Mon Vert

  The sky is covered with clouds If I could go over it now Drizzle, the drops of rain On the metal roof I could no longer hear the thunder sirens in the distance I am ontop this loud world Rolling inside my sheets I am afraid to go back out the tides are keeping me from shore.

  Mundanity Will always be Rich, Rich of something Because it is not so obvious.

  You see, There is a clear difference When rooms impart a will When it is rough, That the sheets are unmade And bottles of water  Is seen everywhere in the room And the window is blocked By a huge tapestry Or a blanket Yet you find their crack of light That is inviting, As if it is letting you in a sight, There is a difference.

  He was sitting there on his mahogany chair Neck bent down With snot reaching to his Jeans from 3 days ago Hands spread  resting to each Arm of the chair His back was again Blocking the light  and you almost see his eye Casting a blue shadow Against the red carpets Intoxicating the room With old perfumes The smell of rotting food maggots That feed into the flesh of each And one of those cartons Black plastic bags The pure substance To which hazes the mind the spiral of things When there is no sound But the obvious Illuminated  Greasing hair The oils that lay in the ends Of his scalp Behind his ear That the spilled ink Does not even speak presence  To the color Of this ruin Whatever he has Hidden, it was of character His innate ability of being stubborn That it ate his filth.

  Tomorrow It is simply dreamt, The daylight Moon the vacancy Of things Even where they are not Supposed to be Where my eyes land In which I felt crude For being under my skin This spectacle Where we cannot draw The strangeness Of being human, if life is simply us In meaning.

  the nights are passing by So are the shadows And the weak links Between light posts And the moon The sky And the water dripping off From a chilled cup To our hands Because we are warm Then we are warmed By our shoulders Rubbing Hands Looping around necks As each car Rolls around Curves around the street And we are walking In circles To find something out of touch When our eyes became out Of sight That when memories Come to every tree And every path Where grasses have grown Our subtle indifference To what we may become And what we won't care about Sometimes the light is too Hesitant To pass through our walls.

I'll be reading words Today Starting on the first line I can't help but think of you In every vowel The shape of your eyes Comes to mind it is a good mint On a good day My favorite In all special things I want to hold this feeling very close Very close to my skin So I can be warmed (So it can only be mine.) For when it is boiling  Inside my heart The fumes go out just  Just fine.

  I sleep nowadays Without fear of the dark Sometimes the smell Of the air in the night Becomes masked with the heavy breathing I get  When I become sad If life is enough The words go round and round People are coming back  But my smile seems to always Get lost In the air genuine love The fresh color of red Oh how we adore That spot we cannot touch Forever in the dark The candles that were never lit The dusk we will never wake to On the other side of the world Trapped in a snow globe Listening  To the flakes musing on The rooftops The streets are parked  with empty cars Their empty seats Filled with missing people Kisses  That go way deep In this pavement im standing on But still the streetlamps are forever With the moths crawling at night Can this ever be a love letter? My pages are just full, too full of.