somehwere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose
or if your […]

An old poem.  And there is no reference to The Slits, the band, albeit, they are awesome.
the hurting speaks
from a turbine soul
through the parallax gap
into the space devoid
disappointment seeps
and stains my sheets
weakness
tarnished, lost ideals
futile hopes
youthful expansion
now slowly
creeps, make
suffocating
makes the young
very very old
a dear friend
has died today
not of flesh,
but in youthful warrior spirit
the world has finally
made […]

un poesie de moi..
 
all the secret fun we had
and the giant hill we stood atop
looking down upon a road
swallowed by the sea
filled to the brim
with dolphins and ships
and whales
you sang to me
and the old flickering
sepia-toned movie
where we road in boxcars
and we fell into the lake
disappearing below
only to appear again
laughing all the while
and the cabin we […]

A poem by Yves Klein, via someone dear.
When I think of you
The same dream always returns
We walk arm in arm
Along the wild road of our vacation
And then, little by little,
Everything seems to disappear around us
The trees, the flowers, the sea
At the edge of the road,
There is suddenly no longer anything at all
We are at the […]

Elliott Smith, Pitseleh, 1998

Apparently, that’s all you need.  Word.

gone are the days
of kaleidoscopic
glittering
miasmas of undulating
forms and colors
now everyday i see
myself on a gray sky
dérive
sliding down the spectrum
of the way the eyes see
silently, violently
drowning
yet, somehow,
graceful
as a proud swan.
with blood and tears
i see her scrawl:
“lonely in the world,
this place can be.”
une poésie de moi, à vous.

A poem by Sylvia Plath.
Axes
After whose stroke the wood rings,
And the echoes!
Echoes traveling
Off from the center like horses.
The sap
Wells like tears, like the
Water striving
To re-establish its mirror
Over the rock
That drops and turns,
A white skull,
Eaten by weedy greens.
Years later I
Encounter them on the road-
Words dry and riderless,
The indefatigable hoof-taps.
While
From the bottom of the pool, fixed stars
Govern […]

A poem by Pablo Neruda.  Given/shown to me by my dear friend Kevin. 

Ode to Broken Things - Pablo Neruda
Things get broken
at homelike they were pushed
by an invisible, deliberate smasher.
It’s not my hands
or yours
It wasn’t the girls
with their hard fingernails
or the motion of the planet.
It wasn’t anything or anybody
It wasn’t the wind
It wasn’t the orange-colored noontime
Or […]