i’m going to start adding mp3s of me reading them, as some people have requested that. i might go back and do all of the past ones as well, but for now i will just start with new poems.

there is a language of loss
      spoken in couplets that
  trickle to roaring cascade stanzas
tied tight and tripping onandonandon

      where words find no end but
  desert-like sweep endless
       grains of sand stacking until the weight cannot
be borne but rolls and tumbles to swept breasts of cream where
             bones are buried deep

bones of our pasts apart
   our pasts together
flesh and skin picked off by whipping wind until
     white/white/white/pure/white and in
that purity
   the truth is seen
unmarred by sinew-blood-or-muscle
         and so the loss wells up from depth.

      love is a river. no.
yes, love, is a torrent roaring and then
ambling slow and gentle almost
    stagnant but
   the soul of the river is both:
            solitude stillness and whitewater.

  you, and i break you on to the page, you
    were(are) love and love and love is and is
so i, in this with cracking sniffling weepies, i
    love and the heart swells and bursts seams long since sewn tight.

the break, the shatter break shatters but shards still reflect the sun and
rainbows cast swollen color drippings on floor and ceiling and eyelids
  and memory is a burden and a curse and a gift and

regret is a stranger in this house of heart but regret
pours in now, pours in monsoon-like at time not taken time not
grasped as tightly as i wanted to grasp and grip and pull in to the tightest

      with hikes not taken in coasts still lost and(yes) friends still hike but
  a hike is a hike and yet the steady rhythm of feet does not compete with
the rhythm of hips as pounding against tree bark echoes pounding of waves
      on shores forgotten by all but seals and gulls

   a million millions, a million million millions of kisses and gentle strokes and
was there an inch of your face i did not kiss?
    i think there might have been, might be one little square of skin that
hid somehow, hid away for a rainy day but
   the rains are gone now and the sun shines down on you and a new lover and
        all i wish is there was no new lover but
    there had to be and
there’s nothing wrong, nothing bad in that, but
    sadness still fills the heart because

because i know
      because when i found her arms i found
    that solace i think that
grasping comfort and there is
   love and lust and
       slopes are gentle too but
  in the end the slip is
  almost right
     almost perfect but
  the fit is not so true not so
     gripping where it
  grips and
    you were a glove made of spring or
a truth found in shape conforming to shape or
       what a difference that brief topography makes and

still there is nourishment in kisswordstouchsweat but
  there is a loneliness too if i
  let my mind drift to you and the
  perfect fit.

        transcendent
where
       words in honey spill from honest places
     where
   fear is ever my watchword but with you i
   watched the watcher, fought off that fear for
       the most genuine i could be in
gratitude for the most genuine you could be and

did we stumble and fall? we did.
    did we tear down walls only to find walls? we did.
   but did we love so true and give so deep? we did we did.

  i have raged against a world that would build towers to
     mediocrity in the name of grace
and in this i found
       a battle for true greatness in the face of grace
   so we stumbled, so we fell but
         we fell from great heights and
         when stars fall they burnstreak through atmosphere and
     drip with wishes.

i would not change that stumbled greatness for a mediocre grace.
i passion miss and slip kisses into dreams but
      in spite of painful regret welling up at squeezes not taken i
   cannot regret the soul seeking soul in darkness.

                    so when i close my eyes i see your
phoenix shape burst-rise up flaming brightly settling imprint on lids and
     know i could have kissed you like the sun that
  you would have burned up like i feared but
      you would have been reborn from ash and
         in ash we would have found that smoky rut so

   i close my eyes, and i whisper to the wind.