Without you,
the night’s sky is black.
The stars are absent
and the moon hides itself away.
The sun ducks behind the cover of clouds,
and the clouds don’t grant me the comfort of their rain.

the bow
touches
the strings
of the violin

one note,
one song.

I felt like an old newspaper
blowing across a deserted street
predicted my life.
I had on the same faded blue jeans
and 10 dollars in my pocket
and faded eyes
and holes in my sneakers.
and sometimes
I still cast a shadow
standing in sunlight

...bobby stole a car
george jumped
through
the open back window
we tied robbie up
left him on some ones porch
were surprized when
the spainish people carried
him into the house
(so much for robbie)
we egged chamburg's parents
put a box on a porch
with john inside
rang the doorbell and
ran
across the street to hide behind a car
john jumped out
the lady screamed
the husband yelled
john ran
came back the next night
attached a long cord to
the empty box
rang the doorbell....

hang on st. Christopher

the moon
        was never fuller
and we all enjoyed
a little madness for
awhile

the red glow of her cigarette.
the fingers of her left hand
yellow  with nicotine
clutching dying flowers

"buy a rose for your lover," she says,
"buy one for your wife. buy 2."

"the flowers are wilted."

"maybe it's your eyes that are wilted.

she had black hair
black as the night
the violent night
and gray eyes
the shade of ***** ice

"you must love
someone,
some of the time, no?
put a rose on
your father s grave, then."

"love is like lost pennies
falling from a broken jar."

she smooths her hair with one pale,
long, fingered hand, "you re crazy."

"my mom says so."

i was born to
have adventure

I followed her up the steps.

i was born to chase the night
through the forest
of dead roses.

sunrise on the river
a million stars
2 fishing poles
and my brother

She was a poem he found inside an old history book.
A hidden treasure beneath all the rubble.
She was a light that filled the darkness of his mind.
A gold medal, his own personal medal.
It wasn't until she left that he knew this.
She was a pen and he was no longer her paper.
The worlds once written between them were gone.
Her silver lining would no longer show in the distance.
His light had gone out, his treasure now broken.
His medal had rusted, but he kept the poem,
He kept

the sun and the moon were always lovers,
every lifetime here and before.
the comfort of every new birth
guided with the soft reassurance of
“we’ve found each other before.”
the burning fuel of
“this may be our last”
to the sweet surrender,
the driving immersion
of two souls
intertwining so deeply
that will leave a trace
bringing them together once more.