it is known

the incidental mumbles

that you think i don't hear

hurt more than endearments

that you whisper so clear

at sea

i talk pages and pages 

about me

non sequiturs as far as the eye can see

babbling and babbling like the waves

in the sea

and you just look at me

what a specimen i must be to you

what an odd bird i must sound like to you

broken songs that either float on transient planes

or mimicked tones that echo 1970's strains

how many times can you hear "the love boat"

over and over again

before you jump ship?

a thin wisp of intelligence

in a titanic piece 

of inconsistency

at sea against the rest of the world

(wave)

 

even when

and even when

you snore in my ear

wholeheartedly

myself throbs for

your being

internally

and even when 

you make fun

of my "book"

give me that

one look

eat all the chips

like a crook

i can't tear myself away

you're the day i've been waiting for

(dawn)

no more death

quit talking

about death

quit burying him

with your words

quit planning 

the demise

quite surmising

the amount

of the gains you think

will set you free

didn't you say

you were almost there

the point where money

was meaningless

quit counting on 

your fingers

and start counting on

your heart breaking

when it finally comes

to pass

you'll see black sooner

than when the dirt turns

to flower

no more counting the hours

until mansions come to view

(true)

on one hand

on one hand

is one who said

he'd understand

he didn't 

on the other hand

is a busy whirlwind

that blinds my sight

and hides what's right

in the middle

is my heart

open and uncovered

too many times

if i pull one hand away

i'll lose all hopes

of seeing the sun

if i keep one hand out

will all the shouting stop

or will it break free

if i try to keep pace

with what i think is true

is it truly me anymore

let me climb

the highest part of

the hill

wait until it's still

then push 

who knows

maybe i'll fly

(nigh)

phantomed

we use incognito

around here

to cover our tracks

she isn't here

right now

but we can feel her

at every corner

what are you doing,

she asks

as she floats through 

the aisles

what aren't you doing

she reproaches

into the air

but she's not there

we pencil in

our activities

we hover over

the delete key

we don't want to call

and tell anyone 

that we need

desperate help

up in here

so we figure it out

for ourselves

like feral employees 

in some cataclysmic crash

of a career

waiting endlessly

for five o'clock

and freedom

(dwell)

sweet patience

it's a balance 

between doing

what's best for me

and what's best for you

sometimes never

the twain shall meet

and that's ok

because the discipline

of caring for you

carries me through 

the darkness of me

reminding me that

the patience i give

will give back to me in 

its own sweet time

probably without warning

in a sudden surprise

of what once was

and what could be again

if only things would

let go

(blow)