Here,
In this womby-tomby

Safety of my coverings
I begin to realize,

I don't want to remain unborn.

.  if every letter was a rock,

      low case, light enough

   for a child to throw, then,

  should i, the poet, be held

   responsible for words of

   epitaphs on headstones

 and flagstones in palestine

                      ?

Night came,
stole her away.
It slipped in through a slit in the light,

The stranger, pale and grey,
with unfamiliar rudeness wrapped
tight boney fingers around her neck.

Then she was gone.
Now we both are captives
of the night.

a flavor lost in water
frustration dissolving into apathy
does it even matter any more.
a comedy of pain
would you like to see the discrepancy in timestamps
or is it enough to say im ready
and would you understand
when i tell you with joy
i no longer love you
or would that contradict these citrus-scented apple slices
touched only by two hands
and the burning of acidic salt beneath my eyes
as if i ever stood a chance

When I looked at the night sky, I felt a deep sense of loss.

The stars, were too far away.

I packed jars into the fridge, so that they preserve all I have left when I come back.

It was a plague, a silence, that followed and sputtered life and people were scared.

But I got to see you. Goodbye.

And when I got back, I starved with little I had.