I want to make poetry
from poverty.
I eschew women.
I buy nothing.
I eat little.
I own less.
I have neither
TV nor cellphone.
This is not asceticism.
I just want
to know the bones
of life before
I become
the bones of death.
  ~mce

Those lost in war
are mostly
gone for good,
but sometimes
their ghosts pry
my ears open
and softly
weep into them.
I can only listen
and wonder,
why not me?

  ~mce

The rose
I discovered
tattooed
on her ***
made all
that effort
worthwhile.
  - mce

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.