New Life

What do I do with wounds that I made ,
Which fester and cause pain,
Deep in my being it lays ,
Longing for the salve of your touch .

Your gazes of love remain ,
As vestiges like burns upon the soul,
Remembering you causes relief
While the scars constrict my breath.

Some days I wish I had ,
Other days I wish I had never,
Let our minds meet ,
Intertwine and then depart .

I am but dust held together,
By hope of reunion,
And every day of the impossibilties,
Dries me up to be blown away.

Let me have the amnesiac balm,
That's sets me free away,
To the future of stitching,
A new life and purpose .

Leaving you

Letting you go because
the reasons to hold on
are too strong and
threaten to envelope my
mind and body and world
in to a deluge of you
and the thoughts of you
and your touch and your
smells and your voice
and you and you and you.
I wish I could hold on tight
let this plant within me grow
but both of us know
that these plants will never bear fruit 

these are weeds growing within us 

and even though the flowers smell sweet 

they needed to be rooted out.

sweetheart, if only i could change 

this world and me for you 

if only we could make this boat float

If only life were worth living without you

If only I was not me 

If only if...

leaving you is leaving sanity 

leaving paradise on a parachute 

leaving a garden for the swamp 

leaving you is leaving myself. 

Affairs of the mind

It was just talk
talk of the days work
the heat and humidity
of hopes and dreams
children and schools
work and work again
there was never a suggestion
of impropriety in the least
no evidence of leaning towards
a lustful indulgence
it was pure
it was clean
may be not so neat
as to fit in this worlds definitions
there was no burden
to placate or cajole
i know it was right
and it was true
because it felt so wrong.

Small talk

The light burns bright
water in the bottle gently shaking with
the tapping of the keys
the polka dotted bag sitting
squarely on the phone
which vibrates intensly
and wakes up my senses
to see that I am alive
breathing this same air
as you, oxygen in and
carbon dioxide out
heart beating evenly,
then what's changed
in your eyes I see
my tortured image forsaken
by all that matter
making random happy small
talk with strangers and feel
connected to the world.

Six in the evening

six in the evening is that time
of the day when the earth will
stop still and all thats living and
unliving will fly away in to the space
there's something dark about six
in the evening, like
this world can't make up
it's mind where to go next
hesitation looms ahead
and only the will of millions
to live makes the world turn around
like that man who goes to
the office every day deciding its
his last day enslaved but
wakes up the next morning and
makes the same decision while
standing with hundreds on a
cylinder of metal which roars
under the ground like its searching
for shamballa for eternity
what would happen when
that man loses his will and
the cylinder of metal loses
its way in the hollow earth
i know for sure that
this will happen when
the man is coming back home
on the train weary at
six in the evening.