Wispy blossoms
against the cerulean sky
voracious for sunlight
even rooted in mud
bodacious buds
surrounded by concrete
will not be subdued
they remain
perfectly poised
for ritual splendor.

The cerulean dilated blue eyes



Mentioned,



Universes beneath our own

The sea—
a place where turquoise silk can cut like a thousand daggers,
where souls are lost and subconscious is sought,
where granite is broken and dissolved,
where one gazes into the Nietzsche’s abyss,
where the dawn spills and day
sinks.


Bodies are kissed by foam and lifted by the wave’s crescendo,
caresses from an emerald lover, salty
diamonds reflect light off of lashes,
eyes like lighthouses spanning across the cerulean plain of forever, searching,  
Searching
for deliverance,
for solutions,
for forgiveness,
for escape,
for what is lost,
for something, anything, to find.  

The long interstice between solidity.  
A beautiful monster, a terrible magnificence, a mercurial cure.  
A paradox of temperamental consistency

—the sea.

You smile black-eyed as
the city belches blue neon
through its steel-glass canyons;
a cobalt factory of lumen, pulsing
through dendritic labyrinths
of sapphired circuitry.

Diodes of cerulean fire,
spreading with virulent sophistry
amid the glittering obsidian dark,
like pale horses of light that
leap from pane to inky pane,
like a Pentium’s ******;
God’s own seething fireworks
watched in reverse
as they float in through my car window,
strobing blue against your freshly
washed hair.

Cerulean sheets
Mummify the memory of your eyes roaming down to catch mine.
Light oak rings dotted black with the door to your soul
What did you see?
Ghosts of those days linger in this house
And I don’t profess to be a medium
But I swear at night I can hear them
Faint footsteps passing quietly back and forth between our doors
Confused
And questioning our distance.

I see the side of morning
That mere mortals leave alone

Unlike them
I never find myself wrapped safely in a dream
My face covered in silken strands of subconscious
Safe from shining stars
Instead
I’m wide-eyed and wide awake
My mind dancing with the kind of energy
That first set the Earth into orbit
It’s thrilling
And maddening
But mostly exhausting
1 am tugs on the consciousness like an eager puppy
And a sleepless mind doesn’t have the strength
To stay put
So it scatters
Sets itself adrift in swirling darkness
To relive all the memories sparked to life by starlight

Tonight is particularly maddening
For you keep running my thoughts aground
My poor brain keeps bumping into you and faltering
So I can’t help but feel
That your absence is more conspicuous than I’d like to admit
Silly boy
You’ve gone and made me fall too fast
But your desire to keep me didn’t spike at the same rate
Our slopes are all off
Yours a gentle incline
And mine slippery steep like the dreamlessness that traps me
I can’t help but wonder
Why you swathed me in soft kisses to keep me safe from shining stars
If you didn’t mean to see the night through

2 am has a Siren’s song
Seducing my sleepless self
And the rare nights I manage to plug my ears
I dream of dragons
I dream of kings and queens and knights of old
Of chivalrous swords wielded for a lady’s honor
Here
My fears breathe fire
And are cut down by Sir Knight’s steel
It’s a welcome change from my own daily jousting
To have someone notice my tired helplessness
And come to the rescue

I’ve found that’s all I need
Just a little rescuing
For the morning always seems so much softer
When cushioned by a warm body
A knight to close my eyes against the darkness
When my past is breathing fire in my ear
You had seemed so earnest when you whispered
Please tell me you don’t want me to leave
So when I let you stay
Was I a fool to think you were more than just shell-shocked?

In truth
I only have myself to blame
For if I had no expectations
I would never be disappointed
I know that the moon can be dazzling
Especially when reflected off a glittering girl
So I’m sorry if I got sparkles in your eyes
You have to understand
One cannot dote upon the night sky
Without gaining a layer of stardust
I can see how you might have mistaken me for some
Ethereal creature
Some glimmering goddess of old
And so perhaps your absence means you realized
That I’m just another Earthly human with bags under her eyes
Or perhaps it’s so much simpler
And you just got tired of the shine
Either way
It’s 3 in the morning
Sir Knight is nowhere to be found
And I am disappointed

remembering moments on hilltops, suspended in
the sky, we were the fibers in a weaving, close knit
in lingering patterns of threes and four.
do you wonder about this freshwater ocean that blossoms at my feet
I wonder of the appeal and the repeal of the oak
trees that always sang me to sleep, and carried me into the light

I've long had this obsession with windows alight,
when the air shimmers with floating pieces of lives in
technicolor, I have something to watch as I lie, wide-eyed and left to soak
through the evening; you see, no matter how tightly I knit
the people in my life to my chest, I am always left twenty feet
apart from them when I need them most for

keeping me in touch. four,
five, six, seven, eight. trapped in my own prison of increasing daylight,
I drink coffee after coffee and fret about the things I haven't done, and the feet
of clothing piling up on my floorboards. within
the scope of a week there are three solid days where I am unable to knit
myself properly, truly together. a half-sodden cloak

of apathy, drenched by rain-misted windows and thimbles of oak
pollen I've sewn to my heart to remind myself of the four
years I haven't talked to my father, of two closely knit
souls bitten apart by youth and distance. the days when I softened the slight
pulls at your shoulder blades, where I could see miles and miles of a life in
shades of red. I'm burying myself in the sludge of desperation, I am fifty feet

under the swirling surface of a frosted lake michigan, clutching my feet
in a position where no one can hear a word. I am left to croak
when I'm aching to scream, "**** it, *******, I knew of this mess I'm in,
blistering in the cold, one thousand one hundred thirty-nine point five miles, four
years I had to take and knew you wouldn't wait." light
creeping in on the horizon while I sip my twelfth coffee, carefully knit

between my comforter and the sheets. I've never had the patience to knit;
I'm a wanderer, a dreamer, a vagabond on feet
bound by restlessness and the ache of a lifetime spent catching the flight
of the wind on a clear autumn day. I notice the shaking of my body while I soak
in the trembling of treetops, the bursting of my seams for
things I can't have, the running of hands over fabric worn thin.

I had men I could have knit and purled, I had trees I might've loved like texas oak,
I had feet, I had solid friends in fifteens and four;
I had these in the light, but I caved to find you lost within