You drew blood and I called it paint
As though these veins hold art
And you were creating a masterpiece
To be hung up in my heart

You were like the moon and I was the ocean.
I felt your pull  
The back and forth
I needed your pull to survive
You knew this just like the moon had
But
You still left
Along with the moon
Leaving the ocean alone
Just as I was;
But
Little did the ocean know
that
without the moon
the stars seemed
to
Shine brighter.

have you heard about the goldfish,
with the three-second memory?
lost, helpless, forgotten...himself.
they said, "in this unforgiving bubble, give it two days, he'll be dead."
he swam around aimlessly, swallowing their words;
waiting for death.

but he came upon an orange fish, much like himself;
and then another,
and then another.
he stopped and realized, he was not alone in his woes.
they supported each other through the cold waters,
for they knew they could not make it alone.

emerging from the depths not many have been,
they could finally say it with enough certainty -
"PS: did you know?
goldfishes have months-long memories."

And I am tortured by regret,
things I've not done yet.
Thinking this defines me.

And I cannot deny
that I'm terrified
of fading to black.

I used to cherish every doubt--
now unsure in what I've found:
my instability was transparent
and now it's apparent...

And I now keep the lights on,
lay in a cold bath until warm.
My lips, so purple and svelte,
have sealed all I have felt.

And I stay a static transplant,
a homely nomadic infant,
stumbling towards the abyss,
thinking it's what I've missed.

I used to utilize the past,
stretching time, but at last,
the only fire I've consumed
will soon fade to black...

My biggest fear
is that I will someday be 61
looking back on my life
as an imposter in a body
I don’t own
that I won’t
have stretched the skin and
scarred the cracks
or let the sun into my retina
I fear I won’t have drunk from life
as one drinks from a waterfall
part of a beautiful cosmic rushing
that only exists to **** you.

I read the numbers on headstones
and count the warning
that my life exists as a dash.
I have pocked my face with dots
so I’ll exist as morse code after
I’m gone
so that the synapses in my
alwaysthelightson brain
will sink into the soil as static
and evaporate into the sky
where I’ll live as lightning,
striking the tall boreal pines.



I read thunderstorms
to speak to the dead,
offering prayers of roots
and bloodshot eyes.
I can hear what
they’ve been telling me
all along
deep in my nerves
we’re not alone
and
we’ll be ok.

They use to tell me that being a poet,
means being gifted and talented with words,
as though small simple words weren't heard,
We stray away from simple words that people know of,
To much more complex, intricate words like amorousness,
Because love can only be felt by overcomplicating the term,
As though love itself is an entity of no value can confirm.

From Chicago to Atlanta on the 5:45
I contemplate the fragility of being alive
I sit on the wing with a view of great breadth
While I dream about life and wonder of death

The sun has just set, the moon kisses the sky
And the atmosphere echoes its exhaling sigh
As darkness sets in, the graduation emerges
So I, in the sky, view its majesty in surges

The window is a frame of the moon as a crescent
And I spot a town way down, like a queen to her peasant
There is life, there is motion, there is somewhere to be
There is conflict, there are problems, and then there is me

I snap out of passivity like a casual thought
To locate the flight attendant complementary cart
Since her mobile vending machine is a couple rows down
I return to pensivity and stare at the ground

The tail lights of cars pulse when my true focus starts
As if they were red blood cells exiting the heart
There is a conversation I over hear from 27 E
The girl has dreams of studying alone in Italy

The man has a daughter and he rocks in his seat
They talk like old friends even though they just meet
There are young men in the Navy, and business folks
There is an air of community, peanuts, and hope

As my ears pop constantly and we climb higher
I think of my future and to what I aspire
And I wonder if there's anyone I'll see here again
Close and far away strangers, a view from a plane