The night sky above us was splattered with stars.
Millions of them.
Galaxies and constellations right before our eyes.
The universe was dancing and rejoicing
To a cadence that could not be heard, but only felt.

Such a tragedy
to be robbed of one's youth
like a plant that has been uprooted
before it blooms.

But there must come a day,
be it soon or late, when our bodies shall
kiss the earth as she welcomes us home
with open arms.

We will all
bloom again, but in a different way,
and our petals shall decorate the graves
of those who return.

It is alright to cry,
because our tears shall water
the fields of the ones we have loved,
for when we die,

we are flowers.

In the moonlight, high in the Lemon Gum,
perched under the arching ghostly branches
two eyes of jet peer from a snow-white mask.
Tyto Alba, the Barn Owl, with heart shaped
****** disc, edged with ruff of stiff feathers.
Mottled pearl-grey body feathers above
the moth like plumage, purest white beneath
her slim legs are bare on the lower half,
with small feet that end with deadly talons.

Nocturnal, she roosts in the heat of day.
You will hear her screeching in the cold night
hear the scream before you ever see her.
She can see in the half light of humans
night vision even in total darkness
pinpoints her prey by listening to each sound
the desperate, scuttling little creatures make.

She is a well designed killing machine
with hooked beak, powerful feet and sharp claws.
Her flight feathers have softened edges
to make her deadly flight near soundless
She swoops silently down without warning
seizing victims with her claws, biting deep
into their neck arteries, puncturing
their most precious organs for a quick death.

Last night your bedroom was tattoo-parlor-red…

You were a relentless *** machine
and your Alex Esguerra painting was knocked from the wall
during our rough housing. I found it
broken behind the bed
when I was looking for my second sock…
the other sock was still in my hand when I woke.

I love the way you always fall asleep diagonally
across the bed, so that
I lie awake, contorted and trying to figure out a way
to fit comfortably and proportionally
into your sprawling unconsciousness.

Yesterday, I loved your morning countenance;
void of expression
as you looked down your nose at the coffee press.
Your upper lip rested heavily on the lower, which seemed
immovable, that I’m not sure it will ever change.
It was too tired to be a pout and
I couldn’t look away –
so I must have loved it.

In the throws of passion last night,
you moaned that I made you sick to your stomach. I asked
if it was because I was too far inside you. You said,
“you’re always too far inside me.
That’s why you make me sick.”
And then you came and
rolled off of me.

I woke with only one leg in my jeans,
my mouth was coated with body paint,
and my chest was clawed into military ranks
by your flesh filled nails.

My other leg was propped on top
of an old pine blanket box at the foot of your bed
and my right arm was folded behind me
and numb. So I threw a sweatshirt over my shoulder –
I think it belonged to your old boyfriend, the one
you made the Esguerra painting with –
and I walked out of your flat leaving the door open.
Your cat slipped out behind me and
followed me downstairs to the sidewalk.
I didn’t care.

I sat blankly staring at Sweet’N Low packets
under a newspaper rack at the coffee shop on the corner,
holding my mug for what seemed like
an eternity of suspended animation –
the grip on it’s handle was the only thing
that connected me to the planet.

My eyes held that same lack of expression as yours did, but
my lips were parted so that air could
flow freely in and out if it
became necessary.

Sitting lost in state, it occurred me, that
I deeply and authentically affect you
and it has nothing to do with *******.

Your boyfriend’s sweatshirt was a size too big for me
and I could tell he wore Creed –
I saw a bottle of it on the toilet tank. It’s redolence
clashed with the aroma of roasting coffee and
I was startled from stasis.

So I left, walking out to a cacophonous city, where
the sun had just exploded over the horizon,
and I smiled into its blinding brilliance.
As the door squeaked closed behind me to a snap,
I looked to the right for a moment,
then turned left.
I had no idea where I was walking to and started
blithely swinging my arms
as I accelerated my gait.

I still had my sock in my hand.
And your cat is probably dead.

the mind is a vessel swimming in ideas, until the break into reality--waves are receding from the shoreline of thought,
crashing crescendos of melodies
that ached to be heard
And
words that longed to be written
And
memories that once resurfaced--

All gone.

Dreaming is a poet's land and
I ache for eye sight and control and the free flight of my subconscious.

I quite like
sitting cross legged
barefoot
in the passenger seat
of my mom's Honda.
When the air is humid and warm,
summer is rising out of the darkness that
encompassed me this winter,
and I was so distracted
I missed spring.
I like hearing
the audible gasp
in a movie theater
or
noses sniffling, tissues being exchanged by strangers
because
for once
I know that these people
are feeling the same way I am
and that I am not
alone.
I like hearing your quiet snores beside me
after we've fought
because you did not get mad enough to leave
and I'll work it all out tomorrow
I promise.
I like feeling
the kick drum resound in my heart
at concerts
because I can feel it
and it is there
and I may have to get away from the crowd
but it is still music,
it is still passion
I am still there.
I like when you've just cut your hair
and I know you hate it
because you must have told me a thousand times
how they ******* messed it up
and ****, you are so angry
but I am distracted
because I am seeing your eyes
for the first time;
and they are a jungle
and I am tangled up in your branches.
I like crying over trivial things
like movies and books and the way you looked before you got onto the plane,
because that means that I am not caught up
in the urge to drag a razor across my skin
or all the things that I have held myself back from.
I like unfocusing my eyes
and clearing my thoughts
so all I can hear is music
and not drown in my own thoughts
for once.
I like falling in love
with someone I cannot have
because the fear of rejection
is not there
and I can love wholly
and completely
because he will never know me
and this makes me feel content.
I like being unextraordinary
and leaving no mark on this town
except for maybe
an empty soda can on the stage of the park and
crushed, unlit cigarettes
because
it will be easier for me to get away
and no one will remember me
or the way I liked the weird things.

Something that stands out so completely;* Resilience, is not so very discreetly kept locked away from the planets you shine on, to their envy. ~~ *Frank Ruland

Yes, I shine
I smile
I carry on through the days
But my light gets dimmer
Each passing moment
With nothing to shine on
I simply fill darkness with light
I don't bring anything
Those planets that envy?
They're crazy...
I shoot past,
The speed of light
(really fast)
What is there to be jealous of?
My speed...
My strength...
My bright, shining glow...
That may be so,
But what are all these things worth
If I have to do it all alone?



Absolutely Nothing