I was never vivacious;
Pétillant girls giggled
So did I
I was dissimulating,
Pretending at points;
In school, secondary—
Yet, after having chased reveries, flat dreams, insipid ends, and
having ruled all aims vain—
To them, I think,
I was, still, positively,
vivacious.

what an abysmal life
me, beveling down its side,
you not existing,
me searching.

Marigold, southern roses
in my backyard
there she poses
Camellia, there we dine
red lights, red wine
red tequila
Marigold, flat-pressed roses,
that memory, it’s the tenet
of my broken-ness.

milky way
provide a way to consign mischance behind to them who stray
earth is but a minor stain in lightyears’ expanse of stratospheric disarray

Look at you,
You’ve forgotten the solace of your mother’s warmth, the succor of your father’s love form
Look at you,
Begotten by one worthy pair and yet having failed to grant them an ample heir
Look at you,
Failure, you wayward daughter with eyes caught in the confines of dreams
And yet you’ve seen everything there is to see.

baby's breath, tulips, disorientation,
swinging to saxophonists in french yards
and for this I cry when waking
because you’re only a fool's gold,
a vinyl alyssum, a grafted painting
yet I see you here still
on these tonic midnights
lurking in the garden of tuileries.