as the birds rise anger
flustered & fighting over
mountains we have trailed but never touched,
nymphs crouch on fields tickled but never trailed,
and linger on those haunting night songs-


this life warbles regret
memories of hair pressed flat in its jet black arrogance
non-existent hips trying to sway like those movies
you weren’t supposed to see-


now my best regret is having lived a life in love.
seems all of california stops
just for us to live.
and the soft glow of Dawn
pauses to press her hand on my cheek
mockingly, maybe,
today has started without me.


the hands of this watch are painted on with anxiety
painted with horses and notebooks
and posters and essays
and guitars and costumes
and.
maybe i should have stayed where i knew i belonged
maybe the sun has awakened for everyone but me
maybe i need.
maybe this is just pessimism-


but what would have been of me home?
atlanta has become but a burial ground now
when every land and every person
you know has left
you become acquainted with loneliness
you exchange numbers with isolation-
add them to your contacts list
you make amends with gods you’ve never known
listen to the devil dance of your heartbeat
and the angel cry of your breath with new intensity
even the dogs bark danger from here-


but god these mountains tryna steal my sunshine.
even in spineless seats i still sit straight,
sprinting seconds closing in and
there’s no cars up here,
but i swear i hear something running-
days beginning, never stopping till they end
this wish-seed schedule:
mumbling under my breath,
yelling from our diaphragm,
his mouth widening like horse ready to rear me off
comply,
he whispers with unhinged jaw,
you are mine now.
Mine.
this blood rush body is foreign to me
she’s spiraling again
but if we tell ourselves the truth
i’d know the schedules and the jobs to do
are nothing in comparison to losing you
i can grovel
and overcompensate
and wrench myself open just to sew myself back shut again,
but what will that do?
destiny is in the secrets of the pausing sun-


the only things these mountains have taught me is my mother:
the way her hips wind in the hills,
eyes wander like leaves strewn across this city,
lips grass kissing the soles of my feet,
hair rivers sounding somewhere-
there’s a drought here now.
no mother steps away to sing me
sugar coated struggle sounds of living
it’s no wonder now i sing and it sounds of Sorrow
she sounded of the stars and now my voice sounds of empty
when i left i left my spine there with her-


passion
should be lived knowing that it is mine.
should be stop
and interact with the olympus skin body controlling me:
whack away at the leaves
herd through abandoned cows
on newly mannered pirate of a horse
and look those obstacles in the mirror
should tell it
no
should be chuckle in its face should be
accomplish spiteful, but never hateful
should live forgiveness, but never premature
should live
Mine