The Rest Of My Days I Spend

There Are Two Versions To Every Poem – The Crying Version And The Straight Version

Is There A Mechanism Of Death, That So Mutilates Existence No One, Gets Over It Not Even The Dead?

Turn On The Dream You Lived Through The Unwavering Gaze. It Is As You Thought: The Living Burn. In The Floating Days May You Discover Grace.

When I Sleepwalk Into Your Room, And Pick You Up, And Hold You Up In The Moonlight, You Cling To Me Hard, As If Clinging Could Save Us. I Think You Think I Will Never Die, I Think I Exude To You The Permanence Of Smoke Or Stars, Even As My Broken Arms Heal Themselves Around You.

I Have Always Intended To Live Forever; But Not Until Now, To Live Now.