My father says
all rivers lead to the sea,
But I am afraid
of boats and piranha teeth.

The whitewater ends
far out in the forest
where fairies grow rings
over the graves killers dug

And I feel like I'm looking up
at police officers, thinking
that they have finally found me.

But they are burying me
beneath the excuses I have made,
I can feel the levees of blood break
to carry me away from them forever.

The last lesson I teach myself
is how to regret.

Rustled voice,
summer weeds
pierces palms,

blood on flower buds.

grafted wildwood
loves the desert,
dies efficiently

The coyote in the street,
the long lingering memory
on the edges of our town,
where the night is dark
where the moon is bright.

His blood is our blood,
we forget him quickly;
standing in the porchlight,
losing him to time.

Coyote watches us
watching the treeline,
and he understands.

Surrender, surrender at the door step
of a life so cold it breathes death,
for I have long forgotten
my own mortality.

Wake me at dusk
so I may soothe the restless ghosts
and love the grim reaper.
I have known no life
but the lack of.

When you are light and choir's angels
it comes like untouchable waves
in oceanic electricty

but entropy bricks
smashing open
twitching birds skulls
these,

these are the things
that hold tangible beauty.

my vows are blood
on your bed sheets,
my hands are tied
to a thousand timelines.

Lilacs growing in rotten teeth gaps,
Fertilized by formaldehyde
and encasing the indigo
jewels of blind eyes,
closed like the heart.

The still lungs a garden
of lavender towering high,
the scent drifting away
beyond the reaches of it's
host's own imagination.

Rocked to sleep
in a murderers arms,
lazy blood fountain
drains the body,
fills the soul.

You close your eyes,
calmed in the storm.

flesh on stone
soft, crumbles,
mortar pestle
makes ghosts.

all-consuming,
gluttonous fire.
burn the spectres,
create a world
so happy,

dance on graves.

You are a late boy,
star kissed space between the words
of your favorite novella,
drenched in lamp light's beauty

Sun sets the morning
in your closed eyes,
the night lives on
within your dreams

Emerald field by church
Sexton is on vacation
Please send us post cards

To ignore the desert winds,
the beckoning of glittering gourges
and dreams of melting rocks
turning to storms of steam.

The doctor worries for me,
my lungs are filled with sand castles

How lost am I to you,
the last glimmer of hope embedded
inside my brain, inside crumbling suburbia

I want the shadows to take me home,
to a place so far away
no one knows my name,
I become a stranger unto myself.

Shutter me closed,
The heart and soul are gone
swallowed by the mind

the next morning, lost in reverie
watched them swirl in *****,
disappear down the drain.

The Shrike, alone in his perch,
does feel the heat of the sun
and at dawn he sleeps
while the world looks on

He can paint himself a million colors
but beneath he will always be disintegrating,
and his clothes bring with them
the smell of dust and long-gone water.

He has intimately known the event horizon,
he has kissed the death of stars
with the ashes of his soul.

how many ways
to love a sunbeam,
            suspended in open air,
            bleaching the dust
                        gathered beneath
                        the tiffany windows.

What good will these words do,
when rocks are want to stay
and the hard places are mountains,
but the gaps and valleys-
blushing.

The western sky is so wide,
Blues to swallow all the green
and keep the good in your throat
with the pain and hypocrisy
filling your lungs.

Oh but what can a man do
when trembling, he admits
that he has [unintelligible]

What woodsy boy
could mountains love,
who kisses scars
long bled bone dry

Briefly forgetting
the color of fireworks,
thunderous applause;
my ears ringing.

Tell me what I'm doing here,
why I'm searching a crowd
of faceless strangers.

Don't tangle the stars
that map my way home,
Don't ask me if the flame
is responsible for the moth.

These are mathematics, woe.
Words rewritten and lost
But I know, and you know
the high toll, the stars crossed.