There's a razor beside the bed
It's pink
It's electric

The walls are gray
The walls are gray
The walls are gray
The curtain is white
And the walls are gray

Static is my vision
The walls are gray and static
The razor is pink and electric

There is no wind
There is no light
Warmth of body does not ignite

If the bed is white then what is I?
What is she?

If the walls are gray
And curtain is white
Razor, pink, electric, shines
Then what is I?
Then what is I?

the clouds grow heavy
and now the rain falls softly
the animals dance

this poets soul
is sowing seeds
for loved ones lost
for unseen deeds
in the quiet times
dappled with sighs
dusted in pale light
are pre dawn skies
Mr Tui sings
he spreads wide
his wings
in upward flight
to the Puriri tree
I think of you
I dream you are free
toes mulled
in a turning tide
undertow pulled
the tears we cried
for you
I glimpse your eyes
crystalline blue
so briefly seen
caught in sea foam
sands washed
renewed pristine
I let go like the sun
& long for home


J.C.

The glass of water shattering,
in my imagination and almost beyond
like everything else in so many ways
but not me, never me;
I am... the safety
I am the padding of the cell
I am the broken fuse allowing all the light to shine.
I am the possibility that smothers the fear in cradle.

you already know the world is ending,

so watch
as the sun
fragments into
holy red pieces:

it is the most beautiful thing.

(it is the last beautiful thing)

and we
won't just
  survive
    but we'll
      thrive till
        we're five
           and make
              peace with
                 our hearts
                     till we're
                         feeling
                              alive
                                   and my
                                        puppy-
                                               eyed
                                                     lover
                                                            will talk
                                                                   to the
                                                                          sky and
                                                                               we'll drift
                                                                                      through the
                                                                                              night till
                                                                                                      we're free

Kindest boy with a library that
reached the ceiling and
the same personality as
my best friend, they would talk about
movies in the middle of the street at
three a.m.
Everyone wanted us
to end up together but
it would never work out
in the end.
Moody boy with dark circles
that rimmed his eyes, always
wanted to talk about romance.
He looked at me with the softest eyes
but couldn't hold a conversation to
saves his life.
I don't know why but
I always think about him
when I'm feeling bright and
blue.
- dates at seventeen.