My dear familiar,
come stand a little closer
that the tether between us
may hang slack.

Come stand a little closer
and with love we will tie a bow,
so loosely
so fragile
as to be easily undone.

Oh now my dearest,
we need not cut our ties
when the circumstances of life
pull us apart,
as they are wont to do.

And though apart we stand
I will feel the familiar tug
that draws us together

and together we will come
again
and
again
until the motions become
so familiar
as to make dance of it.

Don’t call it wisdom that
you’d never known the pain
of being stung
and so with a childish naiveté
you cradled the dazed bee in your palm.

And don’t call it mercy that
when the needle lodged
burning into your flesh
so briskly did you crush
a creature
already fated to die.

Blazing down the dirt road,
nothing but sky and and and

renegade on the run
like my loose tailing past no longer matters
like everything I was
am
will be
is lost in the dust burned trail
nothing but sky and and and

it is found again some
forgetful Sunday
when the air smells of
dry salt asphalt
spring mud, river,
racing rapids
bound to lose
nothing but sky and and and

don’t look for me
I’ll be home soon but
don’t look for me
when there's
nothing but sky and and and

me.

We didn’t sleep that night
the fire burning in our eyes,
our lungs filled with smoke and ash.

We didn’t have the heart to put it out.

No, we didn’t have the heart to **** it,
but we didn’t dare leave it unattended.
At some point we'd resolved
to let it die off on its own – but
we didn’t have the heart for that either.

All night we fed the flames
with stories told in delirium-states,
our truths embedded in fictions
occasionally exploding in crackles.

All night we circled the fire-pit
in ritualistic and futile attempts
to escape the capricious winds.

All night the flames danced hypnotic
while the waves on the shore sang lullabies:
homicidal, tempting melodies of sleep.

But,
when the morrow broke the sky
and faint blue crept in,
when the clouds gasped
coloured in superfluous reds and oranges,
when the last flicker finally puffed out
and we could at long last close our eyes,
there,
eternally etched,
we would still see the flames
burning under our eyelids.

it was beautiful how we grew together
like two vines climbing the same trellis
- entwining

I find myself thinking of you
with alarming frequency. For instance,
today while folding my laundry,
I caught myself thinking of you
and wondering, as I'm apt to do,
how would you fold your laundry, or
do the dishes? Do you sing
when you’re alone?

I think of you every time
when passing the street corners
where we’ve lingered
on snowy evenings, or the park
where we played grounders
in the summer. I think of you
even in places we've never been together
and a longing rises up in me
to share them with you
one day.

Even now, I am thinking
of how I am thinking of you,
which is really the same thing
as thinking of you, is it not?

And while I'm thinking of you
I think
*wouldn't it be sweet
if you were thinking of me too?