my brand new shoes
have opened up wounds in my heels
maybe they just never healed
my white socks drenched in blood
i limp across the street
and collapse on cement

i am so weak
my knees ache
and my heart trembles
and it is so **** cold
i walk day by day
and i talk and i laugh
but my mind remains
in a different place
in that room in that bed
where we were
where we lay
and it makes me wish i could cry
but i shed all my tears
in two thousand and twenty two
so now there is nothing left
but to succumb to madness
there is nothing left
but to endure

i guess this is what i get
for putting my life
in another pair of hands

she was forged
by the songs of joanna newsom
she said:
"no one ever talks to me quite like her"
and i understand
and i see the beauty of her words
reflecting in her sea-glass eyes
she stands
in the city square of some polish town
she got here by train
she carries a bag like a woods witch
with literature for more intelligent folk than me
and she wears a smile
for more deserving folk than me

you are a suicide
though rather sweet and loving
and welcoming
like no thing ever was
the supple buds of blooming orchids
the running river and its tender wave
a lover's letter burned to ash and fading ember
the end of things and rising of a lesser sun
loving, feeling, hearing soft silences in dark
and empty rooms and hallways,
sleeping, dreaming, never-ending,
a looming shadow and a minute gleaming shine
oh sing a song and borrow time
to dance and rain and love forever
get wet and change your clothes and love forevermore
to become a thing much greater than the mass
a single blade of grass, proud and tall among the seas
it is certainly not hope but fate, believe it
the simple beauty of how hands fit into one other
it's all within you
reach out into the burning evening sky and seek
its fire's warmth and fullness of a loving heart
we are born of flesh and blood
but there are stars that rest within the veins and lungs and eyes
that never shut
they sleep, caress your aching skin
your flesh and blood, heavenly sent,
believe it.
and when you fall and sink into the bedsheets
hear the song and see the dream
of mammoths in their endless, breathing steppe
and I will sink with you and never grasp for air
for all I need to breathe is here with you,
believe it.
you are a living crimson love
a string, a thread, a tapestry,
coursing through the veins of man
since first his eyes met fire,
believe it.
you are a breath of life
into a lifeless body,
adorned in moss and fungal growths
where frogs and snails dream pleasant things
and the echo of the wooly mammoth
and the steppe now buried long in time
believe it.
you are a pagan oak that stands so proud
and my body rests between your holy roots
bathed in the warmth of your canopy of leaves
and I drink your sap and sing the songs
of birds that sleep inside your lungs
and all is good
believe it.
you are a single life
so bountiful and pleasant to the heart
that I believe in life eternal
and wish it to be so
whenever you stand before me
your presence always felt
in the blushing of the sky
and in the tears it sheds
believe it.
believe it, for it so.

we are surrounded by columns of cement
each tied with electrical lines
that speak in ancient tongues
and beneath us, there are flowing cables
passing between roots and hyphae
they chant our names