To my favourite day
in recent memory,

I keep longing
to see your colours
again

Cool and green

I lived you as much
as I could

Sang to you
as you sang back

You made me smile
and laugh

Showed me what I
love and think
about

Tiny vessels of joy
carried by the currents
of your song

Dropping deuces

Sitting on the tips
of trees like
Christmas ornaments


Come again, soon
I'll cherish you more
than I did.

I'll take a walk with
you and your family.

Think
of a speck.
Is it of dust?
Perhaps something else?
Maybe it is a being, a microorganism shaped like nothing.

Imagine
that it exists within an unbound expanding and imploding space, one that transforms countless times in each infinitesimal unit of a moment.

Now,
wonder if our speck is also such a space, holding something.

For this being or non-being, substitute any and all imagery; worms, balloons, the depths of a star-studded universe, and so on.

Finally, place it inside your head.

Then, you might come close.

do you know
my name, still?
i can never tell

surely, your finger
must've been held, once
the same way

in my grip
tight and unwavering
like yours

a hand that
doesn't know how
to let go

like yours now

do you remember
that, at least?

flame on a matchstick
ever-burning
floating in space

Gray waits for you.

it's funny.
i begged you
to stay, once.

i couldn't think
of a better reason

than having come
from you.

little bug
you exist not
in the forms
that are chosen for you
but in me

and when you arrive
i exist not
in me
but in the world
that your host paints

stripped of the world
i am a blob too

cry tears of joy
pain and anger

with desire to be
and sometimes not

i asked you "what's wrong?"
for the twentieth time
this month

and you did not hesitate
to tell me that
you don't know

maybe i can
try to give you
a new place

take your hand
walk you down

mold you anew
from overlord to
fly on the wall

you won't die
but you will
be less annoying

i hope

i see you
silly little boy

under that nest of a head
or maybe you're a ways lower

behind that tiny heart turned upside down
the one that marks your real one

i see you
struggling to form sentences

staying quite on the surface
saying silly little things from afar


because you don't know how
because you're afraid

oh to long
but long I do

on the cusp
of greatness and not
in superposition existence caught

immobile as dawn breaks
for a day not yours but the world's
as it ends
each eye aches

never out always in
don't use those words
they betray sickness

oh but I am

tales of yore
echoed then
echo now

of your blinding perfection
bone against bone
not one past another

you are what he seeks
but not I
not anymore

weep tears of paint
balanced in your imbalance

in this moment of weakness
I come back to you

have you any clue?

wartorn and moving
I come back to you

trembling roars make timber
shiver by the bank

and Beanpole stands contemplating
he'd be doing the right thing for the wrong reasons

dead vines or maybe dying
no tears no flaccid crying

a ray of sunshine makes them crawl
at first they whimper as if being mauled

I can hear it crying again
why is it always water and bottles spent?

wish it stays away this time for good
not unlike the light in me

at least right now
at least in this moment

cover up, boy!
for it is cold this summer
and shed your dashing coat in time
for the leaves will rise in fall.


a brisk pace is all I need, father.
warmth this summer, breeze in fall.

cover up, child!
Lord!
heed!

keep him safe.

i rose with dawn
and now plagued by thoughts
usual and unusual

my eyes burn as my mind speaks

fur blocked her view
as she walked past me
to pay her dues

unaware that her muse
painted all 'round
rising hues

writhing colour
becoming in December

crept up to white
pulled back by slumber

Praise be! Wake!
Praise be! Wake!

deep dish, tomato in my mouth
"wouldn't potatoes be nice?"
in a moment, everything went south

God ******!
you ruined the flavor.

red lights
blinding whites

cold as ice
hot food

warm embrace
pretty face

high-speed chase
Hey Jude

wait
do deers eat almonds?

mind, a flipbook
alternating stories

soul, a river,
storm and rage

roar and battle
love and hate

one for me
one for the fake

but it dies down

for moments in time
against a picture for mind
a lake for soul

and they forget.

but only a moment,
the others won't allow

we must roar and battle
for now

Wet string around my neck,
should I let it dry?
Worn it down, past the crest
and felt it against my sighs.

May I take it off?
"No, it's there to help."
But cries won't let it dry.

I must die then.
"No, don't, you're thinking too much."