Pianist's fingers,
preacher's tongue,
she is the dark sky
where the stars
are hung.
A living dream in
men's perfume,
she speaks of oblivion,
the nothingness
and doom.
The question you have
remains to be answered:
How could a lady
who is named after someone
so holy
declare that the key to
people's heart
is a knife?
How could you,
who is named after someone
so wise
lose your wits
when she looks at you
with those eyes?
Fortune favors the bold
has been inked on your skin
at fifteen so you shrug
and fearlessly accept
the Little and Big
Death.

Poetry held your hand
led you gently

away from the crowd
and when alone

kissed your lips
passionately

and ran through the forest
merrily laughing.

Not all the times
the universe is unkind
It has been raining
nonstop
and this little house
is warm
enough for the two of us
I woke up to
the feel of your lips
on my shoulder
Angel face, you smell of
toothpaste and
cocoa
(What did I ever do
to be the one
you say I love you to?)
I regret
cursing the stars that
one
drunken
night

Rub my eyes to smear the tar
My professor teaches careful writing
I will go to my grave defending the fact that writing is reckless
And I don't care to surround myself with those lacking a rebel call

I lost my mind in Tennessee
Too drunk to even sing

If sleep is rehearsal for death -
These songs are the soundtrack of our demise

Birthdays stick to your teeth
Your ribs
Your shoulder blades
And shins

My bones are made of candles
And my head's an open flame

Too old now, to live without a fever
I wake up in my childhood bed,
Sweating and screaming
Dreaming at over one hundred degrees

Ready to return to the theater
Or to board the time machine
Anything to escape twenty
If you need me, I'll be searching the woods for seventeen

I sit on my bedroom floor,
Sweating,
Contemplating chopping this mop from my skull.
Watching my strands fall to the floor,
And writing each one a four-chord goodbye song.
The junkyard dog alive in my back pocket
Whispers things like "he'll never love you anyway".

Now I've got
Blue hair.
Are you
Still there?

No, now you're dropping acid on the mountain top.