There is always a mystery about the window on the end of this side of my building. Some new thing every night I walk past. The flicker of a computer; maybe a sign of a lonely attempt at entertainment, or maybe a movie being played for two. There is sometimes a warm, distant glow emitted, perhaps from the bathroom, that disappears shortly after its birth. Often, music leaks out, seeping into my unwilling ears.
     Tonight I see the window is open. The brisk night air is invited inside as an old friend would be. Maybe your body grew too warm lying under your red blanket.  The air was never too cold with our bodies touching, yet it is too much for my bare arms now standing outside. I shiver. The blinds softly dance in and out of the window, and I wish it were I intruding once again.
     The blinds are being drawn up. The window is being closed. The nights are growing colder, and I think the breeze proved too cool for your lonely body. Or maybe it was too much for the new body entwined with yours. I want to walk a little farther, to glance inside and end the mystery of the window on the end. To see, if only for a moment, the hands that are working to close up that room from the world. Just a few more shuffles from my frozen, burning feet. But I cannot force myself to walk that far. I would rather continue dreaming from the outside of that ****** window, than to know that there is another me living inside.

There is a kind of weather where you feel naked, floating in a warm bath.
A gush of wind imitates water as it brushes past.
Your fingers create rippling rings in puddles you touch
And in those moments, you can't help but notice the world is quiet and hushed.
Slowly you watch the ripples ebb to their limit,
And it reminds you that this world is merely a planet  
That waxes and wanes, and rushes like warm water.
But you know it's more than just nature to an author,
It's a place where wind makes you feel vulnerable and licks at your skin
and the rare occurrence of weather like this, renews life in your heart yet again.

When I was five, I ran away.
I took my favourite teddy,
Three packets of raisins,
And a blanket.
I climbed the huge old sycamore tree,
In the middle of common,
And I stayed there until it got dark.

When I was seven,
I ran away.
We were in town,
I’d been left outside the bank.
So I simply walked away.
Maybe that was the start of it.
Walking. Not running.
Disappearing. Not fighting.

When I was ten,
I ran away for real.
I took my piggy bank,
My mother’s purse,
A change of socks,
And I left just as it got dark.

When I was fourteen,
I discovered there was a different way out,
How to leave the madhouse?
Join the inmates.

When I was fifteen,
I was sent to see a man with a beard,
He asked me questions, all of them meaningless,
But one.
Why had I jumped?
I smiled. I’d been dead for a while, you see.
“Because I thought I would fly.”

I am stardust
I am full of not bones and tissues, but stardust.
If you were to cut me open from neck to naval,
out would pour dust.
And it is not the dust that is wiped off cabinets and from under beds,
but the dust from the sky,
the dust that doesn't know where it's been,
or where it is going,
but it knows one thing,
I am stardust.

And this dust is mixed,
mixed with lust,
and not with lust for you, or you,
but for there,
wanderlust,
I am dust and I am lust,
and I don't know from where I came and I don't know where I am going,
but I do know one thing,
I am stardust.

And I am settling.
For sixteen years I have settled,
but when the countdown ends,
when the caps fly up,
so will my dust,
and I will scatter
and I wont know where I am going,
and I wont remember where I'm from,
but I'll know one thing,
I am stardust.

1.
I flew into LA
At sunrise:
Clipped wings,
Pockets of nickels.

2.
I could have died
With my heart exposed
And lips silent
(It would have been easier).

3.
My repressed homosexual tendencies
Got me into your veins.
I can’t taste coffee any more,
Even if I drink it off your smile.

4.
Yes, my mind did go there.
My stomach knots when
I realize I want your hands
Hovering in the darkness.

5.
He doesn’t watch me at night
When your name is fleeting
And my heart throbs too fast.
This could have been ours.

6.
I don’t think women
Look as good in blue, with
LAPD adorning their heaving *******.
The gunshot still rings in my eyes.

7.
I wish it were zombies.
Let’s start over from here,
And you can wade my shallow puddle
To begin our end over again.

8.
They’re like us, but older
And younger, and blonder, and
More human than I could ever
Pretend to be.

9.
Goodnight.
It is empty in the abyss
That is the absence of
Your smile.