I can bore you with talk
of women and children,
but it is simple enough to say
human beings.

Human beings
run in gathering storms
of concrete dust;
run from misting
of meat.

Explosions are sudden fatal therapy
for human beings
suffering dissonance,
and there's nothing quite
the same as losing words.

All of these
human beings,
cut-off
quick
in Tourette syndrome
(****!)
Pu.nc-tu-a.tion.

Caught in the concrete cloud
darker than Krubera Cave,
lost out on a betrayed Silk Road,
as bloated blue bodies
wash up on Indonesian shores.

This city of centuries
built by human beings,
has now become
almost-five thousand corpses
who dangle their toes
out of shrapnel windows.

Pieces of me sweat
away in an instant of swaying black burqas,
rocking on knees at a cemetery.

I’m standing in Beirut -
nineteen-eighty two.
I watch towers fall.
There has to be
a way to make the world relate,
even if it takes
nineteen years.

We forgot to make love last night,
yet again like many other nights
we remained distant islands separated by
Bermuda's of bed sheet and air.
The body wasn't very happy
Those thousands of red cells inside you
divided and redivided in anger
Ached and oozed and broke free
from your restless

When I woke up this morning,
I found you lying in a pool of blood.
You decided to go to work
After all it was a Friday and
the long weekend was a week away.

You take too many iron supplements
I fear, one day your body will be so full of folic acid
that it will cry.

We have the Smokies lined up for October
and the Cayman Islands in Christmas
Thinking of planned vacations makes me go to work
every day
Even though I ****
so bad
that I'd rather open a book store
and read all day
and sell a book or two.

My life is still all about you
After all these years
I still couldn't kiss that woman who
asked me on a coffee date at 10 pm by the lake.
or the one who found me cute on our album by the dressing table
You would say "Go ahead , we are not married yet".
I would laugh when I am alone,
thinking of the all the things you say
these days.

You say all the good things in life needs planning
marriage, kids,
buying house on mortgage
convertible sport coupes
vacations in South Pacific.
I find it ironic that I met you on a book store
when I cancelled a TGIF party and had this sudden urge
to buy Alice Munro's short stories.

We were sweet, back then.
Now you lie,
about being anemic on your weekly routine checkup
hide,
your biopsy report soon afterwards;
lie again,
on the reason of your sudden cancellation of the planned vacations for the year end
saying it's work.

Then you disappear, terrify me
Only to come back strands of hair gone from your head
still say nothing,
yet finally disappear saying nothing before I could buy us
the last vacation together.
I regret how much we could have done
together
if we made love more often
my body healing yours
resting, soothing,
purging all the enemies.

On the day when we supposed to be married
I visit the Caymans
laughing alone in a crowded beach
thinking about all the things you used to say these days
having Alice Munro's short stories for company.

Hazel nuts, brown leaves,
They fly in formation, last reign—
Blue drops, summer sky.

You don’t have to be subtle, your intentions are clear, there’s no need to smile in front of me. Just take your place at my back, my dear, where you can twist the knives more efficiently.

We walk on the beach,
She turns, moist skin, happy tears,
Salty ocean breeze.

If you feel your worth isn't being acknowledge.
Then find ways to made it brighter.
If you feel your love is being taken for granted.
Make a change.
Just rearrange many things.

For instance.
I can say sweeter words to win your heart.
Even say words to tear your lover down.
Except, it would be totally selfish.

But I can ask you too.
Treat yourself to happiness.
Whether it includes me or not.
Treat yourself to happiness.

If the joy that once was there.
Has faded away.
Understand within your mind.
Nobody can ever make you stay.
They might intimidate.
Or use their insecurity to bully you.

But eventually common sense will guide you.
To treat yourself to happiness.

You alone knows what you deserve.

I only wanted you to sing to me in the voice of your sweetest destruction, burning my cities to the ground that we may waltz across the ashes of places we’ve never been.

I wanted to sip from your words like a poisonous wine, poured into my mouth from your gilded chalice’s venomous kiss.

For you have become the rose whose thorns rend my palms and the crimson that seeps forth is the seed from which we have cultivated the cruel garden of our pure intentions.

Be wary of the serpents that tarry hence, for the wounds they inflict are grievous.

Meanwhile, I, enshrouded in my self-inflicted intoxication have seen you hide your eyes among the stars of the night sky.

Veiled by the outstretched wings of passerine birds whose songs do bear witness to the echo of our temperate patience.

Was it a dream?

In truth, did you flee from this brittle stage of glass, where our actors spoke the lines in time to our subtle rebellions?

Nay, it must not be so, for you were always there.

As close to the light of day as the night sky, the lovers that never touched, yet you were always there.