It flies amongst the stars.
Flashes for a moment.
Despite the left scars.
Holds a place close, yet far.

It carries the fallen.
From mistaken paths.
To reaches impossible.
And develops new plans.

It creates new countries.
Raises dead soldiers.
Stamps unsung heroes.
With a feeling of free.

Hear its silent sound.
Open up your eyes.
Place it in your heart.
Elevate from the ground.

It helps us climb.
Better than rope.
Do you see its shape?
It is hope.

Like pop up adds in my mind
Thoughts that carry hidden viruses
But act like click bate
Louring me in as if there is more to discover
But it's a trick
They hijack me
They pick me apart from the inside
Their constant stream of invasion
Wears me down to tears
But sleep doesn't come
To those that overthink

Ringing of raindrops on a tin rooftop
Tintinnabulation, wrapped up in lightning storm vibrations
A fickle thing-be it friend or foe?
Until I'm wet I never know.
Is it the rain that changes?
Or is it me?
Is it the cage that cages Captured wings?
Or is it the bird inside who has forgotten How to sing?

I shy away from sentences.
In the spaces where words should be,but aren't I can maintain my anonymity,and shore up my unrepentance.
  When I speak in more than snippets, it becomes plain.
I am as broken as my preferred pattern of speaking, of writing.
If you look close enough, you can see it.
It isn't as clever as I wish it was.
And sure, its effective enough at soliciting a fleeting feeling.
But what good does it do?
I like to pretend that I want to be known.
Really, I am hiding just out of sight.
Around the next corner on that daily walk where we sometimes collide.
  In circles of other people you know.
You've seen my face, you know my name,
youd even say you know me.
But if you were asked who I am, you'd hesitate,
with a catch in your throat, and a half reassuring-half derogatory smile.
" well, you're.. You" you'd say.  
And no matter how many times you're asked, you'd repeat it.
For days,months, years.
I've watched it happen already.
I'm not sure if I haven't taken the trouble to really introduce myself,
Or if you haven't taken the trouble to realize that I am not just
Some whimsical syllable
Plastered on my shoulders
From birth to now.
And now, we don't have time to be sure.

your craving for life is insatiable
i watch you
devour the sun
you
attempt to drink
entire storms
the entire horizon
with
the way that you tilt back your head and stretch out your arms

It's not everything; to sit and watch the world
shift between abstractions is like sleep.
Life's not love.
Life's not wisdom.
Life's not nature.
Life's not anything
but a blue-brown paper bag to carry your thoughts
because there is no where else to put them.

I wouldn't say ironic. We aren't really trying to discover
secrets. It's not about that.
You can sit in swamp musk and find it
after realizing the world is not so disgusting,
but that we are.

It's about coping with yourself
and all of your ****;
biting ankles;
sewing shoes together;
selling the ridiculously semi-sentimental trinkets
your parents gave you and making some cash;
buying hookers;
taking them to the park with your dog;
watching your dog find happiness
and knowing you'll always just be
almost there.

She sat on the edge,
quietly waiting,
for the sun to rise,
and chase away the darkness.

She looked to the east,
calmly calculating,
the amount of time,
till she hears birds sing.

She saw a glimpse of light,
slowly brightening,
with every single second,
the world held its breath.

She watched the light grow,
beautifully round,
and it rose above the hill,
not seeming to stop.

She felt the kind heat,
quietly warming,
her tired body,
till she felt alive again.

She knew why she was here,
calmly understanding,
that fate brought her,
and she could change that.

She sat on the edge,
tensely waiting,
she got up rigidly,
this will not be her last sunrise.

I remember late nights
    Perched up against white stucco wall
       Listening to the radiator talk in tongues
And the crickets sing a symphony

I remember that burn in my throat
     Like creatures with claws climbing down from the bottle
       While you stared back at the room
Watching her dream of childhood memories

I remember I wasn’t her
    And I didn’t have that same transparent skin
      And I couldn’t see what she had dreamt
      


But I could dream, too