My thoughts scramble
And dig and dig
Until they reach
My skull where they bump
The shovel and Grit
Their teeth.

It’s so gory,
There’s never a winning side,
The winters find a way
To stay 1 or two more days

In spring the rivers run
Off their course and
The flowers turn
Into pollen machines.

In fall the leafs
Dance with the wind
off the trees
All at once

And oh god,
The summer sun
Melts puddles into
My shirts

But you know
I can see some romance
In love

And how hugs
Feel like being wrapped
Around the mantle
Of the earth,

And water drips
From their lips
And i, lost.
With closed eyes,

Like a vagabond,
I’ll plead and beg
Through the traces
That fall in between
Your jaw and your cheeks

Just to pull out
As eyes interlock,
No words spoken
But so much said.

Be good at heart,
Then at appearance.
Strangers will look at appearance,
Closed ones will look at the heart,
But strangers too will become colleagues or dear ones.
6/5/2024

I decided to write
One last time
With icicles of ink
Sharpened words,
That slowly disperse
Every mean word said to me
I write
And I write
Every heartbreak
I let it flee with no fight
No tears,
Just raindrops,
No chills down my spine,
My heart devoid of fear
I take icicles of ink
I shove it in my heart
The words do not pierce,
They bleed from my pocket,
They spill,
Raw,
And pure
No frostbites
No frozen tears.

empty black beans can
full of cigarette butts the
smell is unnoticed

I have not allowed
Myself to be near
Real windows,
Not because
I’m scared of what
I would do,
But because I’m
Always drunk or high
And I could tumble
My way off a 5th
Floor by accident,
Or I could stare
Deeply into the crowd,
People. People. People.
So many walking fast,
Others holding hands,
The sky is falling,
I wish I could open
This window so
I can warn them,

But I am so tired.

I would like
To close my eyes
While I lay on your
Thighs and your hands
Knock on the door
And make themselves
At home while
Playing with my hair,
And I for the first
Time in what feels
Like forever,
Sleep and dream
Of love
And what ifs,
Until the morning sun
Comes through
shading in
The night
And I’m back
To being too
Scared of windows.

The bird sings
To the sun
Acclamations
As it prays
And builds
Itself a nest,
He then flies
Through the trees
And around
the branches
Like a circus
gymnast
Dressed in
tight colors
Just to dive up
Around the sea
Of Leafs until
He finds himself
Souring through
The clouds,
Close enough
To the sunset,
Praising the
Tints of orange
And reds
Running through
What we
could call
Personified life,
He then
sings again,
One last
time for the day,
Before twilight
Reigns the sky
With constellations
Of stars that are too
Far to hear the singing
Or the crying or
The laughter.