Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting.
Waiting for your call,
Your knock at the door,
Your kiss,
Your,
Everything...

Your name is agony.

I'm waiting to speak it aloud,
To scream it,
To strike it down,
And be done.

morning haiku

Your breath calls the Sun
as dew drops on floating grass
sing to the heavens

I had a strange time getting to work today. I always get on at the same spot when I take the train, so that when I hit my connection north, I am closer to the ascending stairs, and don't have to fight the crowd so much. Everyday it's the same thing, I can almost count the steps and actions with perfect accuracy, but today... something happened that left me completely disoriented.

I walked up the stairs, I got to the top and looked around. Everything felt off; the walls weren't the right shade of yellow, the cigarette shop wasn't where it should be, the signs all looked different more scuffed up and dirty.

I stood there for a moment confused. I assumed I had taken the wrong stairs, and immediately walked back down and started over. But I hadn't made a mistake- it was exactly the same stairs I had always taken. They did in fact lead to the correct platform- the one I take every single day of the week. I walked back up those same stairs and lo and behold... everything was right again. But, now I was suspiscious, like I couldn't trust what my eyes were seeing.

Maybe this is some kind of sign that I need start paying attention and stop taking my existence/my perceived reality for granted. Perhaps I need to be disoriented in order to tune in to my own senses. This was a moment of true clarity; I saw just how banal this bubble of my life has become.

I am shocked at my own complacency, my own willing submission to it.

I'm not going down like this. Somebody get me my sword...

I was...

I was thrown from the roof by love
Pushed out the window
Stabbed in my sleep

I was suffocated in the midst of love
Stained pillow held tight against my cheek
Infinite kiss on these dark
breathless lips

Out of the darkness I remember
Resounding sweetness I remember

For love has slain me a thousand times
And a thousand times again
Broken, beaten, and burned- yes
The last of my body consumed
As I cry out it's name

It's the sound of my own voice
The taste of my blood
That wills me ready to believe
Ready to die again
for love

Summer rain
Dark drops falling
On a lush green of ruination.
Black fruits lie in wait,
Heaving under shadowed tendrils.

I'm afraid to go out there at midnight,
Into this jungle of my own making,
This pulsating coven of stems and stamens.

I stand back to watch the night unfold,
As the waters rise,
And rise,
Apocalyptically.

Grandfather

I remember your face,
Your reflection burnt into my skin,
My blood teems with memories,
They remain silent until they hear your voice.

I will listen more often.

I will remember to look in the mirror.

I write

I write always with some reluctance...
Each word an unwitting guest,
Plucked from the crowd
To deliver
The expected
Punchline.
Glaring spotlight
Butt of joke.

Those distant thoughts stand alone,
Naked, over-exposed,
Lacking the depth
And shadow
Of my consciousness.

Storm is rising,
Violent,
Powerful,
To strip bare,
Start new,
Crack the wind
And blow.