the night is you,
you are the night

dark as thy tress,
deep as your eyes,

as the sea roars over
a lost bird's frantic cries,

the night is you
you are the night

Who looks up at the
Buxom moon?
The city is drowned
In its own grimness.

Night writes
To Day,

Return at my darkest
End,
Sprinkle color of a
Temporary death,

Then at evening
I write again

The meeting place
Of two friends...

The island writes
To the shore,
Don't build a bridge...
I want to be a stranger
To the world's end.

Eyes transfixed, care to take a second look
Lies spill like oil out of the picture book
See the ever present glazed look in her gaze
The levels of misery just might amaze

The smile superglued onto a falling face
This plastered image in a foreign place
A trick of light, my love, and that is it
Photographed half-truths, often edited

Bind them together, for a story we must fabricate
Smash the window to see the masterpiece we make
Distort and contort a slump into paradise
Hear the people wish for a second they had your life

Look back on smiles and then upside down
See the dull eyes behind the makeup of the clown
The lights are on, my dear, paint on a pretty face
So we can reminisce fondly of the happy fakes

she grazes
the soul,
tumult in
her coming,

the pang
of proximity,
dew heavy
over exotic petal,

her absence
bullet-riddled
over umpteen
male faces,

a gnawing
melancholy,
restlessly at
high tide,  

a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,

crushed torn
powdered
ash dust
in flight  

a massacre
of butterflies,
a massacre
of butterflies,