Steps

We have Waltzed together some time now
In Step
One — Two — Three
One — Two — Three
Years... Nearly Four
Our Arms Intertwined,
Or Otherwise our Hearts.

We have Walked together how far now?
In Step
My Life; now full of your Footprints
As You have frolicked through it
Dragging me further than I could go on my own,
Or Would.

As our Lifesongs have Harmonized,
We have moved In Step
And our Journey has taken us far
But walking with you never gets tiresome,
My Dear,
And I love the sound of your Footsteps.

Arboles

The fool mistakes silence for peace.
It's in the silence that the seeds were planted, the whispers released, the papers signed.
The trap was set in the dead stillness of night.

It's in silence the wounds festered and the contempt became hatred.
In the quiet that the roots dug deep into men's hearts.
Silence is rarely Peaceful

And if it continue the seed will sprout.
And the Hatred shall start to leak into his thoughts, into her speech,into their acts.
They will cry out against each other.
And cries will become that of mourners.
For the tree now bears only coffins and eulogies.

Only a fool mistakes silence for peace.
For if he had cried out, they wouldnt have planted the seed.

Of Coffee, Crackers and Mortal Men

A man I thought wise said these words,
And having thought myself wiser that I was,
I sought to append.

So the man I thought wise said,
"I like my coffee the way I like my women;
Dark and Sweet."

And There.
Not just an empty cup of memories,
Reminding you of what was, with whiffs,
And the lingering warmth of a recently used bedside,
And the space between your fingers that once held Something.

And at Night.
Where the darkness warms as the Darkness cools,
And the moon shines in both.
The Nightsong the chorus to the sips and lip-touches.
The drink beckoning the lengths of night to come.

And with Crackers.
Because even though there is more to life than Love, and Flowers and Airs
It doesn't hurt to add Love and Flour and Air...
Or even a bit of hardship;
Though between the two of us, they grow soft.

That's how I like my coffee,
And my Crackers,
And some Mortal Men.
And I will enjoy them, until they,
Or I,
Expire.

"With Love"

As she fingered her secrets through my head,

Hiding them not in my memories but in the hair that guards them,

I Slept. 

But not before answering with my own truths, 

Tapped out on the floor with the rhythm of my feet

Morse Code..

Not a word uttered.

Just Communication. 

And even in the silence of a dreamless sleep she wrote them.

Inscribing in the keratin canvas the fears and joys I haven't been told. 

Concealing them.
Close enough to feel but too far to read. 

She wrote them there.

For I had long run out of words to read to her.

I awoke, and she closed her remarks

"With Love,"

Synesthesia

I shall remember the taste of your quickening heartbeat,
The texture of your voice,
Because in you I see the sweet smell of a Jazz piece.
Making me feel all the colours
And hear the flavour of your skin.
"Please don't go
I'll eat you whole
I love you so, I love you so, I love you so"
Sensations intertwine,
Because in you I hear the comforting feel of a long time.
Clarity at last in a fool's mind
Sounds, aromas, colours, textures, flavours:
You capture my whole consciousness.
Because in you, I'm a synesthete.

An Apology

I was once told that I apologized once too much.
My "sorry"s depreciated,
Unappreciated,
They no longer alleviated the hurt I caused.
She told me this.
She left.
I apologized.

It had to be done,
There was no other road left open to me;
I fucked up.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
I really want you to.

My apologies are sincere
And even though my personal torment cannot dry tears
I'm a fuck up.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
Please do.

I realize I tend to raise expectations.
I do so much right,
Say so much right,
Be so much right,
But I in the end are what I am
Fallible.
Doesn't mean you should forgive
But I have to say
"I'm Sorry."

Aevum

Have you ever Watched a Breeze?
Or the Formation of an Idea on One's Brow?
Realising that what is just Empty Space..
Or Just a Face..
Is Quite Full..
Powerful.
Damning.

Or the Flow of Time.
Though I am skeptical of the Future.
As I see more Now, and a Hope that Now continues.
And in this Continual Present,
Time, the anarchist, smiles..
Watching as Order grows into Disorder..
Reveling in Entropy.

Or The World...
Moving Monotonously through its Motions...
In an Eternal Pirouette
Entertaining itself with its Inhabitants..
Probably not Considering the Consequence of its Whims.
Not burdened by Duty...
Just People.

And in the Quite Full Empty Space
Seeking the Powerful Just a Face,
And the Hope of Continuing Presents,
But a few Years of Time's Entertainment,
The Light Burden of a Dancing World;
We Stand.

Preadormitum

A Vague Concept, or... or.
Or a Memory..
And if a Memory a Lost One.
Not quite Amnesia..
More like a Forgotten Dream..
A Forgotten Dream..
Dream.
And those are?

I'm Bobbing my Head
So There Must Be Music.
Like the Bass of my Heavy Eyelids
and Orchestrated Yawns.
Music...
Leading...
Softly Rising,
Rising.. and
Falling...
Falling?
Falling!
I'M AWAKE!
I'm Awake..
I'm..

Drifting.
Daily Drifting..
Living between Hypnic Jerks
Mind/Body Out of Sync
I'm Missing Something..

It's a..
A Vague Concept..
A Lost Memory..
...

Deathbed Roses

'Tis Mankind's Tragedy;
Loss is both Necessary and Unavoidable.
Adding Insult to Injury,
Like Life in itself wasn't Sufficiently...
Fleeting...

As if it were Manure..
Like we are supposed to Know
We should Grow More..
The more Shit is sent our Way.

Life is full of the Reminder of it's End.
Death and Decay...
Ha..
More Manure I guess.
Though I wonder...
Will They still Love the Rose,
If they Know the Rose Stinks.

I Think Not.

Death, Loss, Tears.
A Little Water on the Graveside,
Songs sung...
As If He Heard.
Then Again..
The Roses needed a Bit of Water.
And I Hear Singing does them Well.

As Painful as it was...

The Days of Manure and Teardrops?
They Shall End.
For even Deathbed Roses need Sunshine.

A Death.

There was a Death in the Family
Excuse me if I Choke Up...
Not that I have any Memories of Him,
He was a Cousin in My Youth
But have you ever met a Man at His Funeral?

You ever seen a family Mourn?
Well.. You ever seen Mine?
We're loud though,
But We Cry Silent..
Silent like a Heart Attack in a 25 year old,
Or like a livid mother,

Or a teenage son.

Have you ever Met a man at His Funeral?
Seen his Sin's mother cry..
Well a Beautiful one, Both of Them.
A Sin overlooked and a Son accepted.
Like Father like Son..
Only the Father Lived Longer.

And you and I know a Beautiful Woman's Cry is Potent
And if you didn't..
Fuck you.

But Please.
If you Want to Meet A Man...
hehe...
I guess I could word that better.

But Yes.
Meet Him Before His Funeral.

Freud

The Thirst.
As the Hormones Flow
Logic Ebbs..
The Great Sea of Swirling Energy.
Longing, Passion,
Viewing the World in Black and White
And Anatomy in Colour.
Lust of the Eyes.
Interpreting, her Shape and mine
Flowing with the Tide.
Saying in one ear,
Whispering.
"Let's Tessellate."

Libido.
As he called it.

Now, I am no Oedipus,
And She no Electra.
But the Id demands that Thirsts be Met,
Hungers Quenched,
Fixations Realised,
Pleasures Explored.
And now neither Egos disagree.

And Libido's tides Crash loudly against the Bedhead.
Moaning Melodies of (Over)Indulgence
Muddled Conflicts,
Yeses and Nos.
Melting Together..
Painting the Ambience Visible...
Whether on Rose Petals or Concrete.
Same Picture.
..
Libido, The Pleasure...
Their Crests and Troughs
Paint the Heart's Pulsing ...
May it never Flat Line...
Then the Audience Cheers as the Ceremonial Glass is Raised.
Then we Pretend to Drink?
Because the Thirst seems Eternal,
Does it not?

Whenever that Oral Fixation Sprouted 
And Love became all Lip Service...
Though Time won't tell us.


Pleasure Drives Us.
He said.

And Now more than Ever...
He's Right.

Summer Night Reflections

I'm not sure about Anyone Else,
But it's the Nights I look forward to in Summer.
The Days are too Imposing.
Striking.. Temperature-wise.
Cooler is Better
For the Thoughts, at least.

So I'm up at about an Hour past Tomorrow.
Wait. It's Today now.
Funny how Trivial Time is when you have Nothing to do with it.
And how much we Crave Occupation...
Or just Wage.
But that's Aside from the point.
It's Late...
And I don't Night Walk alone, either.

Walking with Friends is always Interesting...
And less Time Conscious.
And it's a Strange group of Human-folk
I Call Friends:
Hedonists, Zealots, the occasional Heretic.
A mixed crowd
...
And maybe a Dangerous one.
But Danger aside
They make Good Conversation.

And Conversation is Hard to Find in a World of Talk.

Aside from the Time and the Friends...
The Night is missing an Element.
Though I can't Hear the Night's Whisper
Over the Roar of my cheap Headphones
Oh... That's it.
Music.

It's a Nocturne
From an Otherworldly Orchestra..
Much Heard, Little Talked About.

Time,
Friends,
Music,
Everything's here.

Somebody get the Liquor...
It's a Summer Night.

Headache

My Head is Killing me.
And it's not so much the Pain that Hurts.
But the Betrayal.

And my Funeral will be one of Dark Colours,
and Silent Music.
Not Sorrowfully Though.
"He only Sleeps"

Sleep... No. Rest is what I need.
Kryptonian Resurrection at Daylight
Though the Sun is my Kryptonite.
It's a Love-Hate relationship..
I am the Hater.

Though I'm still not a Fighter.
Barely a Lover.
So my Title may be a bit Complex at that Junction.
Or I'm overthinking.

The Betrayal.

Or maybe I Had it Coming.
 

Quirk

I guess we're all a Bit Twisted

Out Of Shape
Out Of Mind
Out Of Tone
But the Little Dents and Twists
Make every Set Piece Different.
And Believe Me:
I Love The Quirk.

Not that I really expect Requited Love.
But then again,
Love is Taboo.
The World runs on Eros.
So Why Bother.

And even if I'm Physically Stagnant
Everything else is Screaming,
Bouncing off Walls,
Gnawing on a Straightjacket.
Not that I'm Crazy...

I'm Just A Little Quirk.

And probably the Only One I'm not particularly fond of.

But then again,
There's a part of all of us that Relinquishes the Novel.
We all seek for the Different.
Our Boundaries are just Individual.

We are All A Little Craz  Quirky...
Even the best of us.


But the best of us Enjoy it.

Love Lost

I've Watched my Grandfather Mourn the Last of his Coffee.
The Last Scoop.
The Kettle Over a Medium Flame.
Slow to Boil.
He Watched the Water.
He Sighed.
The Weekly Funeral Procession.
Taking the last of the Bottle to it's Murky Grave.
He Sipped It's Eulogy.
But Remained Strong.
He Never Cried.
Never.

A Lost Love.

Lost

Just Another Day...
Week...
Month...
Another eon.
Here, Just sauntering around...
Comfortably.
then Hurriedly.
then Panicked.
"Are you looking for something?"
"Aren't we all?"

A Passion,
A Love,
A Home,
A Family.
A Sense of Belonging.
"So, What are you looking for?"
"Nothing."

It's all Lost.
In the Talent,
The Intellect,
The Friends,
The "Friends",
The Loneliness,
The Complacency,
The Sentiment,
The Apathy.
"Are you sure?"
Haha, "Ofcourse."

Those Feelings.
The Blush at the Thought of a Name
The Rage at the Mention of a Place
The Nostaolgia at the Texture of an Old Gift.
Those Connections.
The Faces which have Names.
The Places which have Memories.
"So, why're you here then?"
Umm,"Just taking a walk"

The Lies.
"C'mon you know you can trust me?"

Life Isn't a Game.
But it reminds me of a few.
"Tell me, what're you looking for?"

Mother.

In All Honesty; I was Born.
A feat not easily accomplished without a Mother.
Though I was Born Blue
(Umbilical Obstruction)
But I was Born all the same.
Born.
But was I Mothered?

Childhood..
One of Fear and Tantrums.
The Fear was Instilled
And the Tantrums were Inherited.
I'm My Mother's Son.

I Grew
And Fear became Contempt.
Tantrums became Soul Devouring Silence.
And Inheritance became Contrast.
I was trying to Escape Her.
Honestly.
But from the Day I was Birthed There was No Escape.
I am my Mother's Son.

They say Boys marry their Mothers.
Well.. Women like Them.
And the Thought was Terrifying.
It was a Fate to be Avoided..
"Avoided"
Trying to Escape Again(?)

Then Again. I Grew.
Contempt became Apathy.
Soul Devouring Silence became Inadvertence.
Contrast became Distance.
I Hadn't Escaped.
The Leash just became Longer.
And Weaker.
I guess Mother's mellow with Age
Ours and Theirs
But its Still Horrendous when Emotion is Replaced with Nothing.

So Now
I Feel I've Grown to be Quite the (Bad) Excuse for a Son.
The Feelings (Or Lack Thereof) have gotten to me.
And, Though I Hope I'm still Reparable.
If I'm Not.
All I Can Hope is that My Children's Mother will be Loved.
And that I Wished I Had Loved Mine.

Greyscale

I never did Like Colours.
Always preferred the Nighttime
Appreciating the Silver-Grey Overlay
The Moon's own Interpretation..
Visual Silence.

No need for Hues.
The Saturation set at Zero.
The Distractions Fade.
The Tired Eyes Appeased.
No more Technicolor Assault
Just the Smooth Stylings of Black and White.
And the Everything (or Nothing) in Between
.....
Optical Jazz??

Grey is More Colourful than it Seems.
In its Shades and its Tints
Stories Hide.
Of Adventure, Discovery, Innovation...
Love, Loneliness...
or Aloneness..
Whichever one.
But every Genre; Somewhat Clear
As it fades to White.

Pure Monochromatic Bliss...

We All know the Soothing Caress of Darkness.
Surrounded by Nothing but Nonexistent Music.
Where the Eyes are free to Roam
Beyond the Temporal.
Where Truths Lay...
Able to Explore. Discover.

There is Disillusionment in Colour.
Separation and Incongruence.
It seems Clear Then.
At least to me.
"Everything Looks Better in Black and White".

Do You...

Now
Before You think I'm Desperate because I Asked..
The Truth is:
I Don't Love Me Either...

Well I guess I Assumed Your Answer is No...
I'm Sorry
That's just the Answer my Mind Screams..
Don't Mind Me too much.
As the Saturday Slowly Comes..
Not that I look forward to my Alone Time..

Please...
Don't take my current Deference for Weakness.
I'm Just Tired
Tired of the Silence too..
And I would gladly take a Rest from Both.

Though we Both know What  Who I dream about.
Not that I'm quarrelling..
It's Just that only my Mundane Dreams come true..

But as I said...
Don't Mind Me too much.
Just Answer The Question.  

Dyscalculia

I Have Never Been Good with Numbers.
And though Logic and Reasoning are my Forte
I have all Reason to Conclude.
You Don't Add Up.

This is by No Means Straight Line Logic
Many a Time I have crossed the Why Axes
And Many a Night I have Wondered,
Wandered in my Conscious as to the Illogic of the Outcome.
So much was left Undefined..
Like a Problem without as Answer.

I must have made a Mistake Somewhere..
Anywhere..
Did my working not Show??
These Numbers are confusing me..
Something here isn't right..
Wait..
When was u substituted for x?
and Why?

And even though there are still Too Many Unknowns
I knew before I started..
Whatever Vector is at work here has Unbearable Magnitude
And it's in Your Direction.

Well.
Whatever It Takes.
I will Sit Here.
Whatever It Takes.

I Will Work It Out.