Poets are the rock stars of literature. This is me on a typical evening out.
Night. I write every night from about 10 P.M to 3 or 4 in the morning. The night is when everything we spend our days burying with tasks & distractions reveal themselves, the thoughts that cry out truth & they demand to be heard, they demand to be expressed. The only thing I do is give myself over to them & try my best to appease the reality inside of me.
“Night is the mother of thoughts." - John Florio
“And I too under the stars,
Alone with the night again,
And the water’s monotone;
I and the night alone,
And the world and the ways of men
Farther from me than the stars. “
- Arthur Symons
This is the most beautiful song I have ever heard.
"& I am alone, so don’t speak. I find war, & I find peace. I find no heat, no love in me & I am low & unwell. This is love, this is hell, this sweet plague that follows me & my body’s weak, feel my heart giving up on me. I’m worried it might just be & my body’s weak, feel my lungs giving up on me. I’m worried it might just be something my soul needs. (…) & I see war on the screen & it is cruel & unclean, but I still worry more about you. & I am rude & unkind, have no thought & have no time, have no eyes, so no point of view. (…) & I am more than this frame, I feel hurt & I feel shame, just wish you would feel the same. & I am more than these bones, I feel love, I feel alone, just wish you would come home. I’m worried it might just be something my soul needs, something my soul needs. Something my soul needs is you, lying next to me."
I’ve never dated a poet before,
never a writer, so forgive me
if all of these letters lie about
your beauty. Yesterday, my dad
and I were talking about God
and I told him that every thing we say
falls short of justice; what does it mean
that this reminds me of you?
will you be sliding into my dreams?
Do you know that you give my clothes
life, a pulsating passion, a beating heart
that falls for the sound of your voice.
you are saturday night sin and sunday
morning worship; I think of your frame
like a cathedral,
I hallelujah inside of you.
When I sing, your smile rubs lyrics
into my mouth for me, I’m not sure if
I even remember half the songs I try to sing
but I know the reason I sing them.
May I be your fanfare,
your opening act,
your broken record stuck on the words:
i love you.