I look at you and see what will not be;
I have been waiting an eternity.
The hope has never dwindled, but has grown,
A longing, no, an ache I've never known.

I look at you and see what will not be;
Yet, somehow you're still captive over me.
The shore with ceaseless waves to reminisce,
meanwhile beneath the moon's so distant kiss.

I look at you and see what will not be;
I cannot help myself, so I give in,
allow the cold salvation of your skin,
if only to prolong eternity.

the booth we all covet
is open and i sit in it alone
taking up all this space
so that i can try not to fall asleep
as i read and listen to music
and procrastinate on my laptop
and look at my phone
and feel the absences and the losses
of nameless entities
i am romanticizing the drone learning has become

i am the pollen of a poisonous flower;
carried by bee
made into honey
collected by keepers;
unintentional reaper.

The myth of what is real -
I want to know the truth.

Does the winding river feel,
does the tree speak of its youth?

in the rain I feel restored

you say,
walk out to the view with me before we go,

and I forget the drone of cities and am looking at it, with you

What do I have that is only mine?

in the spring,
apples never fall
and in the fall,
blossoms never bloom

all the current needs is flow

*** and him.
In a bag. In a memory.
in a long while ago.

today is always today
but tomorrow it will become yesterday
and we will be given a new present
do not forget these moments

in my coffee *** of dreams
where the flowers wilt and die
there are pennies and they gleam
with the light of Luna's eye

we come from dust and star and sky,
admire the place from which we came;
on hills and rooves and grass we lie
to taste the thing we have became.

-- how selfish and fickle we are,
how cruel and kind and strange;
like suns that burn too fast, us stars
so bright, and then, so plain.

eons pass and still we lie,
transfixed by that beloved sky,
and people live, love, quickly die
in a sweet but single breath of time.

gold and yellow yolk leaks
as the shells, brown fragments of armour
tumble into the clear lake

so it must be morning
though the sun sets as we confess resurfacing memories
that break in front of us
like eggs at breakfast

September Jane,
all but plain
standing in
the pretty rain.

Her hair is stained
with pretty rain;
umbrella left
atop the pane.

My sweet September,
do you remember
the pretty rain,
the dying embers?

The stories read
before bed,
the funny rhymes
you always said.

September Jane
where did you go?
I'll greet you when you come.

September Jane
you didn't know
it is the pretty rain you're from.

l'appel du vide

I remember the wind,
howling, messing up my hair like invisible fingers,
hollow with ghosts;

I can see this memory in fragments.
you are there,
but it is your absence that I recognize -
it is the lack of you I see.

Write and
Write and
Write and
Write.
With your pencil
Be the knight.

I love harshly,
in the thicket with sword
I will not yield,
I'll be your shoulder, your shield

When you sing,
the wind responds
against my shoulders;
a lasting ring.

An echo
coming from the empty surface
of the Ocean.
A voice, capturing a soul
too weak to resist such melancholy.
She has desolation hidden in the hollow harmony:
the broken spell has me wanting it more.

I take a step into mellow waters,
salt sticking to my skin,
burning my eyes,
fulfilling her command.
Soon the Ocean's at my neck,
my chin,
lingering above my parted lips.
I hesitate,
wait for her song to call once more.
The water floods in.
I am suffocating,
but I want to.

It's such a peaceful thing,
watching the sky disappear above you.
I was sinking to the bottom
of a hungry abyss.

legs burn and weave the story,
a tapestry of snow

and wind yawns in a flurry,
a sanction that we go.

Sleep
all the words holding me
soothing me
sedating me.
I don't resist because she is comfort
comfort in letting go and thinking,
dreaming, wishing, hoping, creeping.
Creeping back into myself, finally.
My eyelids weren't heavy
but having them closed makes me sway
in and out and slowly down.
Down into a dark place.
I am not afraid.
My mind is its own anchor
my body losing feeling
my heart slowing.
I am at peace within myself.

I feel bruised everywhere.
On my mind, in my mouth, on my body.
I've been figuratively punching myself,
and selfconciously depriving my bruises of the ice needed to heal.
Sorry hands, but I like the colour purple.

beneath the door
a yellow line

what's happening
on the other side

hours gone
spent talking alone

wishing you
could go back home

a knock, a sigh,
a hushed goodbye

I'll be here till
the end is nigh

I'll be the bedrock of your home

Snakes.
Some are poisonous,
but only when they bite you.
Only when you make them.

come into me, like a snowflake on the pine
and I'll infuse my sappy kisses on your eyelids, love
and you'll become an emerald song in the wind

or crash into me like an icy wave in mid-November
and run your fingers between the spaces of rock on the breakwater,
chilling the birds.

Tumble into the fabric of my arms. Embroider your love into my skin.

"we can keep going, or stay right where we are -
because a fighter comes back with at least one invisible scar..."

I've spent
years of tears
and now I'm broke.
But, my darling,
it's not worth so much
if it cost you all that anyway.

You were only a song I'd heard,
one that I had loved almost immediately.

Years and a thousand lakes between us, till we met again,
on the cusp of sorrow and memory,
my love.

After lifetimes of silence,
the whole world quiets down
and we can see the beauty we have destroyed
from our windows and t.v screens.

tongues tumble things together until there is a stream,
sewn like a river,
so fluid it rushes in movements,
nonlinear, random waves, curving 'round bends and bays.

gizaagi'igoo - all of us love you

that was probably the string of sounds that stuck with me most.

nothing I can do, except
fall in love with you, and then
I'll be stuck inside the luck
of having you pretend that
you love me and you want me
even though you taunt me
nothing more could please me
if you would just believe me
I'm drowning in suppression
and I think I need suggestions
for I might just fall instead of fight
but give me wings and I'll take flight

You look for me in the stars,
but I am really in the space between.
I am not one star,
but the invisible lines that connect them
that create the constellation.

still waters sicken
at the ephemeral stream,
whose current is dream


Wading in waist-high water;
and I love you so violent,
more than maybe I can do.

To know you, I would risk our love carved into pillars, declared to history.

It is enough for me, to love you in silence,
without your consent.

Oh how would I cope if this was reciprocal,
but to die with you in my arms
and hold onto you forever?

Where there is lightening, there is thunder.
Sometimes never to be heard.

and though, I know, the winter comes,
I see the paint upon your thumbs,
the blues and hues of dappled thyme
that scar a world from a nursery rhyme;

and there, written, lightly, in pencil,
a paragraph for a time stenciled,
adjectives and flavoured truth
a place made up for our innocent youth.

A pretty little precipice as I look down.
Oops, I went over. I am going to drown.

I have listened to the strumming of your song
and the way your fingers move is something I'm afraid I will never understand

the veins in your hands are flooding like rivers
like when swords are grasped and ****** into battle

you fight the air with your songs
and the water with your melody

and orpheus might turn, again, at you who plays for the pleasure of the gods -
yet it is not for them you play,
but for yourself.

and that is purity.

I miss being a little girl,
ignorant and happy and loved.

of how things used to be,
I want to say
come back

so constant is the lapping shore of change

She was surrounded in summertime.
Her name was written in the wildflowers and she was surrounded in summertime.