Illustrated by isolated breaths,
The math teacher denies his duty.

A fallen tree speaks in moans
Drowning in tears her eyes cannot see
Her hearing is tangled in the juniper and sage
Her mouth is a violin’s inner space
A facade of platitudes swell within you
Just as the grandiose defends you
Lungs full of residue and smoke
As we make our romance into
Something that vaguely resembles
Both a poem and a history lesson

Another space becomes abandoned
Once filled with infinite beings
No longer burdened by birds in flight
The cranes no longer saunter
Beyond the pale of your starry eyes
Though I stray beyond my imagination
Whose edges are softer than a bed of roses
This loss is all I know to speak of
For to breathe is to bellow like an ocean
Though you are as pale as the moon
And your blood vessels are mostly hollow
Will you ever remove the chain of commas
That hold you in sedentary slavery
To unnecessary dreams
Seeping into your coffee
I steep my mind in beauty
And keep it ready and unruly
Until I wonder if anyone
Even knows what that means
Anymore

We are all masked by the hand of God
This mouth is a cavity of desperation
What's the point in getting ready
If it all comes tumbling down eventually
The blind have never risen
And the deaf have not yet learned to speak
With the music only they can hear
Within each passing heartbeat
We are forever beholden to each other
For there are hundreds of mouths left to feed
But beauty is a deed that can’t be bought
Still I fought for your heart and lost everything

Canvases and caverns
Concave inversions
Humid ontologies
Reside in reverse order
It's all imperfect
This i’m certain of
All is becoming
For total recovery
Is but a blind man’s fortune
And a soul is no surgeon
A thousand years later
And still no progress
Worth speaking of
What’s the matter with your heart
Is it a faulty circuit
Or did a fuse blow in the dark
We are all targets of uncertainty
Fallen upon piles of confusion
Still i am grateful
To be ruined by your love

I face the firing squad alone
Beneath a canopy of learned women
We dream of stories undefiled
Tossed into the sunrise
And damaged by a fire
We are forever broken
In the deep-fried hours of the morning
You collapse the course of history
Is it better to be afraid of the dead
Or to respect them
She whispered to me
We are all alone and neglected
Grief overtakes my exit strategies
And I am instantly reminded
Of visiting Prague in the springtime
I have no clue why i mention
These isolated images and feelings to you
Perhaps, to one day be deserving
Of something beautiful again