"what's wrong?"
                "nothing and everything at the same time."

in time
the lens
turns large and flexes
small
and the colors of hands
the shapes of days
stains
the wallowing stream
the hanging chord
for god is change is time
is infinite is ends
is frozen is stagnation
is a self
a sculpture in ice
glittering melting
a tale the same
in every telling
till
gone.

May the gods drink deep your blood
and may the crimson please their gaze
and may the iron scent whet their lust
that the taste may sate it
for you are my greatest offering.

Somewhere
a kitchen light still glows
on an immense orange cat
waiting to scour both dog bowls
for leftovers
that have yet to appear
after even a single meal.
Twilight throwing
lavender shadows
across the cramped
polaroid drenched kitchen
where you slow danced
to something acoustic
before saying your first goodbye
on a bare concrete balcony
studded with cigarette ash
and stars.

You pick on me,
Like strings.
Leaving none attached for me to pull myself together,
After the wreck.

I mean,
Do you really expect a mosaic,
To turn out like a sculpted angel?

So throw me all your words,
Use them as a weapon,
After all, I've already cut myself open.
I wouldn't need your bitter soul to tell me how much of the world I've taken.

And in return of your kindness,
I would take all of your pictures,
And shred them into pieces.
Throw them into the fire,
Along with your unrealistic expectations.
And watch it burn,
And burn;
Until the word doesn't linger.

Be found in this ache
In the stretching of limbs and
The yearning of trees
In my own growing pains I
Ache like the old wooden days

(Nature)