i don't even want to know why things are the way that they are anymore.
i don't understand. and i'm not going to try to these days.
it just is.

and in the midst of it all i have to be okay with it.
because the alternative is just too depressing.
and i won't let myself give in to that.

r.i.p

morbid. it dug in.
like a cancer
some might say.

yet it never started off small.
it was always something worth working at.
what was i to do
but dig
when the shovel
was so strategically stitched
between my fingers.

so there i lay myself to rest
in the sallow sunken ground
hollowed out like a holding place
for a coffin.

and here i will wait,
until you hand me my tombstone.

let the orange embers in the fireplace remain

how.

much.

longer.

the night it cuts like daggers

tortured artist.
cliché, i know.
i hate the way it sounds
the way it feels behind my eyes.
but it's there,
and it somehow fits.

they say it worked
for Sylvia,
Charles
and Anne.
that is,
as far as their work was concerned.
but my mind wanders to the night
when the wind picked up
and the silence rolled out of bed.

i don't always want to lay here,
alone,
and sleepless
consorting with the dark.

i've heard art imitates life,
but i think it imitates truth.

sometimes i'm not quite sure
what i should do with the truth
that crouches behind my heart
like some sort of dark beast.

i hope to GOD i don't always write like this.
one day i will conjure up words
that mothers will read to their children
in the light beam of gardens.

and it will be beautiful
and nothing will hurt.

Gregorian Chant

last night we were more than mere men.
a heaven-like-earth hung from our hands
as the paint trickled down.

the twang of country music
swept over our heads
while we knelt on the carpeted floor
laboring on paper altars.

even the stars themselves
slid a sideways glance
down our way.

a lapse in time
like a blot on this page.
my friend,
it shall never be forgotten.

Dies Saturni xxii Augustus MMIX

it's coming.
it's coming like a storm
beating against the barricade
that keeps this city safe.

it's busting in the door
that leads to the room
where my secrets are stored
neatly stacked in their respective cupboards.

this heartbeat inside of me pounds
and leaves the room for restless dreams.

all of me belongs here.
planted.
in
this
place.

but somehow it's become high time
that i pack up all of me
and leave
this
place.

because it's coming.
and it'll never turn away.