POEMS/LYRICS BY JRS XVI

 

CROSSCURRENTS OF LOVE

 

A Pair

Sappho

Road Of Pain

Hercules And You

The Sword Of Old Love

Tiger Without Teeth

Calling All Centaurs

You Got To Be Madly In Love With My Soul

Bringing Back The Dead

Starting Again

Joy Will Come Again

Lovers And Tower

When I Saw The Leaves Fall

Pieces Of A Fallen Star

All The Instruments

Cue Ball Woman

The Ambulance Of Love

Unilateral Wise Woman

Easier

Donít Count On Me

E Tu, Brute?

Loving Me

Just Friends (Lyrics)

Soul Beating

Partners In Doom

Feathered Serpent

Moon, Dear Moon

Closed For Renovations

Artistís Model

No Use

Angry Dinosaur Woman

Missing Sock

Still Waters

No Mind, Still You

Utilitarian Love Therapy

Rest From Progress

Crazy With Genius

Milestone

Sorrow And Paradise

Countervailing Planet 

Explain My Poem?

Loneliness Does Strange Things To Love

Angel Trying To Be A Woman

Invisible Her

Let Me Let It All Out

To Die For One Pretend

Ocean And Ear

 

A Pair

 

I realize

Iím standing on the earth

I realize

Iím listening to the sea

I realize

itís not just in my mind

Somethingís going on

between you and me

And it might be love

It might even be love

 

Two swans swimming side by side

like writing on the lake

Two geese flying side by side

like writing in the sky

Godís pen is busy

telling us who we are

 

Lonelyís got to believe it

Tiger and Tiger

Bird and Bird

Life speaks in

Pairs

itís the language

even hermits understand

The proudly isolated

drift in broken ships

towards land

 

Weíre together without a vow

or expectation

it just happened

below the surface

of our solitude

 

And I canít go away

even though Iím not there

When I said Iíd leave,

it meant Iíd stay

 

I realize

Iím standing on the earth

I realize

Iím listening to the sea

I realize

itís not just in my mind

Somethingís going on

between you and me

And it might be love

It might even be love

 

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Sappho

 

Sappho,

how beautiful you are.

Iím sorry my bodyís

so coarse

so strange

so dangerous

so odd,

like clothing

that doesnít fit

your heart.

If I could,

Iíd be a girl

for you.

To be with you

Iíd be a white flower

in the breeze,

you could be the one

who said,

"Come through the door,

Iím ready now."

Iíd lie down

on the bed of

you having the power,

Iíd be safe,

you could be the storm.

To be with you

Iíd become

your shadow

or soft skin,

give up

the threat,

to be with you

Iíd be as gentle

as the door

I have to come through,

and gentler when I arrived.

Iíd bring more than

all the chariots of Lydia

in my soul

to your loneliness

and surrender them

to your horses.

Iíd stretch my power

beneath you

like the sea

you threw yourself into.

Iíd put the dark cliff

you leapt from

back into the sheath

of your solitude.

Iíd come softly

but with worthiness,

like thunder rumbling

on the horizon.

Iíd lay down beside you

and wait for you

to need me.

 

Sappho, dear Sappho,

if youíd let me,

if the Gods would let me,

Iíd come

bearing your greatness,

not mine,

except as a form

of yours.

Iíd leave behind the army,

menacing with plumes

of thinning populations

scheming to perpetuate

their weapons,

Iíd bring flowers

to your moist citadel

and kneel

in gentle supplication

to the two moons

of life

that your mind

cannot hide,

Iíd come to worship,

not to steal.

Iíd whisper

and converse

in the cradle of fire,

be as quiet as your own thoughts,

be the sheet

you covered yourself with

or kicked off

in the night.

And like that sheet,

I wouldnít hide you,

when you wanted to

cover yourself with me,

the beauty of your form

would still shine through,

like the moon glowing

through clouds.

 

Sappho, dear Sappho,

Iíd wear flowers

in the fierce hair

of my soul

till the lions slept,

Iíd wear a dress,

put down the spear

of my pride

and bathe with you,

white and tender

in the river of sisters,

Iíd hold a golden mirror

up to your face

by the angry sea

until its waves laid down

at your feet,

Iíd touch you with hands

guided by your

wounds,

Iíd be you loving yourself

with another mind.

 

Sappho, dear Sappho,

Iíd be what Iím not

to be with you.

 

Sappho, dear Sappho,

let me be

what Iím not

to be with you.

 

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Road of Pain

 

When you make a road of pain

to your door,

donít you understand,

most people will just

go away?

They wonít

take the test,

they wonít go

on the knightís brave

quest,

fight dragons,

seek Grails

for a whip.

You wanted true love

so badly,

you dug a moat

deeper than any heart.

You want love that would walk over fire,

but first you have to be loved.

 

When thorns

hide the rose,

no one knows

what theyíre bleeding for;

and heroes

donít come to life

for nothing.

 

Your fierce net

makes no distinction between

impostors and champions,

between abusers in sheepskins

and souls

sent by your angels,

it sweeps them all up

out of the sea

of coming to you.

 

You are alone,

alone,

surrounded by graves,

graves of love

that never had a chance.

 

Because no one

could ever pass your test.

 

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Hercules And You

 

You pulled

the rug out from

under my feet,

then expected

Hercules.

The only way

to be strong enough

to stay

was not

to love you.

The only hero who

could win you

was the one

whoíd already

stopped trying.

 

Back to Top

 

The Sword Of Old Love

 

She warded you off

with her sword,

my love whoís not

yet dead.

Still she hides

in places she broke;

she wouldnít be the one,

but she wouldnít

ever let herself be impossible.

She said no

but wouldnít

give me back.

She wouldnít let

the sun rise

in your eyes.

Sheís still got the wound

in her hands

and knows how to use it

to keep me

on the island

of her prisoners,

the ones she wonít ever let

start over.

When you come to me

is when she comes.

To put out

the rebellion

of me loving

someone else.

 

Itís not that she means to do it.

 

She just comes.

Like a nightmare,

like wine.

Out of seas deeper

than you and I have ever swum.

 

But her savage possession

is the only proof I have

that Iím not worthless;

and my inability

to impress you

is a small price to pay,

I let her ride me away

from meeting your eyes

with my whole soul.

I surrender to the loyalty

that destroys me

whenever youíre close.

The sword point

of her

ancient love

pierces me

whenever I have a chance

to love again.

 

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Tiger Without Teeth

 

Tiger without teeth,

prowling for what?

Is it over?

Jungle night,

noise stilled

in the quiet of his hunting heart,

neon lights unveiling

prey

of

dreams,

the deer want

his tiger claws,

his tiger power

in their heart.

But heís become soft with love,

heís not a tiger anymore.

 

Tiger without teeth,

prowling for what?

Yesterdayís night taunts

his victories with now,

who he was limps

from the wound

of being who he is.

His eyes canít stop shining

in the dark,

he canít help bounding

after

humiliations,

he leaps at ghosts

and lands alone.

 

Tiger without teeth,

prowling for what?

The thrill of stalking

incites his dream world,

his killing

that gives birth to beauty,

his harmless

yet terrible way of killing,

but the memory

of blood

stops him

before he can

save those

whose life

comes from dying,

he canít do it

like he used to.

An angel stowaway

in the dark center of his

instinct

disrupts

the power

of his rush

with thoughts

on how it used

to bring pain.

Joy,

wearing the skin

of pain.

Itís too personal.

He canít

do it like he used to,

rainy nights of tears

have taken off

the edge.

Philosophers

have invaded

his mighty

thoughtlessness,

turned his wild leap

into

the folly of

meditation.

 

Tiger without teeth,

prowling for what?

Itís not the same.

His stealth

has grown,

how he wears the forest

until heís there!

But he comes

with nothing!

Only love

that kills those

who want to be

ripped to pieces.

Itís too similar -

the gentleness

that came

from those he hurt

averts

its eyes,

how could God

hide life

in the form of

violence,

itís too similar!

Saving and destroying!

It turns off the switch

that ignites the blind attack,

the longed-for attack,

all the sparks are swallowed up

by the fool of Conscience

who wanders in by mistake,

confidence dies at the hands of

Compassion,

itís too similar,

the cry of pain,

the cry of joy,

the peak of life,

the valley of death.

 

Tiger without teeth,

prowling for what?

Perfect master

until itís time to kill,

half-tiger,

faded tiger,

tiger

with all his colors

washed out

by tears

he imagined

they were going to cry,

when all they wanted to do

was die;

by victims

it is finally time to pay for,

hallucinations of damage,

overreactions

to his own

sensitivity.

Sensitive beings

should never be strong,

never:

for their strength

only breaks them.

 

Tiger without teeth,

prowling for what?

She wanted to die

tonight,

instead you came reformed,

emaciated

with kindness,

you made her cry

because you

didnít hurt her.

Your power

has scared you

into the confusion

of trying to understand things

that you can only understand

by ignoring.

Now the whole world

is illegible,

and the jungle

is wet with

the weeping

of those you loved.

 

Tiger without teeth,

prowling for what?

Only one

aged in her soul

and broken like him

could ever see

the tiger

in his shadow,

believe in

the beast who was,

and love his pitiful

wreckage

wounded by his mercy,

until the mask of friendship

fell off the face of weakness,

enlightening him

with things he

had grown beyond,

to nurture him back

to savagery.

 

Back To Top

 

Calling All Centaurs

 

Calling all centaurs

and satyrs,

go to where the angel

goes not,

to the dark wild place

where she wants

to be raped.

Itís her choice,

like Socrates choosing

hemlock

over exile.

Sheís tired of being

listened to,

revered.

She wants to be

thrown down,

hurt,

ancient defeats

are a part

of her blood, now,

safety comes from

being broken.

Survival instinct knows

her life depends on killers:

the one who wants

to conquer the next valley

wonít let

her children be covered

with shadows;

and he announces himself

by the way he

takes her,

turns her into the valley

of his enemies.

Ladders of genes

have left the gentle ones

behind,

as Mankind climbed

upwards to a bloody sun.

His way of making love

is proof of life,

she tests him by being pillaged,

watches him kill

the neighbor

with her body,

take the fruit-filled vines

her children need

from her helplessness.

She takes his fury for a test drive,

and knows from her aching,

discarded body, that she has a bright future.

 

Calling all centaurs

and satyrs,

hairy beasts

dancing with wine

and arrows.

Come and please her,

save her from

my deadly thoughtfulness.

She longs

to take cover in biology,

the ones not like her were left alone;

the proud are dead.

She feels history

in her wetness

and is already protecting

the children

she does not have.

And I donít blame her.

Time has proven her right;

my ideals

are only a desperate mating strategy,

and sheís no fool:

she can see

which stag has the sharpest horns:

which one will stand on the peak

above the rest,

and which one will crawl back

into the woods of beautiful hunger.

Her weakness has strength,

it wonít give in to a soul.

 

Calling all centaurs

and satyrs,

sheís a good woman

wise in the ways of reality;

come and save her

from the sin of my

impracticality.

I have nothing to give her

but love.

What the dead did not learn

has made her long

for wild arms

to destroy her.

Life comes from the will

of those who use

everything,

and it begins

with her.

 

Calling all centaurs.

Love has made me dizzy, and

Iím falling off the ladder

of time,

with the sons and daughters

she wouldnít let me have.

 

Calling all centaurs.

 

Itís what sheís wise enough to want.

 

Break her, break us;

youíll go on,

I wonít.

 

Back to Top

 

You Got To Be Madly In Love With My Soul

 

You got to be madly

in love with my soul,

or donít even try.

 

Iím not your ordinary

candle,

I donít burn

when itís dark for you,

I burn when

the sunís got

something in its eye.

 

You got to be madly

in love with my soul,

or donít even try.

 

Iím not the genie

in the bottle

coming out when the sun

of your three wishes rises.

Sometimes I stay inside.

Light canít be premature.

Sometimes sorrowís

not to be healed,

itís the healer.

 

You got to be madly

in love with my soul,

or donít even try.

 

Iím not the driver

of the chariot

that crosses between the day

and night,

not the lion whoíll

make you feel all right

while Rome burns.

Sometimes, I got to sing to the wall,

turn my back on your fall.

There would be many arms to catch you

if you werenít so proud.

 

You got to be madly

in love with my soul,

or donít even try.

 

Iím not the flower you can pick,

Iíve got to stay in the field.

Glass vase, water, and your table?

Iíve got to say no.

But Iíll be waiting for you

in the mountain meadow

when the stars are breaking the night.

 

You got to be madly

in love with my soul,

or donít even try.

 

I canít give you gold

like they can,

canít carry you all night

in a storm above your gaping wound,

canít gently infuriate your ice

into melting,

or crush you back to life.

 

Canít mine your need to forget

and send it

in treasure ships

back to my pleasure,

canít be so cold,

so heartlessly life-giving,

canít be so strong:

I need my strength elsewhere,

canít throw it into

the chasms of love.

I canít love you

apart from them,

only as a part of them.

 

You got to be madly

in love with my soul,

or donít even try.

 

When love asked for the ocean,

the ocean said

I must water every shore.

 

When love asked for the sky,

the sky said

I must carry the stars

to strangers.

 

When love told the wind

You are cold,

the wind said

I am the one

who unites

all human beings

through their vulnerability.

 

My dream is too large to be a home,

which means I must be alone.

 

My dream is not a roof,

it is a sky,

which means I cannot be your man.

 

Only one who knows this

in herself

can be with me.

This is not a call,

but a warning.

Not a boast,

but a regret.

Trying is my religion,

but I may never get there.

I may be nothing more

than a way to die.

 

You got to be madly

in love with my soul,

or donít even try.

 

Back to Top

 

Bringing Back The Dead

 

The fierce

donít bring back

the dead

unless their sword

attacks the traitor,

while they kiss

the blood.

 

Water and a candle

from a gentle soul

could end an exile

of a thousand years.

 

The ocean

measures time

in centuries

of shoreline,

dancers

can arouse souls

with the curves

of their wisdom.

Beautiful hearts

could launch

the thousand ships

inside:

beautiful bodies

are made ugly

by impatience.

 

Doesnít water flow

according to the shape

of the land?

The sea is there

waiting

for the adaptability

of its lost waters.

Rivers that want to go home

will always find a way.

What doesnít come back to it,

the sea doesnít need.

 

Sometimes,

the door stays closed

to test the one

who wants to

get in.

The worthy wait.

The mistakes

vanish

like bees

alighting

on an empty

flower,

moving on

to simpler colors

they understand.

Shallow bees

do not feed on

deep nectar.

 

But insecurity

does not need

a counterattack.

The failed alchemist

hates the lead,

but why

should the lead

be gold,

for his sake?

 

There is no up or down,

only what is,

and what belongs

together.

 

Back To Top

 

Starting Again

 

Starting again

is the definitive disaster.

 

"You never fail

until you stop trying."

 

Trying to hold on to the country

that already has

another flag flying over itÖ

 

Guerrilla of the memory

strikes at now

out of the past.

Wielding nostalgia

against everything that went

wrong.

 

The present must die.

 

You can fight the battle

over and over again,

a thousand times,

change the order of the troops,

strike an hour sooner,

but the world will no longer react

to your improvements.

Soldiers in their graves

canít get it right.

 

But it doesnít matter.

Fighting

is a way of healing.

War is a drug.

The pain is shaped into strategy

and can no longer

recognize itself.

 

When you are hurt enough

the past can blot out the present,

you can lose track

of where you are.

You can hallucinate victories

from the bottom

of a mass grave.

 

Starting over

is the definitive disaster.

Itís like signing the peace treaty

that says "I lost."

 

Opening your eyes to her

is a way of awakening to the fact that

itís no longer your earth.

She wasnít the one.

 

Sheís only a shadow

of your days of glory,

because you are no longer you.

 

Back To Top

 

Joy Will Come Again When

 

Joy will come again

when you let

it say good-bye.

 

Yesterdayís joy,

when it becomes a religion,

saves painís soul:

you burn in Hell

forever.

 

Joy will come again

when you let

it say good-bye.

 

Let the sweet nights go,

the marathons

of being alive,

stop trying to hear

the echoes.

Silence is the Messiah.

 

Let the cup of joy be empty.

Until it is,

the angel with the pitcher

will keep

passing your table by.

 

Pain is beautiful

as the first movement

of the symphony of your new life.

The pain

of "good-bye",

not the pain

of "why?"

 

Joy will come again

when you let

it say good-bye.

 

Let emptiness reign.

Donít keep standing

by the place

where you died,

bury yourself

and be done with it.

Live for the heart

you left behind

inside yourself.

Itís day will come,

when you let joy

go back to its home,

to yesterday.

 

Joy will come again

when you let

it say good-bye.

 

Back To Top

 

Lovers And Tower

 

You are my infatuation

and my nemesis.

The door

and the wall.

The Lovers

and the Tower.

You and I

are poets:

something happens

when we are together,

that needs words

to protect us.

I crawl towards you

with my heart

in my hands

but I know I canít give it to you.

Itís like in the story,

where the hero twinís severed head

is replaced with a squash.

I give you poems,

not me.

I canít.

Iím not good enough for you,

because only the overreaction

of being divine

could save you

from what they did.

You are the air

that feeds my fire

of singing,

my only defense;

I am the earth

that puts out your fire

of hating,

your only answer.

That still only brings us

halfway

Rage is sacred

until it flows out of the banks

of setting the world right.

Loneliness is holy,

until it becomes a faith.

Words have made us possible,

as meditation makes

flaws possible.

And words have kept "us"

from being born:

for still, there is only

"you" and "me."

 

You are my infatuation

and my nemesis,

for one year

the Queen of my Songs.

Something happens

when we are together,

which is

not together.

Poems.

Poems,

not "us."

An evasion,

or all that could ever be?

 

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When I Saw The Leaves Fall

 

Autumn.

I had second thoughts

when I saw the leaves

fall.

I couldnít stand to see

you

falling from my heart

in that way.

I tried one last time,

disbelieved the summer

that was empty;

but you

wouldnít change.

My pain,

which was your beautyís

eyes closed

to itself,

wasnít enough

to make you change.

Nothing changed,

the trees

just became

bare.

 

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Pieces Of A Fallen Star

 

I canít live

with pieces of a fallen star

I canít live

with glimpses of a world

behind a half-open door.

 

My love needs air.

Some of the most beautiful

planets

have no atmosphere.

How bewitching is their

inhabitability!

A traveler came to one

and prayed to die

so he could stay,

till life grabbed him by the arm

and tore him away:

cowardice saved Eden,

which can never be more than

a story.

And so, as the gauge told him

it must end, he took

one last look at the crystal mountains

and hypnotic scars,

the star-filled captured skies,

and the broken love nests

of the Gods whoíd left.

He must give it all back to the

hugeness of the night,

for on this world,

beauty was the same as death.

He cursed himself for needing to breathe

and leaving such a vision to

another.

Hurling jealousy at the rocks that remained,

he fled back to the homesick flame

that bore him home,

after he broke these words,

like glass upon a barren stone:

 

My love needs air.

 

I canít live

with pieces of a fallen star

I canít live

with glimpses of a world

behind a half-open door.

 

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All The Instruments

 

All the instruments

of what went wrong

are making a concert

of loneliness

that could make the sun

burning out

seem like a childís song.

Itís called "The Symphony of Loveís Mistakes",

or

"What Love Could Have Been"

in the key of

wasnít.

All night long

itís going through my

head, over and over again,

this most beautiful

music of regrets,

and losing sleep

is in the audience,

applauding with the rest

of them:

the Fool, the Hanged

Man, and the Emperor,

who kept her

for himself.

 

I want to

fade out,

I want to fade out

so I can face the day,

but I donít want to miss the

performance

of what I missed,

because what I

missed is in it

in the only form

I can ever have it:

painful sounds

of sleeplessness

that make

sleep seem

disrespectful,

exhaustion and dying

irrelevant.

A concertís

playing in my

mind,

all night long,

my mind

using my heart,

and her distanceÖ

The sea between us

was in her heart,

all the time

it was in her heart,

the waves were

only sentinels

of her eternal

withdrawal from love,

her escape

from the tyrants

who disfigured me

by wanting only

what was obvious.

 

And the concert

goes on and on,

the clock

crawls slowly

towards the dawn,

in a few hours

my uselessness

will have

to stand

without her,

Iíll have no illusions to

help me bear the

weight of my

self-destruction.

But tonight I have

this music,

sublime,

relentless,

so much more important

than my

preparation to die.

Iíll listen.

Iíll listen

till the hands of the clock

spare me

with the cold dawn,

let me back into

the world of ghosts,

feeling nothing,

not her,

not me,

not us,

not the jagged

remnants of

beautiful dreams

I dreamt by mistake.

 

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Cue Ball Woman

 

Cue ball woman:

passing on

the hit,

knocking me

right into

the pocket

of not

loving you

anymore.

 

There are those who

break the chains

and those who

pass it on.

Is the old running the new?

Did the pool stick

tell you what to do?

 

Cue ball woman:

passing on

the hit,

knocking me

right into

the pocket

of not

loving you

anymore.

 

Why do you let them

come between us

with yesterdayís hurt?

Why do you let

the night stay out

all day

on the earth?

The green table

of what we wanted

needs a little justice,

not another crime.

 

There are those who

break the chains,

and those who

pass it on.

Is the old

running the new?

Did the pool stick

tell you what to do?

 

Cue ball woman:

passing on

the hit,

knocking me

right into

the pocket

of not

loving you

anymore.

 

Back To Top

 

The Ambulance Of Love

 

In the middle of the night,

with sirens flashing,

they came:

after we did it to ourselves.

 

The ambulance

just carried our love

away.

 

It wonít be back.

Down the dark road

where it will never be seen again

they took the remains

of tomorrow.

 

The ambulance

just carried our love

away.

 

Sometimes thereís hope.

Sometimes thereís a second chance.

Sometimes,

reality

bows down to dreams.

But not this time.

The radio said:

"Dead at the scene."

 

The ambulance

just carried our love

away.

 

The night of love that

was only beginning

ended up being just a

gauntlet for

insomniacs.

Faults wouldnít go to sleep,

windows wouldnít shut out the mistakes.

Some car far away couldnít get by

unheard.

Shot and killed for prideís pocket

change, something like that:

that absurd.

And now theyíre taking all the furniture

out of paradise.

Cleaning it up

so someone else can live there.

Chalk lines of

poems about us

left behind

on empty floors.

 

The ambulance

just carried our love

away.

 

World will get used to it.

To living without us holding

hands.

 

The ambulance

just carried our love

away.

 

Back To Top

 

Unilateral Wise Woman

 

Unilateral wise woman,

how do you know

whatís right for me?

You know

what I need

is more important

than what I want,

but I know what

I want,

and you donít know

what I need.

And now,

youíve imposed yourself

over me

as my guardian angel,

youíve decided to save me

from myself

by not allowing me

to destroy my heart

by loving you;

youíve taken the hard line

of love,

by saying no.

But what if your vision

isnít coming from a higher place,

what if itís only coming from

your fear

of being loved?

What if youíre only killing

two birds with one stone,

you and me?

What if youíre only dragging

me down with your

self-destructive chastity,

hidden behind flirting,

protected by lines

you plagiarized from

an angel?

Birds donít only fly

to be beautiful,

sometimes their wings

are liars, singing praises

to the sky

because they fear the earth.

Are you really so wise,

or just too proud

to break into a run?

 

Unilateral wise woman.

We could have talked.

When two hearts are involved,

decrees seem unjust,

no mountain peak

is high enough

to discount the feelings of the earth,

to outrank love.

You decided for both of us,

but you are only

one of us.

I donít believe in your serenity.

I donít believe in your vision.

I believe in your fear

and the ingenuity of your fear,

I believe in disasters

controlled by your masochism.

I believe in the terror

that is in your light,

like blood in urine,

and in the catacombs

where your soul prays

below streets

it cannot walk on.

Other women want,

and pay the price of wanting;

you wanted

and then you fled.

You slew the dragon of

me coming to you with love;

you rose above us both.

You saved your sorrow,

and made me wear your chains.

 

Unilateral wise woman.

You are not wise,

only afraid

to see the damage

that youíve left

between your two selves.

You are not wise,

itís just another road

on the way to somebody elseís

broken heart;

itís just another way

of trying on a life

that doesnít fit.

Unilateral wise woman.

No, I wonít understand

some day,

I wonít wake up

to thank you.

Your wisdomís

fallen short,

the verdictís "Guilty"

in the court of coldness.

You got in over

your head

and pardoned yourself

with a halo

you made from my hours.

Youíve driven me out

to live on the street

below dreams you fed,

it wasnít just in my mind.

Like a child

you played

far away from where

you could really go.

How could I know

till the loser

of your inner war

killed me?

 

Unilateral wise woman.

Iím the enlightened one,

not you.

You could have stayed.

You could have talked.

But the orders

just came down

from above,

from the mountain

of you not deserving

me.

Unilateral wise woman.

Iím the enlightened one,

not you.

I knew I was human;

when I told you that I loved you,

I used the map of the earth.

You crashlanded

where the night

of not knowing yourself

meets the desert

of what youíve done to others.

You need to learn

how to be alone.

 

Unilateral wise woman,

you taught me something after all,

hollow things speak loudly

with what theyíre missing.

As all Mankind learned from Judas,

so I learned from you.

You taught me with the blunt object

of your pilgrimage

to sorrow:

to never again follow a strangerís dark eyes,

when I know the way.

I let your eyes become

the windows of my soul.

I sold myself

for the gold

of your body,

and the mystery of your art.

 

Unilateral wise woman.

She sent me away,

her pain was about to die,

it needed another broken heart

to survive the danger

of hope.

 

Unilateral wise woman:

Guru of her own

destruction.

Through me.

 

It wasnít fair.

And she wasnít wise.

 

Thatís going to help:

to know I wasnít the beast.

 

Unilateral wise woman.

Today we died.

I can find my way back

to life.

What about you?

Can you see where youíre going

in all that light?

 

Unilateral Wise Woman,

listen to the wise one

who didnít try to be

more than he was:

 

Galileo went blind staring at the sun,

until he couldnít see the face of

the one who loved him.

 

An angel before her time

falls through the cracks

between Heaven and Earth:

her wings arenít strong enough

to lift her into the sky,

they just get in the way of walking.

Men who are dying in the desert

donít need a diamond,

they need a cup of water.

 

Unilateral Wise Woman,

youíre not yet ready to wield the light

among men.

Angels are born

in the arms of life.

Put away the weapon of your wisdom,

and love.

 

It wonít be me.

Iím dead.

 

But if youíre true to the beauty

you have when the lights are out,

youíll finally feel

what God never asked you

to leave behind.

 

Back To Top

 

Easier

 

Itís easier

to break

than to stay.

Itís easier

to remain the same height

than to grow.

Itís easier to be offended

than to see.

Itís easier for it

to be me

than you.

 

Back To Top

 

Donít Count On Me

 

I canít be a horse

to pull a shattered ego.

 

I canít be your

accomplishment.

 

I canít be the legs

of your pride

that let you walk

in the world.

 

I canít be chandeliers

on your ceiling

to turn your room

of being a shadow

into a place of worship.

 

Armor that has a

mind of its own

is dangerous,

it may leave a hole

when the arrow of the past

returns.

 

You have to win your battle

before me.

I come after.

 

Donít count on my love

to convince you of something

you donít believe in.

You have to prove it to yourself.

 

My life

is nobodyís shield,

itís Godís ego

using my humility

to do something

that might not have

to do with you.

 

Youíre not an ingredient

of every pie

thatís made in my kitchen.

 

While Iím defending my castle,

yours could be stormed.

You need your own defenders.

 

Donít count on me.

Donít count on me.

 

I would die for you

on a dark street;

but I might not die for you

on a street that was dark

only in your mind.

 

I canít be a horse

to pull a shattered ego.

 

Iíve got to run faster.

 

Back to Top

 

E Tu, Brute?

 

E tu, Brute?

 

If someone else had said it.

If someone else had done it.

 

Some voices are like a gun

in your own heart,

you pull the trigger

when they cry.

And when they look at you

like youíd raped a child,

you shoot yourself inside.

 

E tu, Brute?

 

If someone else had said it.

If someone else had done it.

 

How could you lower me

from your mountain of love?

You looked at the

butterfly who landed on you

like it was

pigeon crap

that just fell from a roof.

Romeo and Juliet come

from different truths.

But "love is always the best way

to die."

Who said that?

Nothing gets the job done

like love.

 

E tu, Brute?

 

If someone else had said it.

If someone else had done it.

 

Trojan horse

is everywhere like rain,

every gift comes with a

secret load of pain.

Soldiers of trust

will come out in the night

and burn your city down.

Thereís always someone you wonít

lock the gates against.

But youíll have to find out

for yourself:

Love was never a defense.

 

E tu, Brute?

E tu, Brute?

Strike me down,

I wonít fight back

against something I gave

my whole life to.

 

I could have stood up

to iron,

I could have stood up

to stone.

But I couldnít stand up to love.

Was I always alone,

even when I was in love?

 

E tu, Brute?

 

If someone else had said it.

If someone else had done it.

 

Some knives

you canít say no to.

 

E tu, Brute?

 

If someone else had said it.

If someone else had done it.

 

Back to Top

 

Loving Me

 

Iím not a bad person,

really Iím not.

I think I could have a

meaningful relationship

with myself.

Match.com, here I come:

to me.

Iím nice, Iím smart,

look, I even write poems,

and I donít look that bad,

not for me.

I like the

Celtic-wounded-wise

look,

my dawn-by-the-stones soul

and a heart of secret love

thatís like a bag full

of magic spells

seeking out the blind who think

they see,

and the orphans who

know that somethingís wrong.

I love,

that must absolve me

of my obsolescence.

 

I like me.

Yes, I do,

I think I do,

why do I need her

to love myself

through her love?

Iím more

than my usefulness to her,

Iím a piece of ocean

visiting the land,

a horseís mane, flag of the free,

Iím cursed by knowing things I shouldnít,

but beautiful for it,

wounded by witchcraft

on behalf of what matters;

broken

by the jealous sisters

of the deep,

I rise above the injury

in loyalty

to the precious things

that loyalty saves

with no weapon

but staying to the end.

 

Yes, Iím beautiful,

I can love myself,

I really can,

I donít need to beg

for evidence

that Iím lovable

from you,

you can put your cold shoulder

between us forever

but my mirror

wonít change its mind,

Iíve just

awakened to myself

and I donít need to rush to you

to prove myself.

Iíll just stay here writing poems,

with your love

or without it,

I love myself.

Thatís a rock

that can stand for ages.

Women-winds may come and go,

bless them and their lives,

but they wonít

disprove the trail of

heartbreaks that led me

to the truth of my own beauty,

that has stood the test of time,

that has survived the eyes of those

who donít know what to look for,

and the burden

of its irrelevant magnetism,

attracting jewels

of other worlds

that, here, are mere stones.

I donít care!

I love myself.

Without a woman,

without a friend,

without a priest

to deliver the last rites

over my dying

social life,

I love myself;

I will myself into existence

as a being worthy of love,

I love myself

without her voice

to tell me Iím not mad

and bury me alive

in the necessity

of having her,

to confirm my right to live.

I love myself

without another voice

to overcome my insecurity

by making it worse,

I love myself,

I love myself,

I want to go on a date with myself

tonight,

I think I can

finally have a

good time,

alone.

 

No rush, now,

youíve got to

be good.

 

No rush, now,

time to see.

Because Iíve got

me.

 

And Iím already in love.

 

Care to make it a threesome?

Because heís not going anywhere.

Iím already in love.

 

Back To Top

 

Just Friends (Lyrics)

 

Just friends

The saddest thing that she could say

Just friends

I just found out today

Just friends

thatís the way itís going to stay

No beginning, no end

Just friends

 

I had big dreams when I saw her first

We walked hand in hand down my inner streets

Somehow I thought our minds would lead us

to the place where bodies make souls complete

 

But I found out I was just there

keeping someone elseís place warm,

the one who hasnít come yet

but who she believes in

And all this time

sheís been looking past me

to a tomorrow without me -

with him

 

Just friends

The saddest thing that she could say

Just friends

I just found out today

Just friends

thatís the way itís going to stay

No beginning, no end

Just friends

 

And I know Iíll always be able to stay around

she wants someone whoís less than her desire or her fear

Iíll light the candle of my soul for her each night

Then watch her blow it out when he comes near

 

Iíll be an angel in the shadows

dying, to feed her,

to give her what he wonít

Weíll be twins - him and me -

two in one - Iíll be the one who

makes him deep, by being me;

heíll be the planet that eclipses me

when life is on the line -

when she wants to drown in someone elseís ego

to be eaten by someone elseís pride -

to be beaten, bound and tied

Love and kindness donít go together in her mind,

she has memories of being a deer

and wants to be hunted down, and die

So Iíll have to stand to the side

I could never treat her like prey

and she wonít open her door

unless you break it down

So I guess this is it

I love her too much to be taken seriously

To ever be more than her friend

her one and only friend

 

Just friends

The saddest thing that she could say

Just friends

I just found out today

Just friends

thatís the way itís going to stay

No beginning, no end

Just friends

Just friends

Just friends

Just friends

 

Back To Top

 

Soul Beating

 

Soul Beating.

No marks on the skin.

 

Soul Beating.

They beat you up to

within an inch of your life.

I can see the long night

in your eyes,

the day was afraid

to come back.

 

Soul Beating.

The eye of the sun

is swollen shut.

Maybe they did it over and over again

like a broken record

of neglect,

because, baby,

thereís a leak in your

self-respect;

or maybe it was just one moment

when vulnerability

got control of the world.

Sometimes

the glass in us

accidentally strays

onto the peak of

everything we are,

and the whole world

stretched below

falls to its knees.

When the solar plexus of our beauty

takes a hit

we spend the rest of our life

out of breath.

 

Soul Beating.

Like a place in the ceiling

without a light.

Like a broken pleasure,

you have to crawl

away from.

Like something that should be

so easy,

thatís somehow filled

with strife.

 

If someone puffs on the cigarette

will it come back to life?

 

Soul Beating.

When I see me

in your eyes

I see one prisoner

looking at another.

I recognize the barbed wire

of your coldness,

the emptiness of

everything you tried to be

and left behind;

when the sun threw you away,

you threw it away.

Why should you give off light?

Your ice has a reason.

But even so, good people

are freezing;

standing next to your wound

is colder than hell.

Ice on the servants,

while the bell tolls

for the real you.

Nobody has to add

to the damage,

but you know how much

some people like to fight.

And what I want to know is:

If someone puffs on the cigarette

will it come back to life?

 

Soul Beating.

Youíre a good smoke,

baby,

let me show you

how good you are.

Let me pull you

out of yesterday.

 

Soul Beating.

Can it ever end?

Can I ever be more

than just a friend?

Could I be the one who

waits out the night

with you

until the dawn of trying again?

 

If someone puffs on the cigarette

will it come back to life?

 

Back To Top

 

Partners In Doom

 

Partners in doom,

time to break up

until we become

something new.

Time to walk in the

autumn leaves

of our own

gold and blood,

to face the cold clear

air

without the alibi

of love.

 

Back To Top

 

Feathered Serpent

 

Feathered serpent

came from the

East,

I thought,

but it was only you

 

no insult meant by

"only"

 

but it was only you.

 

I broke my empire

in half

to let you in

because I thought it was yours

 

but it was mine,

for the Feathered Serpent.

 

I was the guardian,

I couldnít give my heart

except to the Feathered Serpent,

I loved you by accident

because you came from the East

at the right time.

 

The door of the sacred oracle

opened,

you came

asking too much,

giving too little.

I betrayed my destiny

by loving you.

 

Feathered Serpent,

I passed by six great women

waiting for you,

I drowned my heart

in a pool of stone.

 

I became the hunting jaguar,

two eyes in the night

looking past you

to the death of our love.

 

Feathered Serpent,

I loved her

because I thought she was you

 

I thought she was you

coming from the East.

 

The rising sun

was her sail,

the whole ocean lied to me,

the shore did not

look closely.

How could you let her

get this far?

Were you no greater

than my eyes?

 

Feathered Serpent,

she usurped you

why did you deceive me

with your absence?

She did not seem a refugee

when she walked

through the door

of you not coming,

she seemed a queen.

She did not seem lost,

she came,

her journey

wrapped about her

like gold cloth.

She seemed

to remember everything,

to know the name

of every tear.

 

With night-black lips

she came

parting the curtains

of my doubt,

bringing from my dry mouth

the answer of kisses

 

like a sharp slope

brings water flowing.

Kisses of the mind.

 

Feathered Serpent,

I stopped dancing

by the altar

 

I slashed myself and

wandered into a cloud of

incense

until I could see you and her as one.

 

I cut my heart out

and gave it to her.

 

And the stars folded up

and gave the night back

all of its

blackness.

 

Feathered Serpent,

you deceived me

by letting her come

from the East

at the right time.

 

And where are you now?

 

And for who shall you come?

 

Feathered Serpent,

I thought it was life,

but it was only the love

that ends life,

the love

that keeps away real love

until there is no need

for deception.

 

Loveless people move on,

there are always others.

 

People who love deeply

die beside the empty bed-half of the one

who was not the one.

 

Flies light upon

noble things

as though they were crumbs,

feed and go on.

Some butterflies

will only light

on God flowers.

 

Sometimes, a

girl who wants to be a woman

will try to become one

by passing

through a man.

 

Beauty blossoms with ghosts,

worlds slip through the gaps

between hearts.

 

Feathered Serpent,

I gave my empire

to the wrong one!

 

Back To Top

 

Moon, Dear Moon

 

Iím just

one big

frozen teardrop

on the way away

from home.

Iím a lonely dusk

that didnít have a

day.

Iím night time

with the deepest saddest

moon;

it talks with

the beauty of someone

about to die.

What do you know

about the moon?

Did you know

the moon

cries with the pale

leftover light

of the sun

thatís somewhere else?

 

Moon, dear Moon.

Itís you

instead of her.

Itís you

instead of life.

Youíve become life,

beautiful queen of

missing things.

Shine for me!

Shine for me!

Drag me across

my dreams

one last time.

The night

is when the impossible

lives on

in streams of tears.

 

Moon, dear Moon,

shine for me.

Hurt me,

I donít want

to not miss it.

 

Back To Top

 

Closed For Renovations

 

Closed for renovations.

My heart is closed

for renovations.

Open again sometime

next spring.

 

Back to Top

 

Artistís Model

 

Green Lady with wings

 

Lily White sat down for me

and became the

Green Lady with wings.

 

Siren Drown-the-man-at-the-bottom-of-the-song

 

Half-angel

with her broken steps

posed nude for me

and became

Siren Drown-the-man-at-the-bottom-of-the-song.

 

Amazon Queen in the chariot of never

 

Bluff girl

dropped my kerosene heart

onto the floor

of my secret art

and became

Amazon Queen in the chariot of never.

 

Artistís model never knows

what sheís going to become.

 

A little bit of her

mixed with a little bit of me.

Choirs turn sick buildings

into cathedrals.

Wounded spirits switch

real jewels with fakes:

a little bit of blood

can damn the sun.

The brush plays with both of us,

erases footprints

with a perception.

Mighty tangents obscure

the source.

Itís the glory of becoming

illusions together.

 

Artistís model.

I drink what I need

from your cup,

and leave the rest to you.

 

Except when I fall

into my painting.

 

Sometimes, Iím killed

by what Iíve made you.

 

Sometimes we die together.

 

Back to Top

 

No Use

 

Once Iíve turned you

into a jaguar

youíve got to hunt

my poems.

No use trying to say

youíre not a jaguar.

Iíve made you

into what I need

to bring down

the quarry of Heaven.

Back to Top

Angry Dinosaur Woman

 

Angry dinosaur woman

lured me to be kind,

then said no

as if Iíd agreed,

and ran before

the confusion could

be cleared.

I just stood there in the dust

of her self-preserving theater,

in disbelief,

and said: did this really happen?

It surprised me enough

to write one of my

worst poems.

 

Yo, donít come back!

Angry dinosaur woman,

you donít get more than that:

one of my worst poems.

 

Not everyone can be an acrobat,

not everyone can be a femme fatale.

Garboís killed a lot of cousins.

Donít say another word.

 

When you say hello,

it only means Iím in the cross hairs

of me not wanting you.

Youíll make me pay.

 

Scheherazade

never used a

knife

to extort her

beauty

from a man.

 

Angry dinosaur woman,

get down from the highwire,

you donít belong up there.

Trying to be a swan,

a canary became a

cockroach on its back.

You should have sung the song

you had.

 

Angry dinosaur woman:

furious because the world

doesnít play along.

 

Youíre the little queen

by the Pharaohís foot:

the worst of

male chauvinists.

 

I donít want to help you

hate yourself

by holding you in my arms

and loving what

youíre not.

But you donít want

sympathy.

You want revenge.

 

Revenge

is for the

beautiful.

Go home.

 

The rules were made

before the first man,

when a drop of water

gave its soul to the sun

and left the ocean.

You canít break them.

 

The ocean invented rain

to bring its loved one back.

 

Your anger is no match.

Donít pit it against the sea

and the sun.

I follow ancient laws.

 

Angry dinosaur woman,

thanks for leaving.

 

Truly - thanks for leaving.

 

And this is still all you get -

one of my worst poems.

 

Back to Top

 

Missing Sock

Missing sock

in the Laundromat:

whoís going to have

one bare foot

and one lovesick sock

thatís going to die?

 

Sockless Columbus sailing

with his habits,

will he discover the new world

of his lack?

Is he going to come back

in the middle of the night,

when the snow is falling,

to try to beat the

closing doors?

Or will he just leave the friend that

warmed his foot

to the cold machine,

and to the angry bundles of waiting clothes

that donít want to meet

anybody new.

By now strange hands

will have torn his friend

from the refuge of his purification,

and hurled him to the place

of dead things.

 

Barefoot man,

heís not cheap,

he can leave

his sock alone crying

on the table.

 

The grandeur of not regretting

has killed the hope

of many a tiny thing;

as if only small people

could care about

small things.

 

Missing sock,

calling out the name of the foot

he warmed,

calling out the name of his

brother sock

all through the night.

Quiet says the clock,

all-powerful with the hours

that no one ever sees.

Now itís just you and me,

behind closed doors.

Heís not coming back.

Youíre not

absent-minded

with the things you love.

 

And the ticking on the wall

becomes his heart,

missing sock

finally understands.

 

Socks donít have souls,

theyíre just pieces of cloth

that feet wear.

Back to Top

 

Still Waters

Still waters

run deep

Sheís the keeper

of my silence

 

The top of my everyday life

is frozen,

itís like a sheet of ice

over the sea.

If you step out over what

she did to me

you might fall in.

 

Still waters

run deep

Sheís the keeper

of my silence

 

She holds the key to the dawn

that wants to rise

in me.

So far, no oneís eyes

are stronger.

No one sees anything,

except what I can do for them

with the smallest shadow

of myself.

 

Still waters

run deep

Sheís the keeper

of my silence

 

My worldís rich

but wounded.

Bats are going to come out

with the angels.

Maybe you sense it.

Maybe thatís why you stayed away

from the Pandoraís Box

of my heart,

never lifted up the lid

with a feeling

that wasnít well-protected

by a thought.

 

Sometimes the nurse

of a gold mine

falls into the shaft

of something she canít fix.

Youíre beautiful enough

not to need my light,

why fight with her?

You have treasures of your own,

why descend into the darkness

of who I was

in search of who I could be?

You donít need who

I could be:

you have you.

 

Still waters

run deep

Sheís the keeper

of my silence

 

Only my poems evade her:

sheís the highest form of silence.

Every time I

write a poem

she grows stronger.

Every time

you think,

she wins.

 

Still waters

run deep

Sheís the keeper

of my silence

 

And you are her greatest ally.

 

Because you fear her,

I obey her.

 

And nothing leaves me,

just this beautiful

talking to myself

on the way to

dying outside every door.

 

Still waters

run deep

Sheís the keeper

of my silence

 

Loneliness

spells

forever.

 

Thereís too much of me,

and itís all broken.

 

Still waters

run deep

Sheís the keeper

of my silence

 

And you are her greatest ally.

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No Mind, Still You

 

Clear my mind,

Zen,

Just be.

 

Breathe in you,

breathe out me.

 

At last blackness comes

wreathed in birdsí songs

I hear with my pen.

 

Nothingness has no chance

while youíre in the world.

 

Whenever I feel at peace,

you rise up again,

like Aphrodite from

the sea.

 

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Utilitarian Love Therapy

Utilitarian love therapy

brain transplant.

Thanks for the advice,

Iíll get back to you

when Iím like you.

 

Sometimes

co-dependence

isnít a sin,

itís merely the

price of not being

cold enough.

 

Ruthlessness is the

virtue

thatís killed

the world.

 

To save the world,

I must die

from loving her.

 

Utilitarian love therapy

brain transplant.

When you are half as deep,

you become

enlightened

twice as fast.

 

Thanks for sharing your

wisdom.

I can see that you were

never foolish enough

to love.

 

Utilitarian love therapy

brain transplant.

You can leave me now.

Some hearts

are too impressed by

the vast continent

of their feeling,

to go into the house

of feeling better.

 

I donít think all this wisdom is for me.

I think you want company,

to prove you didnít miss anything

by surviving.

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Rest From Progress

Stop, wait!

I have to recover

from my progress;

pause in an old

familiar field

in the shade of a

mistake;

the sun of perfection

is too hot

at this time

of day.

 

Stop, wait!

I have to recover

from my progress.

Let me stay nowhere

till yesterdayís

completely gone,

weíll move out

in the night

when I know itís over.

Iíve come too far

from my destruction

to feel safe.

 

Stop, wait!

I have to recover

from my progress.

Let me catch my breath

with one last glimpse

of who I can never

be again.

Let me die one

last time by what I

should have left behind

before I go to

live in the new world

wisdom has made for me.

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Crazy With Genius

 

Thatís the day

she went crazy

with genius,

left every chain behind.

 

When you put down the stone

both hands are free.

 

Such a heavy stone

we carry in our minds.

 

She put it down

and did things

that no one had ever done

before.

 

What was coming out of her

was too beautiful

to relinquish

with a padded cell.

 

They just had to stand back

and let her mind

run naked through the streets,

screaming

useful madness,

inventing incandescent light bulbs

of feeling

from their underground springs,

that were like stray bullets

going through the windows of

neighborsí opinions.

 

She spat out

divine obscenities

that made the floor boards

of the world

creak at night

under the ghostly footsteps

of obeying nothing.

 

She made the skeletons

in their closet

dance.

 

Hers was a fearful form of strangeness,

too much like God

to sin against

by being normal.

 

They let the crime

go undetected.

 

They let the ice melt

and drank the

water.

 

Some flowers are not crushed

by the winter snow:

they drive the winter away.

 

The world kills what threatens it,

but every once in a while

it just stands back in awe.

And before it can remember

its mediocrity,

genius is there

like a mountain.

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Milestone

 

Milestone.

 

Sit and pray.

 

But got to

run through the

sacred moment

in a daze.

 

Sacred loss

in the peripheral vision

of a wasted day.

 

Why couldnít I just

lay flowers

on your grave?

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Sorrow And Paradise

 

All the sorrowís

just a way of

getting to paradise.

I take my bearings

with pain.

Where paradise isnít,

is getting closer.

Drowning in tears

is the mightiest ship,

it can cross the sea

of compromises.

 

Most people give up,

build brilliant structures

of resignation

and live the rest of their lives

in defeat, disguised as

philosophy.

 

They are like graves,

covered with beautiful flowers.

 

Iím not like that.

I throw myself on the sword

of not becoming wise.

The dreams I dreamt when I was

eighteen

still rule me.

I wasnít immature,

I was only too young to hate myself

with the craft of the old.

 

Some feelings

canít be dismantled

by intelligence.

They know that intellect

is a weapon of cowardice.

 

Some obsessions are

Godís hand

moving you across

the chessboard.

You wonít be happy

unless youíre on the square

he chooses.

Most of the time

when you decide,

youíre wrong.

Some pawns outguess

their fierce desire to be more

than they are,

they plant themselves

like a wall, and turn their whole life

into what somebody else can do.

 

Some pawns dream of being queens.

They let God tear them from

happiness,

and hang on until

the hour when pawns

become gold.

 

Paradise is the

reward of those who

are faithful

to their

pain.

Contentment is

the executioner

of the great.

You make paradise

every time you cry.

 

Take heart, youíre on your knees,

paradise canít be far!

 

Guard your despair,

donít let anyone console you.

 

Despair is

the courage to keep looking

and the devotion

to keep worshipping.

 

God hasnít appeared.

 

By not coming,

heís showed you

where he is.

 

Youíre on the way.

 

Only the weak are happy.

 

Only the unholy.

 

The joy of the ones who have made it

is different than the joy of the ones

who built a city

by the last step they could take.

The Bodhisattva dances slowly,

because he wonít leave.

Love is the law of paradise,

and love is heavy.

Thatís what makes it

beautiful.

 

Keep on weeping,

donít outgrow it.

The map is shrinking.

Paradise is getting nearer.

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Countervailing Planet

 

Planet of possibility,

take me from the planet

of the past.

You might be a fantasy,

but your gravity

is real.

Tomorrow or delusion,

it doesnít matter,

I need you

to counter the

loss of paradise.

Uncapture me

with your charm,

I can be saved

by

something

that isnít for me.

Tear me from the orbit

of her

with your accidental

nearness.

The music of the spheres

comes from coincidences

that erupt in broken places.

When destiny fails,

lives dance to glorious irrelevancies,

as everlasting as seas,

as delicate as snowflakes,

that die each time

you try to copy them.

Captivity destroys the battering ram,

then yields to a sudden

premonition.

The truth in lies

turns falsehoods into

acts of liberation.

Whatever reason you have

for crossing the path of my defeat,

I can use you.

When the darkness pours in,

I can reach for your smile,

I can believe you love me.

And whenever you seem to ache,

with pain that might be mine,

I can believe I make a difference.

I can become new

like a reformed thief.

I feel guilty for all the gold Iíve taken from you,

I have to repent with poems.

 

Ghosts of yesterday alter every perception,

I canít touch NOW, I canít read NOW.

I am dyslexic in the present.

But it doesnít matter.

You have gravity.

You are a countervailing planet.

 

Only a fool thinks that the parade

that is passing by

belongs to him.

Even so, he can command it,

like a King, to make him forget.

 

Forgive me for corrupting

your mysterious appearance

in the Universe.

 

Forgive me for putting a saddle

on the apparition.

 

Can I make up for the transgression

of needing you to escape from her?

 

Here, let me lay flowers at the feet

of the true purpose

of your beauty,

which I cannot fathom,

let me repay you

for my sin

of not knowing

who you are.

 

Release me or keep me;

just help me to be free.

Back to Top 

Explain My Poem?

 

Explain my poem?

 

Itís a comet

that comes into my mind

from the blackness

of not knowing who I am.

 

The sun plays with it

then lets it go for another century.

It knows it will come back

to another mind,

after itís been forgotten.

 

Like knowledge

thatís too much to bear,

it burns into the darkness

and runs.

 

Jupiter watches;

its jealous might

slashes the path

with a sword of gravity

that breaks open the gold.

 

The sky rejoices

with its wound.

 

The light thatís spilled

along the way

of dying

changes everything.

 

Of course

youíre in it,

in intimate camouflage.

 

I borrowed you

from God.

 

Explain my poem?

 

I live.

 

Youíre near.

 

I write down

whatever

wonít let me sleep.

 

Thereís nothing more to my poetry

than that.

 

Back to Top

 

 

 

 

Loneliness Does Strange Things To Love

 

Loneliness

does strange things

to love.

 

The dove will sing

to the crow,

the horse

will wait for the snail,

the shark

will let strange fish

ride him till all the ocean laughs,

unwanted black shapes

in the depths

will spend

their lives

looking at the lanterns

that grow

out of their heads.

 

Mountains will beg for

earthquakes

to flatten them,

suns will burn

for dead planets,

dandelions will give their hopes up

to the next generation

and blow their heads off.

 

Beautiful men

will divide like cells

and become women

to write poems to.

 

Some clouds are giants,

some are horses, some are

the faces of Gods.

The world is a drifting cloud,

made by loveís eyes.

 

I love something suggested by you,

but I donít know if itís you.

 

Loneliness

does strange things

to love.

 

Back to Top

 

Angel Trying To Be A Woman

 

Angel

trying to be a woman.

Canít.

Tangled up in

clouds,

doesnít know how

to speak dreams

with skin.

Stirs up man dust,

canít fly down.

One night

she danced like Salome,

I handed her

my head

on a platter.

Thatís how angels

dream

of being women.

Morning comes,

and all you see

is the bottom of their clouds.

She tried.

She canít.

I want my head back.

 

Back to Top

 

The Invisible Her

 

I took an x-ray

of a piece of shit,

and I found a jewel.

 

In a tree without leaves

I saw the glory

of summerís green head.

 

They saw me

talking to the wind,

but I was sitting

at the head of the table

of my world.

 

I wasnít such a fool

as to love you,

who could not be loved

by men.

 

My kiss

was all the Universe

rushing to your rescue.

 

My darling,

if I have failed at everything

the one place

where I was right

is you.

 

Stars give the night its name.

 

You did not come

for nothing

to the face of

darkness.

You saw its light.

 

Back to Top

 

Let Me Let It All Out

 

Let me let it all out

Let me fall off of the mountain

Let me fall out of the sky

Your arms can do that

 

Let me let it all out

Let my proud mask fall into the dirt

Let my wheels break

Let my horse come in last

 

Your bed can do that

Or just your words

 

Burn down the false house

with your soul

 

After a life of struggling to be him

I want to be ashes

The phoenix canít be born

if all is well

 

Long-term health

is no virtue in the night

Green needs drought

if it is to mean more

than the desert

 

Dislodge me from mediocrity!

Save me from safety!

 

Kill me

the way only you can

 

Judge me, then free me

by looking at me

after you have condemned me

 

Let me let it all out

Let me fall off of the mountain

Let me fall out of the sky

Your arms can do that

 

Let me let it all out

Let my proud mask fall into the dirt

Let my wheels break

Let my horse come in last

 

Your bed can do that

Or just your words

 

Love and contempt

makes a stronger kind of love

Yes, I know, Iím mad -

but only around you.

 

Back to Top

 

For One Pretend

 

To die

for one pretend.

To die

for one night

of not knowing.

Green and cut down

wants to have

another flower.

Death

walks lightly,

tiptoes in

on a kiss

when you need

one more day in spring.

Who cares?

Who cares?

Now I understand.

 

Back to Top

 

Ocean And Ear

 

Souls love

like water and the ear.

You hear the sea

tossing and turning

on the beach,

and your heart

knows it has

found a friend.

The sea

hears the

sound of your

hearing in its

watery heart

that it thought

was only for itself,

its self-absorbed

greatness realizes

that what it does best

has an admirer.

It wakes up

to its solitude

because someone

is listening,

and thatís when

its waves

begin to have a

double meaning.

It becomes like a

mother, singing its child

to sleep.

The sea and the ear,

they never touch.

Souls

make love

that way.

 

Back to Top

 

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