I am a liar,
I lied, I lied, I lied, I
lied. I am lying.

our love has been empty, useless.

our words flare up in color, but fall away cold. always.

tonight we smolder in stillness, alone in our decay—

sit in our silence that's no longer calm and open,

but broken: eden (our eden) is burning away again,

but this time, you can't say it's eve's fault.

when smoke curls around your words like

sultry translations that I don't understand, we begin burning.

it seems I am learning to stop believing

every silent, simmering word you say.

I throb and scream with every beat of silence,

but ache when your lies drop like hot stones into my heart.

my words of dissent shatter and scatter across the floor.

silence, again—but we are more broken now than even that.

The heel of my hand can yin and yang
your cheekbone's hollow, thumb and finger tease
that ear lobe's cushion plush; can probe so lang-
uidly along this niche beneath your knees.
The luscious clutch of flesh holding your hips
to ribcage-harp strums slowly with each sigh;
those shoulders twitch how doves shrug, as my lips
trip jawline, neck and collar, waist then thigh.
I swear your skin tastes sweet between my teeth.
I dare you, close those eyes and let me brush
against each giddy iris underneath -
their flickers quicken, blossoming through blush -
I must touch every vertebra in turn
before your sternum curves the arc I yearn.

Vivid visions of the past lurk me,
I’m walking on the avenues of once a quick man’s vision,
driving in car models a dead man thought
and voting with rights dead men and women fought—
for, we’re all living life through dead men’s visions—
books of laws and morals woven by dead men’s *****—
subconscious slaves to dead ways.
So ask me about “life” and I’ll reply,
*I’m still waiting to live like my master
for everyone that lives dies
but everyone that dies lives.

Hard cold sweat beads dribble down the frame of my face
My mind in a frantic race against time.
Will I make it?
Will it be too late?
My body rounds the corner at full force,
smashing into nurses,
the contents of their trays now sprawled throughout the hallway.
No time to stop.
I must keep moving.
I make my way to the elevator,
too crowded, I head for the stairs.
Never stopping,
faster! faster!
Fifth floor.
sixth.
seventh.
eighth.
As I reach the ninth floor, I begin to sprint.
Not stopping.
All heads turn in my direction.
I am almost there.
Room 201.
202.
203.
As the spray painted silver numbers 204 flash in front of my face,
I bound through the door.
I am instantly numb.
The sight of you in a hospital bed,nearly lifeless, pale, and fragile, brings me to my knees.
Just a couples weeks earlier you were so full of energy, so.. happy.
As I walk closer to your bedside,
the full image comes into focus.
Laying there so still, so quiet, any slight change of breath would be noticed.
You have no hair.
A place where once my fingers loved to graze,
a place filled with endless complements,
Hair so blonde it would make the sun jealous.
I weep at your bedside.
Memories streaming down my cheeks,
drowned in the salt water flowing from my eyes.
I take your hand.
So cold, but yet so normal.
The one thing untouched by the cancer.
Your long fingernails, perfectly painted just the way you like it.
I gently kiss your hand.
You dont move, or even open your eyes.
But sure enough you smiled.
Not your big cheesy grin you always do,
but a smile so small, only few would notice.
A smile just for me.
And with that smile,
I whispered "I love you."
And you, the love of my life, so young, and so beautiful,
took your last breath.
With your last breath came a small draft of air.
And in that moment,
I swear I heard your voice carried through the room,
The soft tone of your voice whispered back;
*" I love you too."

We sipped boulder rock from refrigerators doors
and watched the heavens hand out food stamps with IBM logos.
“ode to Mehmet” we sang, and licked the Mossberg—
fixating on the blue collar philosophy that lived in our empty wallets.

Trash cans filled with water bottles stared at us to find our essence—
the one we had lost while being fed quintessential American idioms
in state-of-the-art classrooms sponsored by slaves and Popol Vuh blood.

Six million years of human existence trivialized down to a single sentence—
* Man loved God, man wrote, man conquered God, and now man loves science* —
scribbled on SmartBoards afforded by fire burning from Prometheus’ female liver.

Trees sing with oxygen no more for the sake of making paper,
and eyes soak in the words on paper for the sake of making paper.
Trees make the avenue but the future holds an Avenue of no trees—
… for in the land of the free, anything but freedom ain’t free.