I am
deliberately
destroying our family.

They say a wise woman
builds her home—
I am removing every brick
we so carefully
stacked.

But do not blame
my wisdom,
or the lack of it.

If only I could show you
all the possible endings
of our story—
the ones I’ve built and rebuilt
in my mind and heart—
and still
it would not be enough
for you to forgive me,
for me to forgive myself,
for the shame
of becoming
a beggar
pleading for life.

Jesus, son of David—
have mercy on me.

today, we only spoke of love.
safe love, you told me. good

love. not my love, not flash
hot nor currenting. i told you

we cannot only know each
other, we are the allornothing

everflowing stream of what it
is to be interlaced, we are

kismet. you drank in meaning,
i held my breath.   hoped for

the words 'it was always You'.
windowside, a magpie cawed.

Life is a series of circles,
That's why we don't like it as much.
Because it's only back and forth,
Around the course.
It's getting better for a while,
Then going back to where we were.
We can't accept who we are,
It doesn't work like that.
There's too much piled on,
That makes us want to rot.
It's something better,
Then the same.
I only like one loop,
It's the flashy earing,
On the girl I want so bad,
Sometimes.
Because she's exactly what I have in my head,
Though I understand I could never have her hand.
I was made to fight in this broken place,
She was made for better things.

After
the explosion
I found
pieces of you
in all my poems,

embedded shrapnel,
unclean words,
full of fever's fester.

I scrubbed the wounds,
massaged the scars,
repeating,

autumn is a doctor,
winter is a nurse,
night's blue sky body
arches over
the surgery of the gods,

poppy-soft, ocean-deep, capable
of illuminating
even
your lies.




~October 2013,
revised May 2014

With a week to live
how would you live it?

Sulk?
Celebrate?
Would it be different?

Would you reminisce
on your livelier days?

Or love
in the last of them
every which way?

That girl in my dream
She has no face - it seems.
No, it's not like that.
Wearing a beautiful dress,
Neither is she faceless,
Nor is she voiceless.
But as soon as I wake up
Her face escapes the walls of my brain,
And her voice flows out like a flowing river,
Every second getting dimmer.
Yet I remember
How beautiful she is,
And how her voice lingers in my heart
Like a true piece of art.
It's like something I know,
But at the same time - don't know.