Look it,
You're still a dark horse
Of my dreams. You still do things
I couldn't predict,
You're still temperamental
And perfect; I just can't conduct myself
This way.
Look for bits of you about.
And when I want to share
It just doesn't seem right.
You're right over there,
Yet a thousand miles away at night.
I combine everything this way,
Because I don't think we've ever
Fully parted. Different doors;
Hearts not finished what they started.
Maybe I'm wrong.
Be it so,
And let the melancholy get me
Once more. I'm ready for that heady
Delight to blur the night sky;
Put me in a trance,
Fit a bit of slow, cool wonder in
My life. So simple, so beautifully sad.
Been given good time with this life.

Good Love

Good love is on its way to find you.
It's gonna be on your doorstep;
It's gonna be at the foot of your bed.
It's gonna be laying beside you,
Brushing its fingers through
Your sleeping head.

If there's anything more worthy
Of pursuing
Than good love,
I don't know it. It doesn't exist.

It has no name.

And maybe there's a God,
And maybe there isn't.
That doesn't matter.
Because the manifestation of
Any such thing is and always will
Be present. Love is that division
Between sanity and slavery.
A powerless pull towards
That which is blind bravery.

My feelings wobble;
Never do I change.

Mathematical feeling...
Never cease to cause repeat
In all the world; a flower given,
And a smile for the first time
Are heavenly entreaties towards
Such beautiful things as love.
It's my arrest. It's my lament.
I am intoxicated, I am forever lost.

The heart will draw the bookmark
And put you out of place
But what a beautiful exchange...
I feel the ache of swimming memory
Wandering inside me.

Apocalypsis

I remember the faces.
I remember the neon,
Endless pavement,
Music, laughter;
It's always in the back of my mind.
Now I'm lucky if I
Don't hear anything.
Only the familiar. Only the
Simple silence of wind.
Institutions crumble. Any ideal
Dismembers itself. Grit to fight
The everlasting survival
Is now tantamount. I didn't
Choose this; I was forced to
Push the boundaries of my being.
I miss the music. I miss the magic
Of real comfort, all consuming.
I still feel the same. It's just harder now
To find the light in a dark, dry
Place, so cruel and cold.
But there's simple logic here.
To live is to exist...
I still hope for love.
I'm still present and
Roaring for a good thing.
We all do our bidding.
We all hope our fears never
Rearrange us into something fierce.
Gonna keep my pack tight.
Have to move smart and follow
What is absolutely essential.
There is time for human;
It is not much often.
Spear down a star to pierce the core
Of hard hearts who dare control
The absolute point of human spirit:
Admiration for the unknown.

Oh, but the blessed things and ones,
Those that light the way and brighten
Everything for one sweet moment,
They are such that all of us once in
A while achieve.

Furtive motive driving something...
Tacking down the grit of raw ideals.
Pressing hard our hearts to test the
Limits of our boundaries. This is real
And we get lost a lot.

If you can end the night soft... If you
Can extract a little grace somewhere in
The passing day, then just maybe it
Might all end up just fine. Save any bit
Of the best of things

For The Good Times

Hey you,
Thanks for all we had.
Your love, though I didn't say it enough,
Was the very best.
My deliverance
Into this world
Has been molded by the stuff
Of you.
Go out and find someone
That will love you like that.
I'll take a lifetime of memory,
Good and bad,
And call you my white whale,
And search much
To try again rightly with
Anything close to how it was.
I've just got to figure out
Why I try to kill all the good
That finds me in life first.
Then the sun is warm.
Then I won't be so afraid.
Fare thee well, gumdrop.

...and none of it was fiction,
Just misplaced fact.

The silence is an ocean of afterthought.
Late at night, awake in bed,
Slipped through the cracks of my mind
come crawling moments past,
and the restless nature of what they
mean stays constant; I'll never get
Even a decent night's sleep like this.
What then, when my tidal flood drifts me
away from any grasp? Not root, no leather, not a branch, no soft, warm hand. Am I produced madness, lost in a forest of my own ridicule? I have always been a fool. Always fallen easy for warmth, beauty, and speed. But this absolute hum of nothingness I hear is a great adversary, chewing up my fight, so now I'm very much "in it." Proceed with caution. I really don't know what I'm doing anymore. I think I lost a bet with time; now I drown in all it's passing,
in my mind.

Lay with me once more.
I won't speak a word,
Just enfold you and recount
The familiar heat and breath;
Feel the softness of your silent
Grace, and feel that blissful fire
Feed warmth inside and out.
We need not speak
Of the rough edges of our past.
We don't have to dissect
Whether it goes beyond this.
I am tired of words,
And their exhaustive nature.
They never complete feeling.
I'll come to your low-lit room,
Shut the door and open up
The last bit of me you'd want.
I burn nightly for this blistering
Dream. I catch fever from thought.

I'm not about to invent
Some half breed better way
To go around the cycle.
We claim some surface,
And it's big and it's bright,
And a howl wakes in the moon
To greet the semblance of
That thought. So we run
So fast and hard that the beating
Of our hearts is rapid,
Positively racing before our
Imagined scene,
And the troubling thing is
That those beautiful circumstances
Might not ever happen.
Either that, or they did and
You missed the comet.
It flickered bright,
But for some reason
You were scared of the light,
So it burned away one night.

Music like hypnosis
Climbing up and down my mind,
Like spiral staircases and elevators,
Fraught with fantasy and fiction,
Induced by liquid concoctions;
Medicinal, herbal delights
Categorized by their indifference to lucidity,
And their incumbent wake
Of me streaming in and out
Of consciousness aboard them.
I am capsized
By the constant cravings
Of everything so deeply human,
Raw and unkempt.
But I do not adhere
To any one given thing too much.
I am a creature of habit,
I am a connoisseur of moment.
I am an angler for excitement,
And spontaneity,
And physical bliss.
I have no, nor have ever had,
Any accountability
For the aftermath
Of these things.
I am forever temporary.
I am always on pause, and play.

My own mind
Is such a beautiful,
Chaotic mess.
I live with this,
But I fail to find
A bearer of such
Massive strain.
I'd drive you mad,
Like everyone close.
So that distance,
The one I often choose
To adhere, is the only way
I know how to not
Break good things.
When I'm close I mark
Everything I love with
Hardness and cold, so
They become rigid, brittle
Things of rubbed out
Affectation. Proximity
Is key with me.
Must control or I will
Fall and fold and
Become completely apart.

It's just a world.
It's simply existence.
A brief moment in
The unfathomable
Age of the cosmos.
Stuck in a rut;
Universally insignificant.
But heart, brain,
Emotion, they all make
All this shit matter in
The first fucking place.
Good to feel good,
And know just what that means.