I have found a season which exists
between New England's winter and spring,
in late March or early April.
You will know it by the bleeding of colors
in the sky at dusk (the orange cream,
the flush of pink, the blue-powdered
lavender) when all the clouds
misplace their edges.
You will ease your body down
into grass damp with what remains
of winter's moisture. Let your eyes
become a mirror for what lies above you:
the ethereal atmosphere.
The trees will reach up with a thousand
grasping fingers, all craving the silk
of the sky, and you will stretch out
your own limbs, unable to resist
the desperate urge to touch.
it seems to me,
is the root of all knowing,
for what i have found
is worth far more than all i have lost.
what i once took for granted,
i now embrace each day,
like a breath of frigid air
on a morning laced with ice.
you magnetize me into
delight so deep and dark.
you are swirling, yes,
with all the light of things unknown.
all of you, which i have pulled
to become the reality beneath
the heavy lids that open to wonder,
enchantment; surely you know,
for your spell is natural
as the garden which flourishes
in your heart, planting sunlight
and bittersweet promises,
too much for a wanderer to behold.
yet he stops and stares,
as do i, for the day breaks
as surely as you will.
far more than this: soften
your edge to fit with mine.
If not for words, would we still have questions?
Could we think, if our language was lost?
I sense a change already, falling backwards,
forever plummeting from a higher elevation,
too afraid to open my eyes.
If not for breath, would we still have air?
Will life grow and change with a lack of oxygen?
As my lungs expand, my eyelids raise slowly,
but as always, I see only what I wish to see,
too afraid to face the ****** of truth.
The moon is my ghost, as I land softly
I leave no footprints on its cratered surface.
One question at a time, one breath after the other.
Though I am no magician, I sense there is magic:
There is life all around me, holding me up.
i do not imagine it is a crime or you
are a criminal, i do however question
why you bothered to use that one call
barshadows on your face remind me
i do not wish to visit again or spend another
moment with my eyes to the floor, your
i have never been that type, never once
made a promise i couldn't keep, also known as
i do not make promises and i do not
and yet i will say my goodbyes when i know
the end is inevitable, for isn't it always? and
even further: i have no wish to spend eternity
Je suis jeune, ou c’est ce qu'ils me disent,
Jeunes et capable, sauvage et libre;
Mes os ne craquent pas sous le vent.
Je suis folle, c'est ce qu'ils disent,
Folle de croire vos mots cassés,
Mais vous étiez jeune une fois aussi.
Je suis seule et ils ne manquent jamais d'avis,
Seule, oui, mais jamais trop seule.
La tasse était à moitié pleine quand nous nous sommes rencontrés.
Je suis ce que je me dis:
joyeuse aujourd'hui, envieuse demain,
et en ce moment, juste une fille coincée entre deux.
skyline dance -
distorted rhythms and do i
only imagine your
hip against mine as
we press flowers into each
weave ourselves like
sand in constant shift
trembling heart you hold
it out do i take it?
i take it.
winter knocks -
you never answer and
i locked the door last night
again and you cried.
you said we are only
growing older and we are
not children anymore.
but you still smile like you
did when we were both
six with gaps in our teeth
and bruises all over
our beaten bodies.
it's been two years now,
and i am not getting any younger, you know.
still smoking two packs a day,
yes i'm aware i'm my biggest problem.
but i still blame you
and the silence of the phone,
the absence of you calling at 3am,
just to say "*******, go to sleep."
i got scared and i clung to you;
that's all there is to it.
no details to fill in, no ending to determine.
it was over before it even began, how typical, i thought.
still i think your voice could ease the pain
of early morning hangovers that last all day,
and the silent screams i muffle with each inhale.
*******, go to sleep.