i act like deleting texts
means deleting feelings

but i think i'm just avoiding them.

She's a midnight coffee
And although I'll never get to sleep with her
She'll help me with my poetry.
This reminds me of a song, or the uttered
Idea that manifested in fantasies of a non-singer.
The story of a man who finds a trolley
Down in the river.
He decides to pull it from the debris.
For what a strange story it'd be.
So he could have that metaphor
For a speech or some eulogy.
About the trolley that was pulled up
Out of the river.
Because, he'd like to think
Someone would pull him,
Despite that he stinks and sinks and thinks
Too much on stupid stories.
I think I missed the train of thought there,
But here she comes again, so fanatically fair.

I saw three black towers' silhouettes
Against a white light
Deep into the night.
We knew these were the bones of brick giants
From ages passed.
Before the steel spiders killed them all.
Before the steal spiders dragged their hulking bodies
To flattened the roads
And weft shattered glass, silver webs
Over and in every hole of flesh
In the old brick giants' remnants.
I lay a paw down and listened for a whistle
And knowing it wasn't to come, listened
To hear a stray cat's story teller tell the end.
Yet, great sprays of illumination
Splashed up on our secret meeting
And scattered us to the night.

We snuck up like clouds,
Away from the music
And the constructions site sounds
That rumbled up the hill.
We used our jackets on the wet dew
To keep us warm, to make our soft picnic
And then with just me, the moon and you,
Stole a brief kiss.