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I complain about the way
There's a break in society
How their fall after all
Brings about a desperate need
A change of heart and change of plan
Needs to be readily seen
When the truth makes dry land
This looks a lot like me

A rebellious soul will take its toll
Keeping you from being free
Shackled to the worst of it all
All because of how you lean
Having no boundaries to your surroundings
It's not that easy for you to leave
With these facts I wasn't counting
This looks a lot like me

I've heard it said it's hard to see
The whole forest for the trees
Or the lies over time
That tend to lie just beneath
With a clouded one-way mirror
Whose reflection do you see
Couldn't be any clearer
This looks a lot like me
How many ways to love, you ask—
a question no number could hold.
Is it the warmth in a morning glance,
or fingers laced when nights grow cold?

Is it stitched in quiet acts—
the coffee brewed before you wake,
the lullaby in whispered words,
the comfort found when hearts ache?

It’s in the listening without reply,
in laughter blooming from nothing at all,
in standing near through storm and still,
in catching you before you fall.

It’s in the gentle brushing of hair,
the note slipped beneath your door,
the holding on through distance long,
the choosing you, and then once more.

It’s in the growing, side by side,
in space that’s safe, yet ever near,
in letting go of fear to trust,
in every soft “I’m here.”

So how many ways to love, you say?
More than stars that grace the night,
more than raindrops ever kissed
the windowpane with morning light.

Count each heartbeat, each breath we take,
each kindness passed from hand to hand—
and still, you’d only touch the edge
of love’s vast, endless strand.
Affable people
are likeable fools
Divorced from the moment
their banter unspools

Affable people
in search of a creed
Amusing examples
— of folly indeed

(Dreamsleep: March, 2025)
Nothing compares to this spring time love,
Except for one single thing,
The love we'll have in summer.

Yet, even better than that,
The love we'll hold in fall,
Golden and aged like the leaves of oak trees.

But no thing could be greater,
Than the love we'll hold come next winter,
Sleeping in, your warmth by my side.
I can't wait to spend all this time with her
Light,
The light from above has bestowed upon me the urge to dance, despite it all, all, all. A spark has spread a little fire—the music never stopped, despite it all.  

Affection,
Facing slowly—affection all over the floor. Summer has not started yet, but there is heat, devotion, warmth in absence. I nod to the sun. I turn towards the dappled, bronzed skin of mine.

Jazz,
There is something ferocious living inside this four-cornered apartment, where the absence of childhood has taken half my life—but there are flowers, flowers in my head. Slowly dancing in the whiskers of the afternoon—velvety, yes, velvety notes striking the rhythm of my body. Swaying, swaying, almost lost in the murmur of the piano—the saxophone aggravates the thrill in my bones. I look up at the ceiling; colors start to swirl even more. Strings spill like liquid—smooth and endless, more and more. Conversing here and there, I am alive again.  

“Turn your face towards the sun,” they say. I dreamed of my childhood, and the heat of the sun felt like slow jazz in the afternoon.
I wrote this for 10 minutes because jazz made me feel alive today.

jazz is for ordinary people - berlioz
Evangeline, on the soulless night of February, I continue growing my broken wings. I remain sentimental, wasting my tears away. When I look at you, all I sense is the growing impatience that I will never be able to sit with you.

Even if I bloom with these wings and my graceful tears, I don't believe you will hear my silent pleas and whimsical, hopeful yearnings.

I am a tree with seeds of sadness buried deep in the earth. A rotting fruit of desires. I could never be as majestic as you, chère Evangeline. I am eloquently silent, with my lips tightly shut; I am a crumbling mountain, and madness slowly decapitates my light—but make it poetical.

Make my sadness profoundly graceful. Make my body arch like the slipper orchids. Make me a beautiful yet distant star, Evangeline.
princess and the frog was one of my favorite disney films, and I can't help but also wish on the evening star, evangeline, in hopes my wishes will come true too.

let down - radiohead
Sad reflections from
donated dreams.
Charity's
fallen embers.
Like a high UV index
they burn right into
your skin.
Freckling
your thoughts with a bit of compromise.

Close your eyes
to the possibility
inertia
has made itself at home.
You'll feel it, feel it
right to the bone.
But you crossed that bridge
long ago.
In the time of
tranquil misgivings.
You gave consent to
sin by offering up
your sons and daughters.
Drowning them
in the shallow end of dissipated water.

Sing hymns
all you like.
Piety
is not for sale.
And the angel light
that hits the wall
is not in the shape of Mary.
Evil always figures into
these things.
Don't you know? Heat rises. Blood falls.

So burn your prayers
on a stick. Roast them
in the campfire. You'll never turn
to God until you lie
dying. Broken and heaving.
Asking for forgiveness.
Which a man of cloth
will grant.
Such a charmed life to leave.

Only it's a cheat.
A spoonful
of circumvention.
Making you feel
warm and clever
as you bleed out. Regrettably,
your vacuous heart
sailed off on the Greta Garbo
and mortgaged
your future for such marquee.
Banking on the
here and now.
From this there can be no redemption.
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