this kids,
is how you do it

in the mid of the dark hours,
when two am is your new oldest friend
when sleep, your oldest old one,
left town on the midnight train,
taking your peace of mind

though she is far away
lost in dream-thoughts caught,
but only twelve inches close,
granting you an unasked permission,
you ok to stroke her hair,
undisturbing her, yet comforting yourself,
every voice in your temple'd altar praying,
one glorious chorus godly chant:

Oh Lord, what would I do without her?

and you stroke her hair and are saved.


2:51am

May 2014

I have so many
Different sides to me
I'm starting to think
I'm geometry

Reunite, in an embrace,
Sleek black and white keys and fingertips of lace,

Dance away!
Until the frothy winds weep,
Until my curious eyes wane,

Weave those strings of emotion
into a muslin-mist melody.

Intoxicate this mellow dream
with coffee rhythm and cinnamon notes

Let your song inspire me again
as it hushes to pianissimo
and dissolves into the summer shadows.

"encore!"

~
She smiles only in pictures
Her hair is growing long

With eyes closed
Au coucher du soleil
Her voice is dulcet
Her laugh is nexus

"Take me with you," she says.
"We'll make kites, we'll steal land."

The gentle arrival of rain
In the blue hour of
The portrait gallery
Makes her qualified to dream
About a serenade of water
And the blueberry boat
~

The weight of my truths
presses like stone—
no flood, no release,
only this grinding ache
against the sharp edge of language.

Each word is a wound reopened,
a splinter of myself
held to the light.
Silence is complicit,
it does not absolve,
only deepens the scar.

If my darkness stains you,
if the truth catches like barbed wire,
tear your gaze away—
this is not a plea for witness.
This is survival,
the slow unraveling
of a story that refuses erasure.

Do you doubt my suffering?
Do you doubt the sediment
of years pressed into me,
the residue of what I was?

What more can I give you
than this blood-inked offering,
this heartbeat fractured
between words,
pauses,
and the spaces you fail to see?

Let me remain unwhole—
not yet healed—
but forging the threads
that might someday
bind me to the surface
I cannot yet reach.