3:30 on the train—
it seems so dark these days:

these days
when grass withers
on my footsteps, when thoughts
of you—you, the flame of my lighthouse,
the sail of my ocean—drift and
hang, warily, in the murky air.

3:30 on the train—
another day, rustling through the
dark, without you.

i took a solemn, slow walk down the
sidewalk in front of your apartment
and i saw her,

intimidating at first but beautiful
in black lace,
Death,

sitting in a bookstore skimming through a book about Life,
oh they were an inseparable pair but
oh she was magnificent

but after contemplating for some time
i realized that in order
to be truly happy,

i must meet her.

i don't
know you anymore; i

i am

pink sky,
     red-tipped flames
i cut the forest in
you.

The time I whispered
"Mascara on your cheek"

I knew I loved you.

You fished mirror, tissue
And fixed

And thanked with such
Sweet smile and

I knew you loved

Reflection in glass

Bifurcated, broken thing,
longing to belong again,
hangs with hangmen from a string
along a wall of wallowing.

Speak of pain, he speaks no more
but rasps his voice against the door.
Save me, sir, what is in-store?
Salesmen smile and take the floor.

Cauterized with spit 'til dry
lies the spider with the fly.
Of one, blood made two one-alike.
Awry, awry, what's left is right.

Lonesome at last what alone begins,
ten hundred is but ten handfuls of ten.
The hunted, hungered will soon bends
as all are lost as all will end.

swallows fly in
fractured patterns: i stared
at the canopy

i bellowed your name
and sobbed; my dog
licked my face

faraway: i know your voice
rumbles with music.

just your gaze,
just rising starlight
across your rivers;

just fields of wonder
buried in those eyes.

paper airplanes
folded into
shimmering glances of
you, your eyes buoyant,
rusty with the dust.
you, your eyes fireflies
—looming, granite fireflies—
folded into
floodlights

glaring, blinding,
blue.