nebulous
it is best for the beast in us
it is easier with the rest of us
it is not
anything
it is absolutely
nothing
therefore
detach
kick back relax
non-nebulousness
it is a task
it is a strain on the heart in us
it is harder for the sane in us
just
be nebulous

a deep breath of fresh air and not a care
   knowing i will never return to that hell of a place
a place where every window is covered
   in dust and child-sized hand print smudges
a place where everyone who is anyone judges
a place where no one cares
   unless you get a couple drinks in them
a place where cockroaches and mold clash for power
   and we must not speak or think of them
a place where money flows like
   rations in war times, a trickle
a place filled to capacity with penny pinchers
   coupon abusers and the generally fickle
a place where we are paid to appear and disappear
   and politely appear to enjoy your presence
a place where no one knows your name
   because, "Its a caste system, kid, and you'll always be the peasant"
a place, a zoo, where they-that-pay come and go
   while we-that-slave stay grinning in our grease-coated cage
a place no matter where you are
   you are center stage
exit stage-left
so i left this hell of a place
  with a **** paycheck and a smile on my face
the fresh air is too good to breathe just once

There are rows of black birds
flying above us,
my love...
Away to foreign warm places
leaving no memories or traces -
There are rows of black birds above.

There is a strong, cold wind
howling and rowing ahead us,
my love...
The echo of a new harsh winter
like an unseen bitter creature
filling the gaps between us -
There is a strong cold wind ahead.

Am I entitled call you 'my love'?
This autumn feels too cold,
too empty to bare
this bare emptiness -
These gaps between us
like black doves
too bold and unreal to hold.

There are rows of black birds above.
They shall never see each other's faces
as they fly to foreign warm places,
While Autumn and Winter align,
without any traces
of you

When I blink
I tender the grey clouds
The soft movements,
Gentle the fierce wounds -
Grinding memories
With my bare hands,
Too dense and bleak.

When I walk by
The lights go low,
The leaves turn yellow,
They fly and sink
Swirl and speak
Silent sounds
Of primordial cycles -
Too dense, too bleak.

When I breathe...
Shivers of cold lives,
The echoes of distant deaths,
The murmurs of deepest depths,
Surpressed in lullabies -
A sonet of primordial cycles,
Too dense, too weak.

With a single gesture
I can make the Earth stay still.
Time is a ***** villain
And I like to hear It scream
Seconds, moments, lifetimes -
Under the pressure
Of my fingertips -
Primordial senses
Too dense, too bleak, too weak.

Filled with such glee
A grinning idiot
Fuel'd by nothing more
Than a nostalgic tune.

This is because
I will never be good at touching
And because
You will never be good with words
And because
With your beautiful mind
You might never even be able to understand this poem
And what I’m trying to tell you.

I am
Not
Trying to tell you that I love you
Or that I want to spend forever with you

Actually,
I’m perfectly fine
With falling asleep alone
In my oversized bed
And writing poetry at two in the morning
While you play a gig.

And actually,
I’m perfectly fine
With being the one who does all the planning
To make sure that we can work around
Your busy schedule.

What I am trying to tell you is
That no matter how many times I have to look at you funny
When you spout random trivia,
I am always proud
Of the things that you know.

What I’m trying to tell you is,
No matter what other people say,
I am always proud
When you tap drum solos
On my hand.

What I’m trying to tell you is
That I am entirely captivated
By you
And your beautiful mind.