i'm at that point
where death is an embrace
and i crave that cold love,
but the birds are singing
their beautiful song
and it's nearly five am.

i wanna go outside
and be with them,
listen more closely
in the chill of early morning
as i pretend
it never crossed my mind:
one hundred ways to die.

they pause
and i frown against tears

please sing for me again
because i,
i don't know how to live
and your song keeps me
dreaming, of freedom
and escape
from Death's cold embrace

don't let me
stop to think
of how warm cold love might be;
do not let me
wonder about the way
Death loves me

i'm at that point
where death is an embrace
and i crave that cold love,
but the birds stopped singing
their beautiful song
and it's nearly five am.

my loved ones' dependency
is the only thing left
for me to cling on

my life: a responsibility.
good thing i'm responsible.

04:59
i'm waiting for number five

...

05:00

moon, mon lune
and i the ocean,
with darkness
and storming waves;
but you guide me,
pull me back to shore
as you spill your light
across my murky depths

draw the tide in, love
i am home
i am home
with you, mon lune.
when you wane,
i watch you:
despairing eyes,
tidal waves of misery

when you wax,
i am calm.
there you are,
returning from shadows
and back to me,
and i love you
so, so much
whether i can see you
or not

i froth onto sand
dry land soaks and
***** me in.
i lose myself
on the beach
but am never lost
with my enigmatic, magnetic
cratered centre of
gravity; pull me in,

draw the tide in, love
i am home
i am home
with you, mon lune.

clear water glass windows
bordered pure white
framing a distant horizon
softest shades of honey, fire, daffodil
and a sprinkling of translucent sky

one tree roots itself atop that small mound of
rolling green hill, its grass dying out
but it's still beautiful
i think they told me a person's image of paradise
is a place they feel most at peace

your ghostly voice whispers close and near
but i can't feel your breath against my ear

white noise, bad reception, it's all gone
outside, the sky is ash
but there's no fire or warmth to be found
as rain hails down and fights to break its way in through my window
i can see people running

they're all under hoods and umbrellas
scuttling around like the faster they move, the drier they'll be
but they're already soaked through
and i think of you, so different
how you'd throw your head back and laugh
open your mouth
catch the drops on your tongue, eyes squeezed shut
clenched in delight

you'd have stripped all your garments if you could
so full of life, so full of energy

the static bleeds into my awareness again
white noise, bad reception, it's all gone
you're a ghost of early winter past
and here it's mid-October

your anniversary is upcoming
i wish i could say it was you instead

i wish i could say that you aren't dead

Tempting,
to test your luck, to push
the boundaries until they
break and let loose like
floodgates.

It may destroy a lot, but it sure as hell changes the landscape.

Besides,
there is a sort of sick beauty
in watching something
come apart, something
terrible and mesmerizing
about destruction.  

See, there are some parts of god I understand.

And you,
always you with the other
answers, about love and
mercy and all that rot.

Together we sing the pieces, you said.

It's all we can do.
It's all we know.

mild, so mild in the night
to travel with the earth
amongst an early starlit bloom,
muddy fields fill the air
with pubescent June.

goslings waddle, fuzzy scurries.
mother, father,
enlarge and hiss
protecting their long months work,
now free from pipping shells.

so cool is the night while
laying hidden in uncut fields.
chilling winds dance atop feral growth.
sanctuary for outward gazing,
through to unknown worlds.

there is no envy from a distance.
breath feeds wonder, spilling over
into this vessel, so soon to be forgotten.
spoiled from within, the unborn,
rotten. a shell too hard to crack.

there is no nest for that sacred sibling.
forgotten by mother and father.
their failed incubation, rotting.
lost amongst the stars
but within the field of all.

Apollo sings to Pollux and Castor
stroking somber tones from Lyra.
"Greet the voiceless into forever;
attach to them their rightful wings",
"chirp, chirp, chirp"

the darkened horizon
will attracts no birds today

the storm
won't adore the weak

a walk on the shores
would be a blind suicide

for the moon's love
would conjure the sea