Rabbit and Hopper skipped around the clouds
until it rained.

With the precipitation they descended
to the world.

What they found astounded—
Earth was clearer than clouds.

Everything so defined, so certain.
It destroyed them.

Rabbit and Hopper then descended
to the underworld.

Everything here was nebulous and
strange. Monsters, demons, and the like.

After the fifth sighting of Lucifer
they decided to leave.

But the guard would not allow it.
He told them they were prisoners.

Rabbit and Hopper did not understand.
What is the offense of fallen angels?

The first time I met God
I was alone and afraid.
I was nothing.

He took my hand and
showed me something beautiful
and then I fell in love.

He began to ask me for things,
my fingernails, my hair,
and I gave willingly.

What use are these decorations
when the body is but a vessel
to be used for good?

Finally, just my heart was left.
It only stopped beating
when he tore my heartstrings apart
for his repast.

I know the flowers are alive
because I have witnessed them gossiping.

They only do it when they think
no one is watching.
The truth is that
they are never alone.

Like praying monks,
they bow their heads to the ground
and whisper about
the sunflower’s exceeding tallness
and the rose’s self-adoration.

I think, if even the flowers
look down
when speaking their minds,
what hope do we have?

I really don’t know why the sky bleeds
except that it means I am dead.

My grandma told me once that death is like
falling asleep and then you wake up in heaven.

But if this is heaven then why is everyone
covered in blood?

Perhaps she meant that death is like
bathing in the truth of yourself.

That it is pulling off your own skin
until you are nothing but a milky stone.

In that case I think
I have yet to cross the gate.

I am stuck
peeling off my skin forever.

But I’ll never truly know because
my grandma spoke in code and whispers.

She was my favorite ghost.

The first time I saw the sun
I held her in my hand
and let her burn through my fingers.

My hands are still burned
and I can feel her light
shining in my blood
every day.

Oh, how it feels
to glow.

As we sit down to our dinners,
as we open our romance books,
people die.

We sip our water;
their guts spill open.
We study our notes;
their planes crash.

We live;
they die.
We breathe;
they suffocate.

We are testaments to chance,
to luck, to possibility.

We are not products of God.

We are blind goats trotting on our path
before we perish, suddenly,
and vanish into death.

a tear drops from her eyes
and it brings no cause
though it quivers with emotion

and the stars do not shine brighter
when polished with her briny tears
but dim their glow and listen
listen!
to her sobbing
but wait
her capillaries will burst!
stop it!
stop it!

its translucence
its opaqueness
the inherent contradictions it produces
and the images it emanates

so while her eyes may open
they are unfocused
and gone
and the click of their judgements is obscene
because her soul has escaped

where has it gone?
she swears she saw it just a moment ago
just a moment
just a moment
just a moment