I woke beside
a pitch black crust
like the dust
permeating veins.

I sat upon colidascope concrete
until morning
brought birds
to carry my neck
back to you.

I collapsed onto the shore
and cried all night
because I finally outran my shadow
and the seaside
refused to share.

I pounded my fists
into the sockets
holding your eyes.
They're missing,
stolen perhaps
by another set of cheekbones.

I scraped the sky
with nails like coal,
leaving streaks of blood
across east Ohio.

I sat on the ceiling
as the fingertips of July
stretched my mind
away from fire.

Does she rub your shoulders?
I hope she does.
I really do.

An architects influence, extends only as far
As his lifetime
Although sculpted buildings may last well beyond
A single life
They are but toys for the times
Repurposed and retooled until
It carries nothing but shadows of it's origin
What should have been a schoolhouse
Could soon become a prison
What should have been a church
Would soon become a business
And in a backwards and cruel way
There is an odd sort of beauty in this
Because life is just a series of
Would have been, should have been, and could have been
That didn't.

A fawn pounds
dewy ground
fleeting feet
defeat deamons
made of concrete
and plaster
running faster
escaping gaping
holes in ozone
cell phone rings
birds singing
silence swallows
kin from within
the womb and crust
inside the skin
of earth below
moving slow
tectonic plates
sway
the arms of the moon
cocoon fragile fibers
from trees and leaves
but the sun set again
like last Tuesday
and the winter before
marked with blood
on the door
moving on
shaking sun
the sea will always
reach the shore
and move on

Arizona sunrise a leaf below his feet,
February tug of war led the rope to feather.
Stuck between pyramids and a desert flat
above sewers of east Brooklyn,
bridges emptied dust to flame.
He covered rice paper with delicate yellow birds,
and tore his clothes to shreds.
Swapped sleep for a girl in faded overalls,
but no flowers from his garden
high amongst the clouds
could match her feathered beauty
so he bought a peppered owl.
The great salt lake shriveled her skin,
the birds heavy flesh hit the ground,
leaving a mark deeper
then the **** on her shoulder.
Still, she stuck to him like syrup
but sweet faded to sun.
Trapped inside a number maze
with dyslexia in reverse,
only shivers of winter to remind
he is as alive as the moons cheekbone
hanging
haunting the sky.
He cried twice that year.
Once when the bees carried feet from honey,
and again when he lost his eyes to the sea.
He wrote love letters to the albino fifth graders older sister
and never once
thought twice.
The sky, a compass
swinging
swaying,
a weeping willow in his veins sobbed until every ounce of blood was salt.
Sinking as fast as his heart
last February
to the crust of the sea.
Perfect shape took form,
he never wondered why.
Open eyes uncovered
folded faded overalls beside a door unopened.
Smile like silk
pulled him into her lips,
swallowed him whole.
Forever he will wade
and wait
in the beehive of her belly.

Pockets full of something
You can't quite name.
Three small pills:
Swallow quickly before the rain
Dissolves what makes you
Magnificent.

May the branches of your cherry tree
Blossom fruitful and ripen beneath a kind,
Soft sun.
May the sky remind you it's okay to cry
Even if there is gold upon the loom
And green in the field.
May your mind be full of skepticism
Never criticism.
May you remain pure and strive to
Avoid ignorance.
Bliss is achieved upon crossing troubled water
Aim to avoid the security of a bridge.
Ignore cold shoulders:
Bathe in the sun.
Remember wind pulls petals from the strongest flowers.
Weeping willows sway in the wind like waves.
May it swallow your spine
Permeate vertebrae
And pull you deeper into blue until lungs beg to brake.
Emma,
I will sleep beside you until the rain comes.