love

the smallest things remind him
of the greatest moments he'll ever have,
waiting in deep green fields of dreams,
blanketed in stars he may never see.

this is new

sometimes we yearn for regression.

"hopelessly; i'll love you endlessly"

and it's true, because you are the beginning of an era. all i can do is watch the light, burn the ethereal images of your beautiful morals into my vision and never lose sight. watch me watching you, river eyes, and know that you have changed one thing forever.

or have you simply changed everything for once?

this is old

i listen to the epiphany of wind in the trees swirling up to meet my music - there's nothing i can say that you can't refute, that years of sharing hearts and brains and pains won't have hardened you against. and all i need do is listen to the harmonizing sounds... it's been sung a thousand times, and a thousand times better, too. but endless repetition has only driven the point across - you noble belles know nothing of hell.

how's that for a quote? It's upon your worst emotions I dote - isn't it? feeding the flame with flax and grain until suddenly my troubles are much more than kindle. let's pinch each other once a day just make sure we know this life is actually play.

"did i strike the right set of chords? you're annoyed."

don't think i'll ever know what it means, but it sure sounds right.

novel thoughts

across the desert,
the stars are our bridge,
falling through fields of heather
and oceans of setting sun-rays.
for our broken bodies
will mend our broken ways,
and the journey of a ragged man
shows the village fool that
even for him,
there is more.

streetlight

i stand at the nexus,
the center of a star made of wires and trees -
and dreams -
but would the dreamer liked to have seen
that his invention lights up
every corner of lechery
ever hidden from the world?

caucus

and the world waits.
ten million breathless viewers -
this constitution has dissolved
into a horse-race,
a fight to the death.

every second
gives us one more insight
into the future.
is it the future i would
have?

writer

tap
tap
endlessly falling fingers
do their job -
but precision is finite
and tangents turn and wind
and the fingers take the mind out of
control.

tap
tap
every word erased brings the path
into view...
once more on track the words
write themselves until they come
to another fork in the road.