My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity

She was wild like skinny dipping at midnight, stars watching overhead and falling in love with moonlight. The way it lay upon her skin made the ocean envious of her depths within and sometimes between us. She was my sister, not in blood but in orbit. A Venus to my Earth, forged from the same collapsing star and if the universe was in fact to be infinite then this moment would happen again, and again, and again an immeasurable number of times. I found comfort in this thought, knowing though our existence was meaningless, it was still full of feeling, and this feeling, right now, it insisted on existing forever.

One need only look to the four winds
to find four frowns;
eight sad eyes
straining to see
through stained glass tears.
The man said "I die daily" but
he didn't have a constant stream of
status updates
to maintain.
I define myself daily.
Being special has
thus far
not protected me from
the unbearable weight
of today.
All of the analog cigarettes and
old fashioned daydreams
in the world
cannot save me now.
If I'm not seen
am I really here?
Heavy hearts and weary heads
reside respectively in the chests and on the necks
of everyone I encounter.
The gas station attendant
feels empty and
is bereft of a sense of irony.
The world ends
not with bang OR whimper,
but
with a deep and baleful sigh...
with a deep and baleful sigh...
with a deep and baleful...

letting loose old chains
you and your wry laughter
defeated by the day old machines
of life and their constant clogging

time's hands tear into spring
nail first, peeling off the light constricting canopy
twisting barbwire off delicate skin
strangling you on a couch from hell

wake up to the smell of bourbon
and dead roses - so pretty
your lashes creating the shadows
on your gaunt cheekbones, and your name is Soul

it's too boring to be simply up to no good
vanilla skin and ashen lips, shaking hands
sly, slender nostrils that started drip wine again
convinced she's not a person without him

when she laughs that cool laugh
these straight lines that keep her
coiled and uncoiling again
she smells like absolut and lust, cheap perfume

And there was a politician
His skin as orange as the California sun
A smile that made children want to run
Such a man whom all loved to hate
With a belly that made you wonder what he ate
He wished to “Make America great again”
All the while supporting Saddam Hussein
He was the true ‘Murican, he could not sin
Unlike those immigrants with their coloured skin
He was a violent soul to manys’ dislike
With a voice that sounded like a motorbike
However he would still bellow
Of how he was just a common fellow  
With a loan of a million dollars from his father
To start his business, though no one would bother
Failure after failure with no success
He now tries to add a nation to his mess

There once was a man on border patrol
With a heart not unlike a massive black hole
He wore his uniform with brilliant pride
As he sent immigrants back to the right side
A hero of the nation
Into the night he would ride
Some nights he would find twas not a soul to be found
As he searched the dry, sand covered ground
But on others he’d find, much to his delight
Many to which he was not so polite
Harsh and cruel was he
Always, he was a true knight
One day as the patrolman was on the job
Some animals came to start a large mob
They were angry with the hero, they did not agree
“America” they shouted “should be FREE”
He smiled and with sound mind replied
“Not if it was up to me”
They raged at this, which made him chuckle
Until one of them struck and jaw met brass knuckle
Seeing this act of violence, more law men jumped in
The law was the law, and the law would win
just as it should be
just as it hasn’t been
But the patrolman was put away
And the immigrants got to stay
Because not all stories have happy endings
At the end of the day