teacher, show us how to open our palm;
show us how to serve with you
to give to each according to their need
without expecting anything from you;
to struggle with our neighbour and not mind
what sufferings we must endure;
to ever toil without searching
for comfort in recompense;
to hope without expecting;
content in knowing
we are doing your will

let evening settle into night,
let dawn unfold to day;
let me remain the anchorite
the world has tucked away

each battle has her casualties
and i am one of those,
the difference is the art of death
that heaven for me chose:
the world is cruel and hasty, so
i left it to forget;
i let the world be kind enough
to be my oubliette

i knew that on the day i died
the world would still go on —
they never noticed i was there,
nor that i'd even gone.
i left before those *******
made a misanthrope of me,
and let my body fallow so
my spirit could be free

with nothing but myself and god,
contentedly immured,
i pass my days in prayer and praise
in union with the lord.
there is no sweeter bread or wine
to tempt me from my cell,
so let me rot in limbo while
the world goes all to hell

let others be the prophets!
that is not the role i play
let me remain the anchorite
the world has tucked away

may your exhales smell like baby's breath,
may your bedbugs die a painful death,
may signals strong as storm-struck waves
serve you all your days

may your freezers be ever full of ice
may your magazines be free of mice
may all the good things come in spades
when you play video games

may nothing be lost in your room
may april showers make you bloom
may heaven hear you when you pray
your migraines go away

and when — not if — i'm left bereft
then may your memory hold heft
inside my heart, where it shall stay
if you will that it may

Twenty-two inch night shift screen, as yellow as the moon,
Bedroom midi keyboard typist tapping out a tune.
Headphones cancel noises I do not have funds to nix;
Before the piper pays, I gotta fix the final mix.

Tempest on the tabletop, and dishes in the sink;
Got no time to wipe them down; I need the time to sync.
Pinging pile of notifs on the lockscreen left on read;
Empty fridge and cabinets; I gotta get that bread.

a stiff wind blows across the vale;
it chills me to the bone —
and warms my heart to know he’s here
and i am not alone.

he turns his face, with trembling lip,
to look me in the eyes;
the last ones left to contemplate
our broken paradise.

there used to be much more than we
who walked here hand in hand,
when worship was confined to rooms,
when love was contraband,

we danced around the fire pits
when dancing was a sin;
and left to our tomorrow'd selves
the trouble we’d be in.

we knew the forest as a friend
with all its secret shades;
the mushroom bards who played the waltz
for elves and river-maids —

but even harmless fantasy
must bow to cruel facts;
the signature of discipline
cut deep into our backs

and though my soul’s in ******* by
the promise of a ring,
and fire’s lamed the little tongue
the forest taught to sing,

the music of the memory
still haunts me in my ear —
and beckons every equinox
my heart to wander here

and here behold the home we thought
no hierophant could find:
a bed of ash, an empty vale,
his spectral form, and mine.

and they say hey hey it's okay
you can turn in your paper late
as long as it's complete
but oh the time and oh the stress
and oh my life is such a mess
and i cannot compete