Channel all your pain
to the summoned fields of my sun-baked heart

let me be your long-suffering, xeriscaping soil
--once rain-fed by this love--

now as parched as
Atacama

the plateau where we bowed our heads
and pleaded for mere drops of forgiveness

Before dawn
The whispers in the twilight
Empower my peace

I do not speak
Mouth is wired shut
Am devoid of words today
Shelved just out of reach
Only have silence to say

With a hint of death
mingling in the air,
the nocturnal snapdragon is
digging wells,
not just for water,
but also as final resting
places for friends back home,
in the garden,
deep within the soil.

Callous hands and feet
speak of insufficiency
and misery under the sun,
the one lone solace comes
with night,
and the partaking of
her body's delicacies,
bringing her innumerably
to the helve,
as she sings heavenly things
about the architecture
we creatures fall
so easily from.

Don't let anyone
with bad eyebrows give you life
advice - it ends badly.

I don't mind seeing my ex with
someone else - I usually donate
unused things to the less fortunate.

I wonder how many
calories I burn jumping
to wrong conclusions.