A siren’s songs
A woman’s fears
Drown the world in peace and tears

A siren’s cries
A woman’s ashes
Drown the sea with sounds of crashes

Plane poems
Plain poems
Poems written on a plane
Poems written plainly

Inspiration struck
But not quite
Not quick
Out goes the candle wick…

Plane presses on my lungs
The thinning air on the outside
Popping ears on the inside
Plain seats, faces, copy-pasted

Cookie-cut, Repeated
My knees buckle
My belt buckles
Playing, plane, plain

Napkins greet me in blues and yellow
Bellowing clouds, smoke, steam
From the plains under me
Under the plane

He’ll tell you he doesn’t love you
I’ll tell you when you come back home
You make me feel like a coast
Where I’m the sand
And you are the sea
You always come back to me
Trailing here like a nonstop, dancing tide

He’ll tell you he doesn’t miss you
I’ll tell you when you come back home
You make me feel like a little dog
Where I wait for you by the door
And you jangle your keys
You always come back to me
Trailing here like a working woman

He’ll tell you he doesn’t care
I’ll tell you when you come back home
You make me feel like a tree
Where I am the leafs
And you are my branches
You always come back to me
Trailing here like a changing season

But he is the moon
But he is your job
But he is winter

And you are drying up
And you are broke
And you are decaying

I’ll be left alone again,
You go back to your patrol,
And he’ll keep not caring,

I can’t make people feel things
Anymore
It doesn’t matter
Anymore
If I use different sp a   C in    G
Or

Stanzas

The broken poet
No rhythm
No rhyme
Anymore

Sure, it’d be nice
Nice to bottle up your breath
So I could carry a bit of you around with me
Or hair
Or nails
Really anything.

It’s a funny feeling.
Not butterflies-
..**** no.
It’s a funny feeling:
That feeling you feel when you go from
Seeing a person everyday
To
Never seeing them again.
And it’s not just graduation
My tears in my eyes stay on my face
While others roll down,
And gravity follows
We know that the tears on my eyes with follow
They’ll roll down too.
And it’s not just funerals.
My tears leave each other behind
And the ones after them cry for the
Ones before them
And they just keep putting themselves over the
Edge,
Ledge,
My chin.
It’s a funny feeling
Not jitteriness-
..**** no.
It’s a funny feeling:
That feeling you feel right before jumping.
When people go from
Seeing you everyday
To
Never seeing you again.

Mom and Dad
Birds of
Birds’
Feathers
Up downstairs
Down the attic
Mites in dust, walking a museum
Muse
MY muse
(S)
Birds of birds’
Broken nestststst-ts-ts-st
Street
And they don’t love each other anymore