Like the day
she was dark

no color
Like the night
dawning

no darker
Like ink flowing

no whiter
Like a rooster comb
stain on ***** sand

no deader
Like deepening
purple washing
a ****'s crow
into bleached
seas

no
she was

and here I sit, at the bottleneck.
a postdoctoral headlock squelched
in an economic ice age.
what idiosyncratic feathers
will we evolve to make stolid
careers ****?
is it possible these colorful
plumage have unintended
consequences of flight?
early real down
or Icarus waxed illusion?

I'll love you till
the day I die
but I ain't living another
day with a handful
of weekend vacations
and spurts of popcorn comfortable
nights

I'll love you on
my death bed, but
I ain't your mamma

Give it to me
I'm worth it it's
you and me
in our rough *** cell

You'll  stand at my funeral
after working the most boom
***** to death
and say

I ain't sorry
I'll love you till the day I die
but I ain't your daddy

Children forging
ripple across
a deafening dune  

Flowers bow
their head to pray
lulled by the sound
of pillows

Our sappy creek nearby
sinks in time silence
trickles beyond
a graveyard


Was I in the wind
beyond clouds
beyond angels?

sand falling through
tightly laced
corset

can only know
neoprene kisses
purple from asphyxiation

my kefir spurts
sour oats
to the dry wind

never finding
spreaded parchment
smiling

never inking
sailor's story come
homely

what the **** is a Nightingale I
know its a bird I
know there Florence Nightingale
and in my abstract mind I
see a bird of the night
sitting upon the chest of my
sick child

she's not plucking her
eyes for food instead
she's giving her Dark
magic from our book

she's nursing Midnight's Children
with kisses as tender
as an obsidian blade
shaving pubescent legs
to a sharp sheen
ready to cut morning's
edge with ebony rage

In twilight of cloudy morning
I look unglassed into a mirror
and sight nearly the old
face that use to be

In reflective hours of still
young morning
I listen for passing echos
from cars and passengers on
their Work way that will be

In greying silver of late morning
Summer I feel expire
as the class of 2020
arrives at Harvard
wondering want can be