How crisp was the sorrow
How swiftly it went
Left not a trace or word
Just a light wisps few
Of the night last lived
That seeped and itched
Unnamed in dream
Then morning white
To reveal the eyes
That fumbling curled
To escape themselves

Then coffee, then comb
And an eyeliner thick

And not a stain or crease
To dare and speak.
How simple it had been
To break and mend and to repeat
I slid from lane and sped to song
I was to reach the class in five
Then reached and left
I ate the day in three big bites
Then day again, again
And how quick they all go through
How easy it is to make do
-
God, but the night
Heavy, goo in my shoe

you say this that garbage
and I love it
those books sag, I forget and
their pages slip from my fingers
music becomes merely music
and I - I risk bravery
I dare weave you carefully
into my words - my skin - with
with an obvious softness, I
want to break you down
overturn, unwind you
I want - *******.

I am a monument
Someone was here
Some stone was carved
Some sketches made, remade
Some alterations...

I stand strong now
The creases of my neck
Are placed just right
And they can name
All of my veins

Someday, I will move
And my joints will crack
Then I will rub my eyes,
I will yawn,
And then I will curl up on the floor
And sleep for a long,
Long time

(Nice Dream)
Radiohead croons like a cat
My headphones lie next to my head
But I hear everything
It is saturated now. I am made
Of music and white noise.
On the precipice of sleep,
I possess no arms, legs, past
Just a dull ache in my ear
Where the pillow has pressed
For far too long.
The Tuesday evening
Demands more of me
But I lie careless like a spoon
I let everything pass by
However... wherever
(Nice Dream)
For the first time in years,
I wish that I had not been.
Or had been a little less.

"Let everything happen to you
Beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final."
- Rainer Maria Rilke

Quiet fingertips press
I make no disturbance
As I move from foot to foot
Gentle. As if not to startle myself.
Dull-eyed
Drape. Rhythm leaves me.
All pattern, pose, skill.
I have lived - a day -
A night - perhaps.

They will not yearn as crude as I
I will tie you up
My grief, sweet *******, is you
My despair laughs at your victory
There is nothing to spare here
Go and gulp the dry world up
Go or do not
I will feast on nothing
               and I will rejoice

But I will still change the water
I do not care for flowers
I will rearrange them
Of course, I will - you gave them to me
I sit and paint them
And the day blissfully droops to eve
And I think: anger never betrayed me.

But all my criticisms and objections
Fall limp to an empty night
Please, speak.
Provoke me, oppose me. Interrupt even.
My principles hold no power
If they cannot fight you.

I love the simple silhouette
Of your pesky little spirit.
Please, speak.