Love Poem to My Bed #2.

Oh, God, my bed, I'm
so in love with you.
Please don't leave me.
I will keep you warm.
I will do "any thing".
I will rub against you until
it's time for a wash.
We can have a three-some
with the pillow,
no body will ever know.
I will crumble you up
like a feathery hill,
then wear you down like
a melting marshmallow.
Please don't go,
I know it's noon.
I put a sleepy
spell on you.

Thunder & rain.

Tangential rain,
void of substantial things,
passing with no delay.
In mind it spatters,
making gentle waves
smoothing the cuts.
Oh, dear thunder,
how long has it been
since your flash has
illuminated the state of grace?
Sing again, mourning souls.
Wipe away your tears.
We are still the same.

Burn.

It's not my fault they are all twisted twines.
It is my fault for ever believing in them.
Tying my worth on fragile egos,
hiding my made-up sorrows.
"I don't want to be strong, yet."
"I want someone to carry me
to tell me it's all gonna be fine."
Now I know it's all bullshit.
The intuition is always correct.
Bypass the ritualistic liars,
it's about who gets fucked &
who gets paid double time.
It's a world without reason:
you can be cruel & people
will worship you if
you set the rules;
the thieves thrive while
the kind-hearted lose
their lives & minds.
A world in our image, burning
from the inside.

The Third State.

They say you are either in or you are out,
but there's a third state they don't talk about.
It belongs to the judges who see all but feel none.
It's a state of being neither living nor dead.
Only the hunger for both is constant.
Never earth-bound, tiny injuries profound.
Absorbing all, in the end, still an empty shell.
The fate of the coward, the saint & the wisest of them all.