a mourning love.

--you're a beautiful creation oh i open my eyes and the world is so alive because of you every second of the day makes itself into something i want to hold on to forever or longer

like the angel of acceptance you are my beautiful creation my love and the rain falls down on our heads the rain is so perfect and soft and warm it reminds me of my mother's tears when she told me she would always listen to me and that i never had to worry about her loving me because she is my mother and that's what mothers do, love their sons

single caress you are the moment i have chosen you are the purpose and the instant beautiful creation listen as i whisper you the songs that lull you to sleep you are the beautiful creation my love my angel i will always sing you into peaceful--


i am
love's
one
night
stand.

collect your things

sarah painted me a picture of time
her canvas was literally miles long
i asked her, begged her really, to
only use the highest quality paint
imported straight from italy and
never touched by metal or any
other disgusting machinery

of course i paid for the paint and
canvas, and then i paid for her
time. i paid myself to pose in
front of her on a golden box that
i bought before gold was precious.
i made gold precious that day,
when sarah painted me, by begging
sarah to paint a tiny, white and
yellow gleam on the right corner
of the golden box. people who
care about gleams also care about
money and they bought my gold.
it was easier than i had expected.

i also had sarah paint a gleam
on the edge of my forehead
on the left side, unfortunately.
i should have chosen the right
because i did not become any
more precious than i was before.
instead i became an icon that
no one could touch or love.
it hurt more than i expected.

i had the painting, the gold,
myself, the gleam, and more
if you count my sudden wealth
of neglect, rejection, and self-
disgust.

i sold the painting for seven million pounds.
i sold the gold for eleven pounds.
i sold the gleam for twenty pounds.
i sold the neglect for twelve touches.
i sold the rejection for an afternoon date.
i sold the self-disgust for a dollar.

and i sold myself for your time.

4x4 forest

there were several green trees surrounding my place
i lived in the center of the city

the green would expand in the summer and contract in the fall
the city did the opposite

i likened the tiny green worms that hung from my branches
to my tiny neighbors across the hall

i likened the worms to myself as well, and to all the other people
all the people in the city, at least

but i soon found out after a long discussion that they were not
worms at all, they were simply leaves

they were leaves of the tree, tiny leaves yes, leaves that moved
like a worm and they talked like a worm

but if a leaf says it's a leaf you do not argue. you simply hold it
close to your chest until it falls asleep

and it will dream for hours at a time, with images of adam and
gardens and what it's like to be a worm

i laughed at the leaf after it was sleeping, because i could easily
see that it would never be a worm

as long as it kept convincing people that it was a leaf
in the middle of a city.

petals

silent as the last conversation
we sit and wonder and wait and
lonely we sit, together

but sound approaches like a
deafening train the sound is
innocent and unwarranted yet
it reaches us in the only
moment we will ever know
and it touches us and we
collapse with exhaustion
terrified that we might touch
ourselves, each other

and then we do touch
and sound caresses us
as light would a dying petal

forever, we sing
as a sunrise

sail

i am abroad and sailing
the edges of the earth are
at my palms; there stands
the mountain, the colossus
there i shine my sword
there my soul shines like
years of determination
culminating in a single moment...

and where are you?

lost in the a turbulent, tiny sea
with a devilish circling current
it will always bring you back
to nothing more than itself