There's a big rumbling sky
and it's wider than the smiles I throw
past strangers.

And it's bluer than those eyes
I said I loved.
Only the sky's grey today, and

I'm not sure I ever said I love you.

I'm writing lines lighter than a bleach blonde's hair
and pretending to care about the color of the sky.



Big dark rumbling sky,
thunder deep and my blood thumps
and a prick and there's real red on the floor.
It's so I know I'm alive. It's better than
a paper cut, my pulse is thick with laughter.


Found this, from years ago. Written about a friend I ached for.
The aching never stops, though the faces do:


There was a weed, in his path,
and he stumbled on a stone.
There was a mushroom by the tree,
and there he fell on his own.

He took a drink by the stream,
and there he wasted his time.
Under a tree in a dream
sleep failed, while he grinned at the sun.

He tasted the apple,
and laid down in the dust.
Woke feeling weighted,
with Wonderland winds a gust.

As the poppies bloomed forcefully,
he sat on a rock,
at the foot of a mountain
where the weather was soft.

He wasted his years that day.
as he stumbled on a stone.
He tripped again that day,
and grinned as he stumbled home.