discovered on my search today
how murakami and itoi
wrote short stories together
in nineteeneightysomething
and daydreamed of the corners
in tokyo i might never see
again all while amazed and longing
for someplace nifty to myself

made some point when i said
'this is it'
and wished for these to be my
most impactful words

shout
a pointless warning
as if
time could contract
and i return
to hear me
shout
          a pointless warning
          as if
          time could contract
          and i return
          to hear me
          shout
                    a pointless warning
                    as if
                    time could contract
                    and i return
                    to hear me
                    shout
                              a pointless warning
                              as if
                              time could contract
                              and i return
                              to hear me
                              shout
                          ­              a pointless warning
                                        as if
                                        time could contract
                                        and i return
                                        to hear me
                                        shout
                ­                                  a pointless warning
                                                  as if
                                                  time could contract
                                                  and i return
                                                  to hear me
                                                  shout
      ­                                                      a pointless warning
                                                         ­   as if
                                                            ti­me could contract
                                                        ­    and i return
                                                          ­  to hear me
                                                            sh­out
                                                             ­         a pointless warning
                                                         ­             as if
                                                              ­        time could contract
                                                        ­              and i return
                                                          ­            to hear me
                                                              ­        shout

mic dropped
going places
rinse repeat
for happy faces
elsewhere
not at home
where i find myself
alone

is it
just me
or has the air been getting thinner
recently

if you’re like me
you tend to see
the doors
that close
perpetually

the kitchen darker
your steps
planned with precision

amounts of time
pass quietly
but changes
are a different breed

the coffee mugs abandoned
still know my lips
better than yours
the humming stove
is singing songs
you used to sing to me

each day
your broken heart
collects tiny
atrocities
each day
the lamps lose more of their
forgotten dream
to shine

we slide through times
of nothing really
they’re delicate reminders –
i grew up learning cycles
with outlines hard to break

we vanish further –
unsurprising –
intentions fading footnotes
without the strength to leap
we’re shapeless
intermissions

the quiet ones for worse
caressed yet empty-handed
and waiting
with no end in sight

you felt
the same
and still
we dis/
connected

desires –
they are packed like sardines

a year
of wonder
aptly wasted;
not one
but two
abandoned dreams;
directions
bent half-
heartedly;
responses
mass-
produced

;
yet
our debt
exceeds them
all

elusive-wheezing though
some traps are permanent
they cling; i drift away
can never be a whole
a dreamt-up version of
however flawed i am

deeds eviscerated
/ clawing weakness
sloppy cuts /
willpower destructive
present featureless

thoughts enunciated
/ piercing sharpness
sloppy cuts /
likelihood delusive
future unresolved

feelings elongated
/ lasting bleakness
sloppy cuts /
sanity depleted
memories absurd

he thought he
could declare himself
depressed and gain a sense
of closure

but labels only reach so far
and feelings so much farther

“what did you carve” she asked
in vague uncertainty
“reminders” did i answer
but left unfinished without means
to fill such things with warmth
a frown yet understanding too
she smiled “you live your way”
aware that what was lost
feels grander than the gained

that day we both still whispered
“right here we will be waiting”
and then in different worlds confined
we quietly set out to wait

i've seen
these walls
i've felt i've known
no change
and now here
barely breathing
i close my eyes
but seconds
later
the world remains the same

i lie
sedated
as i learn:
my fear
has held me back
in one way
and another

same window
still
a gaze beyond
the windowsill
it could have been
it could have

seeps through
my time
like rain
i cling to pain
it knows me well
it knows me

what stays
inside a drop
a dream on top
a shiver
but nothing else
but nothing

perhaps just waiting
to be hurt
at last, and under-
stand this pain

under dust; reclaiming
the leaves, with all their colors,
and deeper yet this certainty:
she still knows
how to smile

last year's worn out sweater
and birthday gift cards frame the scene
four eyes dejected marbles

but did you even notice that my hair is
different today?

collectively at ease
a fallow mind refurnished
your voice a siren
and mine mortar
for one more broken home

confusion lasts
no monuments to better times
each dream
a squandered luxury
each night
a lifeless play

the moon caresses bloodless cheeks
i sank
you vanished
we collapsed

if i were happy, truly
would that me still
be me

so pressing pushed the sunlight
against our cheeks on heavy days,
our own reflections had become
mere strangers with
the warmth long gone and wild minds racing,
despair made us colluders,
we rushed and did not mind the
bleeding cuts on our arms when
we broke through the butcher’s window
to grab
her useful tools.
these streets, we thought, were made
for sadness,
but violence too they bear.

the viscera of happy people
are prettier indeed
we clung to little somber knives
and made those ******* bleed

enough with flippant poetry
just give me something heavy (yeah!)
you know as well as i do:
that's what depression's for!

(chorus?, then repeat)

what light can never capture,
i carefully selected.

what kindness never lingered
made seconds harsher
than intended.

you made a home
with open windows

inside my weary heart

its furniture in cobwebs now
and empty frames in dust

i wonder if i'll learn to follow

while filling them with smiles
that in the darkness
i invented.

dejected under makeup
explicit ache
translucent frame

i fathom you
i sing you songs
you learn my words
you capture me

a change
a sudden whim
what stays is broken
shapeless pain

at first glance
undeserving
a pile of bones
entrapped by love
its shape alone
a dubious definition
it cannot run
is left instead
confused and bitter
tempted

this mess my designated world
i reprimand myself
through you

still here
these stars
what might they look like
in places where i used to be
old homes and destinations
i always needed to depart
their shimmer
is it that much brighter?
without enough of me
to recognize
myself at night
when i look at the clouds to find
that stars are callous
unconcerned
about me or the yous i lost
no future now worth speaking of
just little lamps
and bland emotions
the usual, you might say

if solitude were virtue
would this for once not make me
a somebody to reckon with

reclining
to the taste
of our vicious cycles
ignoring
striding
hand in hand
no textbook
love
no trace of
pompous dreams
detached from former
dubious glory
instead
acknowledgment
of lack of
trivial purpose
and willing lungs
replete with salt
and feet
slightly
above the ground

perceptions
never saved
the essence
fading
where we rested
with no walls
no collision
two floating sacks
of flesh and feeling
a dedicated
dream preserved
still clinging
braving
pointless pain
two fools who
never learnt to face
an unkind world
that they rejected

a little poem
can't be more
than personal reminder
that there is still
so much more crap
forgotten in a binder

the forest smell
is not
for clarity and focus
but dear to
you
and me (not many yet
the two
who count)

shared thoughts however murky
remain
when leaves have gone

the first steps felt so easy.
i was unburdened.
at times i flew.

it took me all these years to find
that everything inside me
had never changed at all

so often it's
the beautiful the cherished
which falls
from dusty table
edges

i couldn't quite define
those pangs against
the colder white—
appropriately snow
in what felt like december

the quiet now when
once you
cut yourself to songs on boxes
shaped like hearts;

                                   today
those edges
too have left
behind all blank and human
shaped a body trembling

there once were nights
when i could smile across the room
to no one in particular
just drown content in music
and let slide by what needs to slide