I Was Hoping She’d Let Me In

I was hoping she’d let me in, for more than a cup of tea

How do you ensure a hand won’t shake when it comes time to do what is necessary? You give it something to hold in the meantime – I want my hands on your face, on your neck, around your waist.

Talk is overrated, let’s just vibe
And love is overrated in my mind
Girl, talk is over, let’s just vibe
Just for tonight.

How long do you think it has been? No contractions here. When it feels like epochs, but the reality says a billing cycle or two; what is it you still need?

I can teach you a process, but I can’t teach you how to live. You have to do the learning to get anything out of it.

I’ll Be Somewhere Committing Myself

We talked for hours, and to be honest she mentioned yah eventually,
But I don’t think it mattered…

Like the child who puts a toe in the water, then a second, next a foot followed by the whole body; Followed by elevations of the soul, elated! There is no slaking a thirst for the wild unknown, the sense of depths on all sides – even when the concept is less than novel like the tipping of dominoes – how satisfying is it to watch them fall?

But really it is not that deep,
I mean life feels good so fuck it, I’m feeling, and everything’s golden, shine shone – whatever tense you want to use, look me in the eyes while we finish what we started.

What can you do but watch as someone tries to pressure you into what they desire?
You can hit them with a real hard frame – A hammer if you wish, but most people can’t handle that sort of revelation. So go alone. Leave them at their tables, with their offering intact or not – it doesn’t matter. You will go find the real grail. Let them get drowsy and forget! The well is within you, not them. They don’t feel the tightening of will when another empty pale is pulled up! They don’t feel the nostalgia for abundance, nor recall when you poured the crisp waters into wasteful troughs!

Commit yourself, and leave them. They will hardly know your absence.

I Could Tell

God baby another hit?
I don’t know if you could stomach it
Do you know how high you are?
I’m looking up and wondering;
If I’d catch you when you fall
Or if you’ll go right through my arms

Day dreamin, day scheming,
Got my whole day planned
And you’re fucking it up again
Alright alright alright with it sure I am,
I’m with Alice in wonderland
Got some space dust and a watering can that can’t sleep,
And a lot of beautiful dogwood flowers
And a clock that refuses to tell time,
As it Screams be you,
anything forced on you isn’t true.
And I’m all about it baby,
I yell back, you’re true blue heaven,
If it’s not here on Earth
It got to be in the next hit
One more and I swear we’re back swirling again to the other day dancing bachata in the Dominican turning heads on the dance floor of your perfect order
But there is no order, it’s all random
And you must be somebody’s baby,
Got to be, the only light?
Way too many stars in the sky to pretend that that’s the true,
And to the moon, from there it all looks the new, to two inches from your face nothing changes – but dam that’s some space!

Got a new paycheck that says I can do whatever I want, but it doesn’t work like that so I burn money in the back room with my coat on

Gold was never my color, but that’s not your fault. I wear it well, a crown I will have until time removes it; I built a kingdom, and within it I erected this temple so that when I need to sleep I can crash in the pews. Yeah the type of shit we do, here is where Hozier really meant to take him-and it’s funny because in here you’re taking me. I’m the fucking, Jesus I won’t say that while we fuckin’ – but I was born sick and I love it.

I’ve Seen You Naked

It’s hard to express exactly what it is that people dig, but if you’re any sort of a risk taker you’ll soon find out.

She smokes a cigarette and it’s fucking gorgeous. I think one drag would kill me, but I’d stand close enough for her exhale to burn my eyes, and sound like totally uncool striking up a conversation while I’m clearly holding my breath waiting for diffusion and air flow to make the coast clear.

Here’s To The Gilded Age Of The Morning After

What do you do when the renaissance demands the gold for its gilded age? Pull up, up on it, tell me that you want it, pull up, pull up on it… It’a so much warmer inside. Let your body do the talking, say it!

Whatever you want. That’s a fairly vulnerable statement. Because what if I want to close my eyes and put a hold on this painting, or touch it while it’s wet, or get off early-the train doesn’t stop-I brought us here to sink only the finest into the moment, and the finest earthy tones sunk into my drinks, my sight; ochre yellow champagne, lips raw-sinopian red! without the wedding! Occhi Terra di Siena bruciata as long as the lights are umber dim, thought you were the good doctor, but the double blind experience keeps strong legs tied up in an age lacking innocence. What if what I desire is something new and wild, to send it into the rich terra toned vastness without any covers!

Warmth that brought the heartless back on beat, lighting up this cracked screen, it’ just a reference to a phone it’s not that deep

I’ve never taken my foot off the gas for anything other than to change gears, and if it isn’t shaking, leaking, or smoking I don’t want anything to do with it.

What kind of man are you? Well to relegate myself to any one aspect of a goddess would never see me equal to the divine; but do I dig your ass or tits more? When in your favorite position, on top and in control, what part of you am I not indulging; I don’t think there’s a single shade that I couldn’t draw. And that doesn’t answer the question, but what fun would this be if it all came right out without any of the build up. Anticipation of that ocean is probably the greatest story ever lived.

I can still feel it. The stir of neurons sings a sweet tune when I’m in, this typ-a mood, you. And that’s all that matters for it to be real.

Does a creator want anything else? Anything beyond the knowledge that their art is not beneath any other who has taken a breath at the razors edge. Every move is an art well practiced, seeing potential and I got to see it through, cut in darkness we get to it so I can hit the streets again, they are looking rather drab – who fills them, who picks the colors anyways! I’m far from convinced they have any sort of artistic eye the way they just give everyone parking tickets

Here’s to offering our necks to the wolves with so much uncertainty – Swimming in the language of breath & tongues; Vibes & trust.

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I wish I had more time to draw, it feels wrong without that touch. The way I spend money though it’s tough keeping up. And my art won’t sell until I’m long gone.

Bones and Skin

Was it a ghost? or one of the voices you hear in your head?
You go through life and wonder what the hell happened.

It’s so fast; I lounge in the current
Many things take me away from you.

What the hell happened?
I write this in an aftermath that still I am grasping like cramped and exhausted fingers – palms and pads burning, the sensation that layers of skin may tear open, peeled from the bones; still trying to grip

No kisses, no hugs, it’s clear this isn’t what it was, much more complex now – you don’t want touch – and I don’t want the permeating feeling that I am not enough. I will not be..

You see, I’ve lived my life as honest as I could. Which is hard because we all have issues. And no one understands them. We barely understand our own.

Leaving used to be the hardest thing,
I promise it can be done with ease

I hear you got married,
and all I can think is thank you for all the inspiration,
glad you found a good man.

Don’t try so hard, those are the one’s who get let down the most

I guess I forgot as a grown man with an open heart inside, Ataraxia, the shores of which I always speak of leaving – something like me needs the storm. You say you’re curious. I call all 9’s, dressed to the nines. I’ll show up, and we’ll just ride. Words only once we’re back from the sky.

There is simply not enough time for this world;
every day is a sacrifice of one thing for another.
Maybe we’ll have it, or maybe we won’t.
I could have had everything I wanted for free,
in the end I paid for everything I didn’t want to go away

I had something I was writing you; it wasn’t a sonnet or anything like an ode, limerick, or quatrain-no it was just something-nothing like a burlesque, or villanelle You know it had shape, and sound, and visual! Perhaps a rondeau

I got it all mixed up and by mistake discovered ways of seeing things I could never have found on purpose

What good is all this money, if all it can buy is a first class ticket 6ft under.

Sang·froid

Composure or coolness, sometimes excessive, as shown in danger or under trying circumstances.

Joie de vivre, I’ll buy you roses all the time like a creep!

Say it over and over, play it how you want but I do not alter what I put up.

I will walk away with nothing and feel my heart grating against the bottom.

It must feel something to be apart of the greater definition

As the clock round, It became so wretchedly painful – to not love who I was – that when I finally did, the pain did not cease for as I loved me in that moment, the I was just minutes gone; a lingering smile on the face of someone new. A ghostly sense that I knew the previous tenant of the building, but only nostalgia would ever return.

Temporary. It is all fleeting. And I just wanted to catch a glimpse of the mind space I’ve entered. A golden soul, and I want to transmute it to lead and back again so I can say I did the hardest task twice; I’d even risk never returning because I’m okay with leaving the shore.

Be light, be water, adapt, and grow, you beautiful ambiance,
when I come into a room I ask them to set the mood to you.
Aura aura, warm glow. You are the fire spark I want to grow.

—————————————————————-

“Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, hélas, I may no more.”
The place I seek is the shore that is no more.
A historical moment that is out of reaches!
No work, but memory can return it,
And only briefly before the bellows
overwhelm with today’s fire

Things Are Different In The Morning

When you wake up, it isn’t what it was the night or day before.
Leave me, leave me, leave me – We’ve been nothing but trouble.
Counter views, and frame colliding perspectives, now empathy.

“I feel a sudden clear focus and perspective. There is no time for anything inessential. I must focus on myself, my work and my friends.” – Oliver Sacks

Sacral, Oblation, and Hallow

I hold the sacrificial dirk, a dirge dripping in blood,
it’s clear I keep making choices.

You ever make a mistake while actively knowing it,
and say, “ah fuck it.” ?

Life you showed me,
doing nothing because of sense
But because it struck the senses;
Because it felt good.

You did things this way because you lived out a different chord with different rules and expectations; things that applied to you and only you. To say I understood could only be a man trying with every sinew to convince the other in an argument, with passion that he struggled, and knew what it meant to live from your center.

How presumptuous. How pompous.

I wanted it though, o I wanted to comprehend, I deserved to for all I’d worked towards — to be at one with that mind and give it my nod of approval. But fuck approval. Every entity that seeks it dips into the darkness afraid of its own shadow. And that thing which I wanted, would no longer be desired if it sought to illuminate the dark out of fear for what might be beneath its cover. Go into the dark curious; feel on your hands and knees – claw for discovery, and be beset by hunger no more.

Everything is a sacrifice — What will you wither, what will you grow?

If I Had More Life

I draw you–in–many don’t go down this road.
There is too much to do,

even with what we have we’re short – we’ll make it work

I see the world writing,
a new story everyday

poetry month, another year –

It’s me, it’s me, it’me,

With brave words I hide many fears,

fear of loss, of pain, of truth,

I am not the words I’ve written

It’s me, words I’ve always been,

how to use them, how I bend,

Yet in all this months time,

I’ve managed not to rend

words from within. I am dead

Never doing what I’m supposed to be doing,
and maybe I won’t do what I should,
but I’ll end up doing what I’ve done,

and that is something.

I’ve got more life!

Have you seen me with a fire?
Have you seen me when I’ve got everything together?
Just the right amount
The right mask,
A taste I can enjoy at my own pace; nothing moves at our own pace
To my own tune – I’m sacred
Off key and I’m still enraptured – a captive audience does not decide what it likes

I’ll enjoy this with ceremony