This morning, I dropped a mug
and expected you to come running.
Just like old times, darling.

It took a while before I went to your bedroom.
I sat your old teddy at my feet, just as you used to.
Tears - like hurricanes -
whipping up the salty spray
Carrying me beneath the waves.

"It's okay," they say.
"Take all the time you need."
There will never be enough time
to make up for all that you had needed.

This evening, I visited your grave.
Just a little square in the ground. What was it,
two foot by four?
You would be sixteen now. Is that right
or has time turned in on itself,
slipping into unconsciousness
Just as I am?

Thirteen years passed far too quickly.
Thirteen years since
since everything

and the scream still echoes in my head.
If only I had stood before you.
Been there to catch you.

Three years, my darling.
You didn't have long enough.

life is full of searching

searching for someone who appreciates you,
who understands each deep thought
that fills your mind and holds your hand
even when those thoughts are unclear

we search for light in dark places,
hoping that things aren’t truly as
grim as they appear to be

we search for time and consequently
waste it in the process

so often we spend days and months
and years searching for something
we think will steady our hearts

step back and take a moment
to inhale and exhale with eyes closed,
and the one thing that will bring forth
pure joy will become clear, it will
stand out and beckon for your attention

you then have a choice:
either pretend you can find a light
more satisfying and continue to search
blindly for something that will never appear,
or look at the love and hope you’ve found,
and put your faith and trust in the
most brilliant light you’ll ever see

why would you keep searching
for stars in the shadows
when there’s already a sun
shining in your sky?

Since times of Spanish exploration,
They ran like gods of speed and thunder,
Across the open plains and wild country,
With eyes on fire and flowing manes.

All colors on their backs of majesty,
They roamed in packs, a brotherhood,
Hell bent on some, yet distance future,
No man could tame them readily.

Their pace so frantic, a restless brood,
They feared all men, and rightly so,
So when the time came to contain them,
They ran their fastest, uneven road.

Living off the land they circled,
In canyons vast with red-rock walls,
Near streams so frigid, shadows deep,
They'd stop to have their fill of life.

Their snorts and breathing, surreal it was,
A call to distance friends who still roamed,
Their muscles hardened, never slowed them,
A magical part of what nature showed.

Then came the conquistadors, gold to find,
With needing means to travel the land,
Saw these gods of flight and fancy,
Deciding they should conquer all.

But wild resist man's arrogant pleasure,
Some died a royal death then now alone,
And man, the most selfish, took their freedom,
But could not stop their restless souls.

Iris rode a Pegasus
To see inside a star

Spiral winds of hastiness
Inside its dark parts

Examining the ecliptic ring

Spying the halo of the king
She is silently observing
Despite the heating

But Iris plans to sing

As the messenger between the kings
Escaping the PRISM of the dream

Emptied
And screaming from its screens

Tempting
A Voyager to ****** now
As it flees

Escaping
To interstellar space

As the questions beg for answers
That answer way too late

Put two in the back
And one in the face

One up close
And two far away

Iris is the eye
Of a dying race

Looking for traces of its fate

Unflinching and unblinking
It awaits

The storms of a gods face

we would rather run than sleep
rather go hungry than eat
rather hurt than love
rather lose than

admit defeat

this is how you’re gonna
go far, 1.5.
this is how you’re gonna
prove them wrong.

first, drop the number.
though they tell you otherwise,
it is as much a part of you
as the gum you stick under
your desk.
this world wasn’t made
for decimals or the 4.0’s
who couldn’t scrape the
digits off their skin if you
handed them a chainsaw.
you’re not going
where they’re going.

forget everything about
balancing chemical equations
and own the way you drink
your coffee black —
one day it’ll impress the
gold-skinned barista girl
and craft a story that
the periodic table could
only dream of.
purge the formulas from
your system and replace
them with bus routes
and train schedules and how
to become properly lost.
there is no theorem for the
fire escapes you’ll sneak onto
or the celestial alleyways
you’ll stumble across.
know your strengths, because
they’re practically shining
out of your pores.
literary analysis is worthless
compared to the way you
talk to strangers, and the
genius you’ll find shooting up
underneath the overpass
won’t care about how much
russian literature you’ve read.
what he’ll care about
is how you paint him every
sunset he’s ever missed
with the words you send
echoing off the concrete.

let every answer you’ve ever
bubbled in vaporize with your
mid-december sidewalk breath
and don’t wait to see whose
haggard face they blow into
next. you’re not going
where they’re going.

you are not a number.
you are who this world
was made for.