There's something about the way
The early morning air tastes
When you're up before the dawn
Slowly making your journey
Along the side of a mountain

There's something to be said
About all the individuals
Forging their way in the world
Attempting to create meaning
Out of a meaningless galaxy

There's something about how
Your eyes linger on mine
How we're somehow connected
Even within the silence

There's something about
The cosmos and it's mysteries
A spiral of stars lighting up
The dark midnight backdrop
How we often forget to appreciate
All this beauty right above us

There's something about the way
Children are so enthusiastic
Of all their surroundings
Holding this wonder
For all around them
A curiosity and sense of adventure
We somehow unfortunately lose
More and more every year

There's something to be acknowledged
In how every human being on the planet
Is completely unique and unlike anyone else
A multitude of qualities and traits
Yet somehow, we are able to find
Friends and loved ones
Akin with our own spirits
Those who are more ourselves
Than even we are

There's something about the way
Precipitation falls down in droplets
Creating melodies on our windowpanes
Drizzling and misting over everything
Making the earth
Feel fresh and new again

The Sunday lamb cracks in its fat.
The fat
Sacrifices its opacity. . . .

A window, holy gold.
The fire makes it precious,
The same fire

Melting the tallow heretics,
Ousting the Jews.
Their thick palls float

Over the cicatrix of Poland, burnt-out
Germany.
They do not die.

Grey birds obsess my heart,
Mouth-ash, ash of eye.
They settle.  On the high

Precipice
That emptied one man into space
The ovens glowed like heavens, incandescent.

It is a heart,
This holocaust I walk in,
O golden child the world will **** and eat.

enter me the intense sojourn of our lips
that i might

step upon

each flensing kiss

my toward darkness body

each more of its less and
set into its bite
my own teeth.

i haven't been thinking about you lately, i swear i haven't, but i was just thinking about parties and trashing myself and how anyone who isn't trashing themselves is just preserving their own corpse and i was thinking about death, lots of it, and i was suddenly hit with the realization that i am going to die [as i occasionally remember] and i had the sudden sensation to tell someone i think i am going to die and i picked up the phone and i nearly typed it all out, until i realized how he would react. how alarmed he would be. how he'd think i was speaking about suicide and try to talk me off a roof i'm not standing on. and then i thought about you. i thought about all of our talks and how i could say anything around you and you'd absorb it and yeah, sometimes you made me feel stupid, but most times you made me feel heard. sometimes you even had crazy things to say yourself and i, of course [being in love with you], ate them right up, right out of your lap. and i miss that. but talking to you is completely out of the question and he'll never understand.

he told me he loved me, did you know that? weeks ago . . . and i've been thinking about saying it back for days, but every time -- every ******* time -- i think about it, there you are. with your stupid name and your stupid self and ******* i loved you, you know that? i loved you so much that the thought of saying it to anyone else physically hurts. it feels like it'd be physically impossible to get the words out. two years down the road and here i am, tongue-tied in front of a boy you don't even know, screaming at my memories of you for not being able to catch me.