Can we speak of these certain vacant spaces
in my abandoned bedroom where the moon dwells
and shuttered creatures search their teeth
for a bloom of flavor and sun.

I'm surrounded by prosaic twilights--tenantless places--
where plaster perfumed by dormant fire
gapes with cavities and empty mouths
that seek him with their tongues.

Where darkness crawls on poppy seeds
on moths and reeds and shoes
to reach me in my consternation
now that his name has fled my lungs.


Today I sewed his note to my breast pocket
but it grew crescent roots like fingernails
and murmured that we were too young.

if you want to leave me

i think that is okay

i’ll still remember you

in the pages of my old notebook

doodled over and torn

stained with cherry coke

i’ll read the diary entry

about the time you took my innocence

and how it was

beautiful

if you want to leave me

i think i’ll be okay

because you’re still buried deep in me

like the way ants create castles in the ground

you are the tunnels that i maneuver around

you’re artwork on a wall

too obscure to understand

but yet

everybody understands the sadness emanating

and they cry

because it’s beautiful

i cry because you’re beautiful

like a   c o s m i c  crush
the sadness sweeps me            
the resonance            
           that does not come
     your  nihilism
in my knowing