A Thousand Kisses Deep set to Girl On A Bridge :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-51ULZ78L9c&feature=related

Alive In Fire

adjusting to the light i just don't want to go home there's nothing there but walls for me outside i might see someone who might see me and not mind the way the light bothers me***** the kind of person who sits around the perimeters of all spaces and stares at you when you look away whose eyes are a question that don't mean to attack but always prepared***** the one in the rooms whose skin crawls and behind the door they itch at nothing but their minds and know it***** the ears that muffle all sounds into a singular wave that crashes on their drums in echoes beating through an infinite dark box of furry to a rumbling silence waiting***** only speaking in poetry leaving messages hidden and unanswered for to be blunt would stab right through the dull hearted killing the masses of human company***** the ones who when they touch you set fire to your comfort zone If only you knew that within that flame they are simply alive.

So Far There's Just You

impulsive through senses never fleeting
branches of emotion stabbing and cracking
in a sleep we visit our mistakes safely missing
all we could have freed we left
for the escape of sexual collections and the intellectual tunnels
bareness of the silence in memory chases slowly behind my actions
reeling back to what we knew in the frighted touch of being found
within each others' eyes hiding all we ever said
somehow reach out to me as branches from every blackened tree still breathing

I Believe

i believe in the power of the seen
to defeat itself against the omnipotent
to derail the tracks upon which its bound
to further the freedom of wonder
to continue the strife which holds its hand
to let go of the doubt induced by an old man
to reach a point beyond the eyes
to touch the dead and speak to war

i believe in the lines of the canyon grand
that count the steps of the victory down.

I believe in homer, neruda, whitman, poe,
dickinson, goethe, houelbeuq, blake,
tesla, twain, kearoac, byron, bergman,
tolstey, thomas, emerson, sartre, thouroe,
and all the fakes
who cry for truth

i believe in the voices
in the blindness of day
in the calling of illusions
in the walking of our past
in the chance of the present still
embedded in the possibility given in tomorrow's view

i believe in my own wishes
in the meaninglessness of pain
in the silence of sex
in the erotic movement of violence
in the phallic deflation of war
in the fullness of men
in the brute filling of honest women

i believe in the gentleness of the strangling hand
in the amniotic darkness of sensation
in the solitude of the space between
in the finitude of birth, in the inevitability of birthing
in the finality of choice
in the eternal pessimism of the answer
and in the inconsolable optimism of the question

i believe in perception
in the possibility of tangibility
and the destiny of everything that reaches
in the non existence of over and the sanctity of the ineffable consistency
in the darkness of mere thought
and the possibility of small oceans

i believe in the undiscovered self
and the redemptive possibilities of shadow's light

i believe in freedom
and all my beliefs to be free from

A Wail Came Cried To Me

loosely beating
down my throat to come
a call of words from tunnels of strangled thoughts
spiraled inside a body's isolated
once a wail came cried to me to swallow
found no empty place to die in hollow secret keeping
in my belly acoustics hit the walls to vomit screeches
tangible to defensive eyes lying, open wider still
and weeping
onto the trial of truth
prosecutors sleeping in notions of victory
only the spirit to judge and sentence longer than life
a chance to redeem through ancestry aging
younger from those born to die upon us
impetuous experience existing
within me from what I dare
allude to light and simply bare
that black and white may wage no separation
only a line each may cross and wear

A Book On A Windowsill

Open the curtains so I may enter
out the eyes of tears to the drops of new
water drowning, soaking, bleeding the black words
my Mother's mouth printed
upon the stale book of my memory,
a sick body to renew
submerging each page safe within soft muddy ground
only the rainy day brings weight to grieve
decomposing lessons into letters
beginning my writing as the rain becomes ink
my expression of truth now climbing to the surface
meeting some beam of friendship
reading my stories in empathy's sunlight
she speaks back to me my own transformation
smiling surely from a pane I perched to soar