lost

Fading, was the light

Maybe the little boy, was wrong

And all his enemies, right?

But then as the boy began to fall

Something amazing shone bright

And full of joy and wonder

The little boy, knew he was right

He said:
You are a tree
supernature inside nature
utopia in dystopia
Arcadia amidst fire
your core is green, flowing
with life
even if your skin darkens
and cracks
on your paper bark I will write love
poems
even if it blows away in careless winds
with your pine needles I will
create a dress
I will place a tap, at your base
gratefully drawing your rich goodness
out, for all to taste
If they cut you down, I will build
a bridge
If they burn you up, you will have
many children
they cannot stop you
my branch to this world:
you 

Spilt

Spilt
taste the red wine of my mistakes
a bittersweet drink
drunk with disaster
this alcoholic blood ferments in my veins
{cut free for intoxication}
every vessel and valve
is a tunnel, to my core
every vessel and valve
is a pipe, in my organ
the red and blue;
thy good and my evil
when will this cycle end?
I shudder
as I regurgitate the lyrics
to my own sad song
one painful, absurd letter at a time
the melody is provided by
the strummed, bloody chords of my
harp heart
my tartan flesh
my off-tune bagpipe
At least it won’t play at my
funeral.

(But then, you realise,
that there is a forest inside of
you:
A jungle of desires
It branches out into every bit
of you
It is your friend, your adversary
your journey
romance is blood red
hope is warm)

God only knows, that you’re the only one for me

You talk about these sensations, and I just smile

Secretly, inside I could just explode with goodness

Since I love you even more

And all this poetry and romance, it’s just a ripple in my ocean

And I could dance circles around the sun

Since I love you

But I’d rather spend that time with you, instead

I make the earth spin for me

Your cacophonous laughter is my symphony

Even after the honeymoon, you’re oh so sweet

If I attempted to replicate the experience of you

I would have to leap into a star

But it just wouldn’t be the same

She lives a golden smile
and she thinks he’s just not right
He’ll be here for a little while
and then they’ll both be out of sight!

She laughs but never lives
and she knows that something’s wrong
He has the gift, but never gives
but boy, can she sing a song!

He took all that He had
and she knows the truth (but not undone)
and He seems kind of sad
but with her, it’s just no fun!

He feels special, but he knows he’s not
He thinks He has a show to tell
while he wonders why his lungs rot
and how can he break the spell

Corners

Look inside – what do you see?
My head is full of dark corners
you wander into my castle;
and it seems alright.
There’s cobbled paths and glass displays
statues morph and dance
but then you realise
chemicals connect
you even wonder if it’s too late
to escape my grasp
and you run the other way
[men march backwards in this town]

My head is full of dark corners
some are made of sweaty flesh with
thick veins and a deep heart beat.
Others buzz with electric sensitivity.
Others wrap things in bleak, wide impossibility.

But there is one corner that
I treasure, that
invites Mona Lisa to laugh
and uncertain hearts to say “I do!”
This corner is full of light, is made
of light.
And this corner will [in my case] always
win
- because it is planted by a
never-ending river
when you look into this place,
this angle, my own edge of heaven:
All is full of love.

There’s a little man living inside my computer keyboard

With every key pressed, he exhales

If I do not type, he does not find release

With every letter I touch, he is set free

I make melodies with his breaths

He knows all my passwords

He blew them all out

I cannot erase my search history

From his memory

And I don’t want to

Every secret

Every exclamation

Every question

Every mark I’ve made

As I drifted along the virtual expanse

Was a downward push on his diaphragm

I hold the key to the ribcage

Of the little man living inside my computer keyboard

Someday I’ll show you

And as a type this poem, I hear him

Blowing it out

Voiceless whispering.