The stars are on my window disguised as paint chips
There they lie, glimmering above a broken win-dowsill
Streetlamps scream of the moon everlasting
But they’re only ever heard at night or in passing
The asphalt moon claims no sun to eclipse
Hiding in lamps and cracks in the pavement
No comets to dwarf
Nothing to orbit but me
Right here,
Right now.

I put on my big boy pants,
My big boy shoes,
My big boy shirt
In shaded blues.
I put on my big boy hat,
My big boy tie,
My big boy suit
And my big boy lies.
I put on my big boy smile,
My big boy pills,
My big boy dreams
Went to hell with a chill.
I put on my big boy tears,
My big boy belt,
My big boy face
To hide what I felt.
I put on my big boy job,
My big boy stress,
My big boy lonely nights
Spent behind a desk.
I put on my big boy cross,
My big boy prayer,
My big boy goodbyes
As I said how well I’d fair.
I put on my big boy rope
In my big boy cell,
Took my big boy courage,

And I killed myself.

They took my big boy clothes
And stripped me down bare
And all that was left
Was their little boy, scared.

Dad,
You are the lamp sitting on my desk
With a flickering bulb
In a rusted nest

Flick, Flick
In the night you scream
With your cycle 60
In a crooner’s dream

Man,
You are the sinner’s chorus
Of knight and rook
On the board that bore us

Tick, Tick
Goes your timer on
Just above my head
Like a rooster at dawn

Friend,
You are my worst acquaintance
Your light is so faint
Yet you’re still high maintenance

Itch, Itch
When my skin starts crawling
The cloth of your shade
Bit by bit, starts falling

Blind,
My eyes when I try to see you
Even in darkness
I can’t even come near you

Burns, Burns
On my skin from the wire
The cord of AC
With which you start your fires

Kind,
A word that could not describe it
The feeling I get
Watching you have to hide it

Lamp, Lamp
That cruel fixed placement
Strapped to my desk
Every day, like it’s paved in

Devil,
Waiting for dark endangerment
I need you too bad
To repent for you, miscreant

Dad, Dad
The nefarious ‘brother’
I can’t keep you here
We endanger each other

Dad, Dad
I’m getting out of the gutter,
Stepping into the light
Time to open the shutters.

Mine was a hate full of furious anger
But still, my love broke through
A look of brimstone on a velveteen throne
When she lived with that heart of mine too

But my woes were unending
And my suffering, ceaseless

For days I would wait
When my own acts were treas’nous
But good I was not
And deserved I no easement

No
No
I
Knew

“But wait!” I exclaimed
For the tenth week of weeks
I had one thing to say
‘Fore I lost all my cheek

“I’ve not learned how to dance
So, if I may,
Please give me this dance
I’ll let you lead the way”

And we danced.
And we learned.

Time ages love like a wine in a cellar
But it locks it in chains so true.
She looked at me through the eyes of a stranger
So I looked right through her, too.

Je suis l’homme de guerre, non ?
Je fais du combattu, non ?
Je serai mort éventuellement, non ?
Mais fais je me sens le mal ?
Vais-je m’appellerai le mal ?
Non.
Je suis l’homme de guerre.

J’ai pensé que je me crois quand je dis
« Vous n’avez pas l’esprit assez fort pour les engagements de la guerre, »
Mais je réalise la chose la plus importante n’est jamais les éléments que je vois dans les autres. « Je ne peux pas comprends les autres comme les autres ne peux pas comprends moi, »
Pourquoi ?  Parce que le soldat est une créature de comparaison.

Je suis fort, non ?
Je fais le travail bien, non ?
J’ai le rythme de l’acier, non ?

Les guerres des autres n’ont rien impact, je dis.
Les guerres des autres n’ont rien signification.
À moi.

Je ne suis pas un soldat !
Je suis l’homme de guerre !
Et comme un homme de guerre, je suis complexe, oui ?

Je fais du combattu !
Je serai mort éventuellement !
Je suis fort !
Je fais le travail bien !
J’ai le rythme de l’acier !
Mais je me sens, je me sens, je me sens !
Je suis l’humain, c’est bien !

Mais suis-je le mal ?
Mon adversaire c’est moi.
Le plus puissant.
Mais je me bats en avant.

Je sais que je suis l’homme de guerre parce que j’ai donné mon cœur la victoire et je vivre.
Aujourd’hui, demain, je vivre.
Je sais que je suis l’homme de guerre parce que j’ai vu mal de mon cœur et je vivre.
Aujourd’hui, demain, je vivre.
Je sais que je suis l’homme de guerre parce que j’ai vu le plus grave mal de mon cœur et je
vivre.
Aujourd’hui, demain, je vivre.
En avant !

I, in blue-dress tie-flowered vines, the brown-root wonder of the greatest lake.

You, the tan-wash whirlwind of the highest brigade, the first glint of silver skipping rocks in the daze.

Slipping past all for a touch, so crystalline, a split-stalk switch with vines intertwined.

Warm and cool in clouds strapped hostage to the sky, with smiles on wet faces breathing in the sunny side.

I’m in love with something
That doesn’t exist.
In a state of being between
Trysts and
Loneliness.

The idea of happiness is
So far gone
Like a cloud in a summer sky
Or a bite
In an empty sea.

I don’t think my hope is lost
But it does elude me so

I don’t want to say my nonexistence is key
So I’ll say my non-word, nonexistency.

I’m in a state of nonexistency
Just like you.
Breathing, feeling, inconsistently
Existence isn’t fit for me.

But there’s subsistence in existence
Nonexistence is too drastic
Though I’m staring at the giving tree
Like headlights under traffic.

I thought you were a west wind
Screaming across an open plain.
But really you were the kite string
Twisting my neck, lifting my name.

Do I exist for them or me
And do I matter, too?
I’m in a state of nonexistency
But I’d exist for you.

So
am I the poison
or the antidote?

I suppose that depends which one you are
(If it matters at all).

I don’t know if we work together perfectly or wage war violently, all I know is

I couldn’t exist without you.
One way or another.

Painted painted painted painted painted
paint paint paint paint paint
It’s hard to describe an overload
When the in comes in and it just won’t go
I stare at a wall, I shake, say no
But I can’t say no when the shutters close
I can’t say no when there’s no more no
And all there is is green and pink and paint
Paint paint paint paint paint
There’s no one thing that makes me go
A tindered flint to ignite my woe
It could be anything: hair, a cat, the snow
But today it was paint
The word alone made me quiver
Shake and tremble like the words of winter
I stared at the wall to shake the feeling
Locked myself down ‘til my senses stopped reeling
And soon I was feeling and seeing, alive
The tidal wave ceased, it didn’t crash but subside
And I was still here, claw marks in my sides
With the smell of the paint just waiting outside.

I remember the first time I saw the northern lights
Do you?
I turned from south and thought I went blind.
Pleasance in green and blue and
Love and hate breathing in and out in tandem,

The night stretched miles and miles but neither of
us were in much of a rush.
No sound, just light and love and infinite twilight
With a warm glow all around us, tracing my outline  
blended with yours;

And I was so terribly unafraid.

I want to know every corner
Every crack in the pavement
Every flickering streetlight
Of this city

I want to know every abandoned building
Every broken fire hydrant
Every stretch of ivy climbing brick
That lives uptown

I want to understand the worst
And appreciate the best
I want to understand your words
And keep them closer to my chest
Ever closer than before

I want to know every hydrangea
Every tamed median
Every restrained animal
Lining the streets

I want to know every sour tree
Every bit of sweetness
It can show me like
A guest in Eden

I want to understand your fears
And soothe what I can
I want to understand fear
And be free of it if I can
I want to be
Here.

The ones that you choose
Don’t determine you

In darkness and debt
In a desperate attempt
At finding true love
Or a friendship or two

But when push comes to shove
Or recklessness, too
The ones that you choose
May just abandon you

Just as the waves come
To and fro, blue
The ones that you love
May run away from you

While as long as you wait
For a message or swoon
The ones that you love
May come to hate you

And their hate could be new
Like the first breath of spring
A cold on your tongue
Cold that no ice could bring

Or their hate could be aged
Like a man in his rocker
Watching the time assuage
His dread for the knocker

But the ones that you choose
Give you no such time or determinacy
To try and find some truth
Or if it’s worth it to see

To fight and fight for days
So determinedly
Though noble for betrothal
Is a high wall to breach

For the ones that you choose
May not choose you, too

It seems an infinite wait
To be chosen by few
But to wait will not negate
That which would be up to you

And the wait could pave the way
To righteousness you walk through

The ones that you choose
Can be a mercantile few
To buy, and trade, and shift
All the wares that live in you

But the ones that choose you
Are of a different kind
The ones that choose you
Won’t fight for your mind
Won’t live for your heart
And won’t leave you behind

But the wait is the proof
A fire waiting in tune
For when the ones that you choose
Do also choose you.

The princess of notre dame
Walked ‘round the house all day
She traversed the premise
Took heed of each blemish
‘Til versed she was well in its grey.

The days seemed to drag
Like claws raking sand
Every day was three nights
And each night held new fights.

She dreamt of much more
Than this cohabitant corps
So at night when they grew tired
She toiled by the fire.

With hand and word
She would wait no longer
A girl to admire, a caged warmonger.

She rose up fast
And rose up strong
She claimed the world
Each and every throng.

She hated the past
It burned within her
She felt unclean
A natural-born sinner.

Then once she was Queen
She made sure they’d not forget her
She reaped what they sewed
And made them rue the day they met her.

It’s become my mission
To forget and let go
My sanity hangs
On the side of the road
Thumbs in the air
The past at my back
Like a ghost of my own
As the wind does blow

How strongly it goes

Tipping the scales
Or my toes on the row
I see the rocks fall
So slow, so slow
How quickly would I go
When I go
If I go
I may soon know, balanced here; what a show.

When does it start to feel real?

I had a dream the other night and in
It

You invited me to your birthday party.

I bought you a gift and everything,
I was quite terribly excited
And I’m sure you were too.

I got in my car and the summer stretched around It
It wrapped me up tight in a blanketed basket.

At the party, we chuckled en masse as the teens do tend to
Ignoring the tears in a world unattended to

And we did have so much fun.

when does it start to feel real
and
when can I lift up the blanket

i dream and i dream and it feels no more real than any night prior.
but still I hope it may.
when does it start to feel real?
the dream, I mean
because after all
there’s nothing I want more
than to be able to dream
and to believe
it
and say

'And we do have so much fun.’