when the water calls, go.
even if it's eight degrees
and your boots slip
as you crunch across
the sand and snow
towards waves that roar
and crash like metal shavings.

even as the wind whips
your unsuspecting face,
sending showers of
frozen sand to play
amongst your eyelashes.

even as your feeble eyes flicker
and try to absorb all of this
spectacular frozen wrath
before the wind swallows up
your air and forces you
to look away, gasping
with ecstasy,

smiling like a maniac
as the tears freeze
on your porcelain cheeks.
my god, you've never
felt so alive.

she slides her finger
along a seashell's iridescence
and takes a four-second breath
when it's edges break skin-
undecidedly feeling like a rag doll;
devoid of happy moving hands
and a barrage of stitches
where her mouth once parted.

it has never been enough,
gliding over this shining meniscus
with feet painted rose gold
and eyes propped open with twigs.

alas, she crosses her toes
and falls into the surf,
awakening slate grey waves
and a smile full of sand.

I've run myself ragged
chasing phantoms
and false prophets.
Willing ignorance
and somber idolatry
runs amok throughout
the trails that I leave
and I am not sorry.

I will not settle
for cheap emotions
and halfway love.
I need to feel it
radiating from every pore,
overflowing from each
long, pale fingertip
like sweet honey.

I need it to be real,
so thick that it's tangible,
instilling feelings akin
to those that lilacs
and wild lupine stir.

I need it to be
you and I
moving onward
and upwards
as two birds
in unison.

I need it to be
breathtakingly
ordinary.

I am not a gambler
or a mystic or any sort of
self-righteous prophet
but there are sometimes
these small things
that glimmer with certainty.

Small things that pinpoint
the ****** of everything
in the deep, vast universe
converging on this
slim chance.

Its the sensation that
the words are there
on the tip of my tongue,
dangerously close
to slipping out into space
where you might hear them
and love me,
love me too.

We are edging toward
the crest of December-
it looms, unforgivingly
over the horizon.

My mind is filled
with thick paints
and heavy smoke.
You stand askance
like some forgotten
silhouette,
begging for reprieve
in the waning moon glow.

I drink a little more,
and create tangible feelings
on tepid surfaces-
working like a madman
to keep the wolves at bay.

And I care about you
a little bit less
every day.

slip like silt,
just as you always did,
into smooth discordance-
leaving knives disguised
as words synonymous with love
pressed against my throat.

fold like origami cranes
and take flight when
the monsters emerge
from the spaces between
the floorboards,
when you look at me
and see a stranger.

I don't blame you.

romanticizing the images
of clenched fists
and bloodshot eyes,
I twist around my vices
like a serpent.

I wanted the idea.
You and I, nothing too grand;
just this simple love,
the likes of which
you could feel in your cells
and in your bones.

I wanted a love
where you'd bury me
so that the ache
of missing you
wouldn't sit inside
my chest like a stone.

And now we talk
like old friends,
and you still look at me
with that smile
and it makes me queasy,
how far removed these bodies are
from the ones we shared
in convoluted memories.

I don't blame you.

Blue wind encapsulates
in the midst of this ephemeral
autumn madness,
and my hands shake
as I try to forget.

I am just a human,
small and faulted,
trying like hell to squelch
the siren songs
of these maniac thoughts
buzzing like bees
through the empty spaces
within my skull.

I am just a silent body
and grey matter processing
words and colors
that feel truer
than any cheap emotions.

Cold light illuminates
and sparks nostalgia
and I am just
two eyes
retreating
into the mist.