A gentleman once asked,-
'Why sail the infinite sea?

So torrential and torrid;
too much for me...

Encompassed by water;
no place to flea.

Incalculable harbors;
she hears no plea!'



I raised my face against the sun,
hearing him, but seeing none

Just to be, sir, just to be.

flames
moving across
our feet
make us dance
in the grey light

pulling us in
separating us
and filling our minds
with words
pressed like the flowers
we press
to our lips when we are uncertain
hiding under
the absence of the moon

sparks
falling
and landing
in our hair
shattered pieces
of home made
fire crackers

kiss the mark better
please
before it leaves a scar
mirroring the crack
in my heart

you can't  
use someone else's answers
for your own questions

Excuse me sir, but
"Heartbreak" isn't metaphor
It's physical pain.

When I die, dear Mother
don't give my body away
to science.

I'd rather have it given away to poetry.

I want people to cut me open
and observe
how my bones were riddled with
melancholic verses of joyful pasts.

They have to see
the scarlet of my blood was the hue
I stole from the sunsets of
wishful thoughts.

Dear Mother,
give my body away
to the art of writing:
for they have to look past
everything they have ever learned.

They must know
of how much I loved and I lost,
and how that made the twine of my ribs
a story to tell.