This is the first and last time
that the moon and the planets will align
in such a shape.
At least, the last instance until the sun burns up.
You said "Look out your window."
I did. I looked out;
I blamed the window when I couldn't see it.
then I went outside
it was negative nine degrees
and my face was set to freeze
yet the moon remained hidden.
I drove to the end of the winding road
in the orange darkness
Even in the opening of the trees
there was no lunar disclosure,
no planetary apparitions
to soothe the frostbite I inflicted
when I stuck my head out of the sunroof window.
I never found what I sought
I feel robbed, violated
a sense of entitlement
(wrongly felt, I suppose).
Then again there is a guilt
when something is so beautiful
that there is an obligation to share it
but it was then refuted by the premature death
of this moon,
and by an acute tardiness
held tightly in a clenched fist.
Next time I promise not to miss something
so revolutionary
and sensitive to time.
It was fleeting,
we tried to catch and match it
like lining up squares of cloth to cut
"Isn't it funny how everyone is seeing
the same moon?"
Look out your window before it's too late,
drive until you can't feel your hands
or your face or really anything at all
and come back full of life.

I'm not gonna miss you,
you are always
in my mind,

when I fall asleep
at night,
I will just remember
we lay under
the same stars.

I will take a piece
of your beating heart,
and make it mine,

so when we are apart,
I will not be alone;
you may be far
but never gone.

I'm not gonna miss you,
but your kisses and hugs,
your smiles that struck
like lighting
in my eyes,

I'm not gonna miss you,
but the way
you make my days
complete,
those feelings
that always bring me
to my knees.

Each flake that falls upon the ground
Carries a sort of air
It falls from heaven, and dances around
It lands upon my hair

Covered now,  in fairy dust
I must sing a new song
Not one of love or lust
But I want you to play along

When the snow has stop falling
I step back inside
I hear the trumpet calling
And know I must abide

I do as it commands
Like the voices in my head.
She knows I’ll understand
She knows I’m hanging by a thread

My body feels numb
But not from the cold
That feeling had never come.
This is a feeling I’d often hold

Each second on the clock seems to take longer
I know my time is coming
I hear it getting stronger,
The sound of distant drumming

The frail hand that keeps my time
Is coming to a close
For I start to hear the chime
An end to all my happiness, but also my sorrow and woes.

17 feb: offbeat

I couldn't stop thinking about
grey tartan and gin
and soft pink skin.
Cigarettes and typewriters,
drops of ink on the paper
leading away from the word
"desperation."

But there it was.
"I'm leaving for the afternoon.
Your choice is to prune
the bushes or to water them."
What was I to do?
I liked them full and so did you.

You were frantic.
As though you'd misplaced something
when really you were just searching
for a fishing net.
"Look at the sunset."
Oh but it's gone, it's over, I'm sorry.

[Friend, friend
do not cower or back down
from this but know
that I am listening for you,
to you, always.]

Left to rot,
built to spill,
one of us was always ill.
I was waiting for you to come home--
I have not touched the bushes yet.

Ive found the common thief to be inside of me and you
without a face to call his own becomes the people too
And when there should be nothing left your heart begins to fight
It looses all the spoils you had gained to make things right
And if it seems impossible - believe and give it time
It may take an eternity for you to never die

You stare at a black box
You say you like it better this way
Where the disconnect
Cannot affect

Troubled by this regurgitating behavior of  
Reducing our senses to sight
Because we barely listen

The box doesn't stare back
A disease lies hidden underneath
Asking permission to speak

She pulls the wires from her wrists
Audible pops
Like octopus suction cups
come from her brain

Shocks like jellyfish
And static
sizzle sizzle
In her eyes

Her lips on mute
Like she is the device

I made love
to an email,
inside my
mind's
sugar shop.
I guess
our blood is
detailed;
I don't feel
until you're
shocked.

You say the things
I moan,
and I wear the things
you swear,
like, "I'd still see you,
even if you were
to disappear."

You kiss me before
I tell you that you're
silver-spoon-
melted-heart,
reassuring me
that you're ****** up,
and to just push
to watch you
fall apart.

We shake
because it's what
we forgive the most.
So, let's bite our tongues
and float north.

On the night you left,
the northern lights outside my window
illuminated the floor of my bedroom with soft red
and green light.
And I pictured you
My love
Driving
Sailing away
And the aurora
Guiding you like a lighthouse
Westward
Through the calm spring air.
I close the curtains
And take a deep breath.

My stomach
churns
acid.

I lay in bed,
counting
the sheep
in me.

And I
hate myself
for every
lost cause
I find and
pet.

I want to
cut open my
stomach
and burn
the wool off
the sheep
with the
churned
acid.

Jesus loves me,
yes I know.
For my nation
tells me so.
Cut the wool
off of every one.
My words go on
but I am done.

Yes, Jesus loves me.
****, Jesus loves me.
Yes, Jesus loves me--
my nation tells me so.