The last time I was in love, I wasn't.
But ****, did it feel like I was.
I felt butterflies in my stomach
Had my insides in a round of applause.
The last time I was in love, I wasn't.
But ****, did I feel a rush
But that wasn't love, it was whiplash
I was shattered and I was crushed.
The last time I was in love, I wasn't.
But **** did it feel like it.
But it wasn't love, for when you're in love
It shouldn't feel like ****.
The next time I'm in love, I will be.
I'll be on top of the universe.
'Cause next time I'm in love
She'll be my guardian angel, not Lucifer.

You all remember the romantic fickleness of being fifteen, right?

Of course you do.

Everything was

Brand New. (But we faced the world with Bright Eyes)

Once again I’m sealing up my dried-on spilt blue dye

With a kiss between the lines of liquor boxes

Wondering in which book my nose was buried

During the moment that time casually hopped aboard

a timeless train with a clocked-out rate

Its silent departure breeding a fantastical escape.

Only the ironic forlon echo comes much later.

They don’t tell girls who waste their youth away between the lines of pseudonyms

Between the shelves of musty libraries

Every other warm summer day until dusk

Just how old you’ll feel in the reminiscence of inde-alternative and cardboard boxes.

Urdhva Hastasana
Salida del sol.
Her paws are bare
Ablaze against the black stone heat of the morning stroll
Pausing for the last monsoon, whispering
Salut?
There would not exist consequence for a dampened nose of pusillanimity
Carelessly drawn to the astrophysical realm of celestial bodies
Illuminating the chivalry once more.
We'll sing chansons
Oh cabaret!
The circumstance and pomp eliding
Lavishly rouged lips from sterling glances
Exposed by the slow and sultry raise of copper eyes
Premeditated, so that they lift in perfect timing
Beneath dark lashes to seem accidentally mesmeric.
I still lose amethysts
They drop from the back of my ears unexpectedly
Their plunge of contact against the water
Catches my attention but no more
Of a thought should surface except to surface
The stones from the depths pooling around my ankles.
The rain won't drain and hasn't for months
She scratches her hair but the pining never stops.
I rub her ears so she'll display such an ardor
Revealed in company and solitude simultaneously
To be weighed and doubted and accepted and declined
Beneath the stony gaze of the eyes of a god
Swindling a wrinkle in the shower curtain.
Alas what a shame it is
Besitos aren't quite fancied here.
Ne prennent pas garde aux berceaux, Que la main des femmes balance.
Puesta del sol.

Where to begin?
From the top, I suppose
Of the proverbial mountain
Standing steadfast
Slowly penetrating
The indigo mist spiraling
The pinnacle
Peaking through the
The unified particles gathering
In bent-up lines
In pent-up times.

Electric
Against my own your skin is pressed
Entranced by optical pools
Enchanted by what lies
Beyond the colored flecks
of jade and chestnut we digress
Melting into a single texture.

Easy.
Steadfast and consistent despite
The prodding lecture
Of suspended disbelief
Unleashing ourselves
To the ambient
Four-dimensional
Placating the phenomenal
Perceived through the "right kind of eyes".

Gleaming yet gleaning but still
Guiding, this compass
That encompasses the raw
Torn-back flesh and ego
Scored and sacrificed by nameless
Aboriginal ancestors
Arching their bows with
Aim to eradicate
Foul ideas and fallacies
Judged beneath the squinted
Eye determining the deadly course
Of another forced
Self-consuming
Twisted moral paradigm.

They salute with self-satisfactory smiles
To relieve the conflict of conscience
Regarding blood-splattered soil
Salting the vague consolation: sputtering,
"This too shall pass, my brother".
Comforting one another
With the zip of
Vibrating strings
Pulsing against the
Weathered fingertips
In imperfect time.


Curving cedar lines
Poised with precision
Resemble and assemble in fragments
The urge to protect and preserve
The curve of a lover's spine
Bent-over and braiding
Long locks for war
Sitting cross-legged
On the dirt and hide floor.

A Mind.
A Soul.
A Bowl.
A Key.
Syphilis.