i still do not know
whether i am a void of feelings
or just a child who shut the door to his pain.

lest you shatter

i am a sort of — uh well
do i remind of the winter solstice?
manufactured authenticity, painting
calculated legacies, circular stride
holding binoculars
and gazing from night to night
all the while i live
in my beautiful pinhole

sight, herald of wounds
rinse, rinse, rinse in red scrutiny;
scour down to my finest bones
and remember, and see.
do not ask me
who i am or who i've been
i am but here before you
on display.

carry me from the rack (careful!)
i want you to hold these edges
bring me close,
kiss with eyes blinding—
read the script, can you,
of straying photons?
it is where i am.

you nemesis of time,
carry on, won't you?
let the mark fill out my jigsaw
for this room is dark.
but please, no summer solstice
— it will burn.
it will burn
— the texture that is me.

sometimes it feels like the only way not to cling
is not to care.

don't you find it funny
how desperate we are to feel?
— what a great story!
(i cried eleven times)

two am, friday night
wide awake by the sterile light
i pen for a tale these final lines
there’s too much left, stuck inside

across our river, beyond the mist
i watch your shadows fleet
angel feathers through the gale
i hear those whispers cease

so i’ll raise a glass, well, make it two
to the story that told of me and you
A third, a forth, 'fore we hit the floors
‘fore again i hear that voice of yours

too young to regret
too old to forget
let's ponder, shall we, as we bet
for the simplest magnet, yes, it holds two ends

when dust descends, when thoughts depart
will you be there, cries my heart
a teardrop falls, upon your splendor
glimmer in marble, ever so tender

the haze drifts away, away with you
batteries out, screen’s brand new
i raise my gaze, 'till it meets a light
my halo, my blue light.

he burns his lamps to hide
just a couple heartbeats —
a couple each night.
a couple blue shots of bad blood
they say it does the trick.