i.  
you see her for the first time & she will walk past you as if you are a crack in the wall & she is a skyscraper with her head so high in the air, & when you can't sleep you'll think about the way her eyes strayed into yours for a moment too long before breaking away & disappearing into the crowd of people.

ii.
she'll look both ways before telling you she loves you under her breath & when she hugs you, her eyes scan the empty room as if the walls had eyes & ears & a mouth that could give you away.

iii.
when she's curled up in your lap shaking with a mismatched heartbeat you'll wonder how someone who looked like she carried mountains on her shoulders could crumble so easily in your arms, like the tornado in her mind finally hit her & knocked her off her feet.

iv.
in half-light she'll run her fingers over your arms like she's reading words carved into your skin, binding them together into a perfect metaphor, & you'll hear them playback in your mind at 4am when your head runs wild with thoughts of her.


v.
you'll find a safe haven in rooftops & abandoned rooms where she'll set fire to your insides with hushed breathing between kisses planted perfectly on your lips & she'll make you wonder how dangerous it is to play with wild flames while your body is made of paper.

vi.
you'll stare her right in the eye & tell her that if loving her was a sin then you want no place in heaven because the way her lips fit perfectly on your neck is a paradise you'll never forget.

// the six stages of falling in love with her.

It's as if
I've stepped
Out of the valley
of a mountain
but instead of
seeing hopeless
forever journey
my eyes light
upon the glint
of the sun
the winding twisting
pathways, which are many
I can see the tricky
dangerous leaps
and the stretches
of peaceful flowers
rocks crusted in ice
and cliffs laced in ivy
but most of all
the beauty from
all the pain
and a life
not spent in death.

I stay up late & float,
haunt the evening airways.
My skin is white
(nearly porcelain)
& my blood is warm
(practically boiling).
But I swear,
I swear
I'm not a vampire.
I have no intentions
of cursing,
frightening anybody,
or biting any necks.
I just want to find
other kindred spirits
seeking answers
for their own
restless nights.

A man sits diagonally in front of me
to my left in the diner
Over his shoulder, I see
he’s navigating Facebook
on a cheap laptop
Behind him, I’m writing this poem
Every 13 seconds a notification rings
He has a Facebook message
The notifications are messages from a woman
She types heart shapes in place of words
It is the standard online flirtation
that has replaced real relationships
He is quite popular
as he eats toast with purple jelly
and sits alone

People once came to diners
to chain smoke cigarettes
and drink pots of coffee
and think
and talk
and read poetry
We didn’t have much
but we had each other
Now we’re individuals
who sit in silence
alone

Some of us get chat notifications
Some of us write poems
All of us still get the coffee
and the toast
with purple jelly

Sonya sips
the white wine
I sip beer

we'd just seen
Das Rheingold
by Wagner

in London
she is blonde
and quite tall

and Danish
what you think?
you like it?

she asks me
yes I did
very much

I reply
I’ve seen all
of Wagner's

Ring cycle
but not in
the order

he composed
why is that?
she asks me

how over
the four years
I’ve seen them

I tell her
she sips more
of her wine

I light up
one of my
cigarettes

and inhale
you know who
Jesus Christ

really was?
she asks me
Son of God

so they say
I reply
no she says

He was God
existing
as a man

with all man's
frail limits
in body

and in mind
Son of God
I tell her

not at all
God himself
no second

close person
just himself
being man

for a short
duration
in our sad

history
of being
then why come?

I ask her
just to be
to try out

our frail case
not to judge
or redeem?

I ask her
to judge what?
redeem whom?

He came to
act out His
acting role

in His own
sad drama
she tells me

Nietzsche said
God is dead
I tell her

so He is
we killed Him
she replies

looking past
her blonde hair
at the bar

I see Christ
beard and all
sitting there

drinking wine
preparing
so it seems

to fine dine
with some dame
dressed in red

alive still
in His role
as actor

and not dead
as is said
but Sonya

doesn't see
and sips wine
and I say

nothing more
but listen
to the tide

of the sea
on a far
away shore.

I feel a compulsive need to burn most of you,
or rule a few thousand with cybernetic underlings,
because robots can't say no
based on moral principle.

A season ripe with yellow jackets.

They wanted laws without control,
orders without rulers,
and religion without gods.

We made them fight for what?
Liberty? Justice? Freedom?
Not even glory...
We made them fight for a cage,
and they celebrate
even as we shut the doors.

It's absolutely hilarious.