Beyond those pages of yours are truths,
and lies.
In these binders are clues,
for this life.
Reap the rewards of a good poem,
and please,
don't be afraid to die over and over,
within these books.

Miracles turn yellow over time.
Look at how they crumple when wisdom meets
you,
but only when it's right.
Young child of mine.
Indestructible only within my pages,
please,
don't be afraid to come with me and die,
over and over again.

while september cicadas
were singing my neighbors to sleep
i was up walking holes in my shoes
over love once lost
so many poems ago
that the only thing i remember
about the house at 38th & bluestone
is that it reeked of alcohol and is
as i'm sure of it
still saturated in perfume
and abandoned laughter
but that's not the point
give me a minute
what i'm trying to say
is i always thought god
enjoyed watching things leave me
it makes me wonder
what was on his mind
that night in september
when i stooped to cough
or tie my shoelaces
i no longer remember why
but i recall their trajectory
the way gravity cradled my hands
and brought them crashing back to earth like a 747
they landed inches away
from a scrap of crumpled loose leaf
folded in half like the smiles
of my relatives on a holiday truce
you see, lately i've been looking for scars in the newspaper
i find myself checking the obituary
for my former selves since the day i found your suicide letter
maybe that's why i can never explain my obsession with history
maybe archeology is just a funeral
in reverse
maybe hell is just rewinding home movies
or watching confetti
turn back into photographs
i never told anyone
the reason the doors to the gun cabinet in my family's house are locked not because they are afraid
i will take my life
but because sometimes
i sing them birthday songs
on the day you died
it makes me think
of how rooms only echo
when they are empty

*you know
i never echoed until you died

I was crowded by the beggars

One of them said," Lovers are the melancholic beggars".

The human condition that we are all probably familiar by now is that
We tend to fall back on loneliness and darkness.
It is as if we would allow ourselves to accept love, care and concern from the people around us
But eventually we will be consumed by our very own sadness.
We create a shell that filters the care we choose, but even then
We allow it to dissipate and we end up with nothing but despair.
We all struggle to escape from ourselves
Then we strive to escape from the people around us,
And the aftermath leaves us very much stranded and lost.