To Jes

the silhoette
of a broken heart beats
to the sorrowful windsong
emminating
from the cracks of
"cannot be closed" windows
boiling thoughts
despite a summer's winter
condensing
apon the clouded panes
collecting
into tear drops
trickling down
leaving trails
in the mists
of love.

but you still breathe.
your breath still dances
with the unseen swirls
of the air's landscape
ebbing
with the bittersweet currents
of your hurricane's
close cousin:
a lucid dream
on a fresh, clean
canvas.

Truths

but see,
i like to tell true stories.
but i don't know what's true
because i don't know if the sky
is really blue.

someone told me
as i
tell myself
...daily
that i am me not you.

what does that actually mean?
does the sun shine,
or scream?

Paper Smiles

i will write
with broken pens
broken wrists
my mouth,
toes,
whatever it takes
to put words down
for you

they will descend
onto these trees
that have given themselves
for my shabby words
to you

whatever it takes
to turn paper into a smile.

balled
and in the trash can,
aeroplanes,
cranes,
poems,
or coffee stains.

whatever it takes
to turn paper
into a smile

Car Windows

in being gone
and being lost
while in a pass
looking at my past
through a window
as trees pass
like in days past
as i have always done
wondering...
wonders of the trees
and their abscense,
the mountains
and their ruggedness,
the cars
and their passengers,
those passengers
looking at their pasts
through their windows
as trees pass
like in their days past
as they have always done
wondering...
I wonder,
are they lost as well?
lost in thought, time or place?

nz

from the far west
so far west
that I lay low below the east
completely in peace