I wear the nest now.
It’s an ill-fitting tutu-
Itchy, scratchy,
constricting, and I’m
Stuck. My wings would
Not withstand the weight
If I ever tried to fly to
Freedom, far away from
the
Flock.

To resolve any
Difficult issue
All one needs simply
Is the resolve to.

You're my existence
This is why I am alive
Even though I am not yours

I’ve had small rains beat on my glasses before
And they have been worse, from the inside, and quieter
And much less poetic;
At least, there is wind to lick me dry here
At least, there are petals fat with sweet water
At least, there are stars on the corners of my eyes
At least, it rains outside me now.
If it floods in on the pavement,
And my glasses fog up when I go back in,
At least the soothing patter was wanting me,
And didn’t care if I spoke or not.
I chose to remain quiet and let storms pass
When they’ve formed high above these
Mixing, curious hands because all that keeps me dry
I’ve left inside of wooden clocks
Around the mossy roof of fallen beams
The welling pool where stupid ducks land
Does nothing for thirst, but divines the oils
A laxness of my limbs and skin glisters like a monitor
No longer need to be told to go anywhere,
I see great whales of rains bold against the surface
Draining in a vortex a pierced reminder
I’ve washed my hands too much, an urge to break mountains
To level ocean floors, for love, for pity, for awe—
All taught and told with a whole dry face.
There is no hero but the hero of undoing
And I’ve not learned enough of comfort
Between the walls that crush moment after moment
And all I can call home, is a kind of dance in the rain
Adrift from the music and all on my own.

Your love is like a still birth, so much hope, with so much disappointment and despair. When you see what it really is, something beautiful destroyed, You will never get the memory from your mind.Something you will always remember. Something you can still see the potential in, but the thought just bring sorrow. such excruciating pain  you can not help to replay in your head. No ambivalence, Prolific strain on your existence. wishing you still had, and yet hoping it never existed

At the swell of music I can fell the intersection of screaming of voices
They, like me, have been waiting for years
The plentitude of the thousands’ cadences
Are for the hunted, are the hunted
United, we stand in. This is unworthy, unworthy
Bestilled, we are here, standing like statues
Quietly, unquestioningly, indebted to ourselves
They said that, they said that: the mother voice
The mother’s voice
Oh, in the change of meter, she laughs and coos the answers
Your answers: we’re eying,
I’m the umpteenth man. Always. To ask,
Uncontented by the simplicity of the question, or the answer
Struggling for its complications, so, at least,
It can be done, it’s yet complete.
Wish against wishes, a silence doesn’t care
Then again, neither does the noise. Neither does the music.
If it were but love that made the moon rise, the moon rises
The ******* moon rises, it would be sorry night
A sorry state of affairs. Rest knowingly, and endure
The calamities of waning stars, twilight, and the coming day,
Marvel in the complexity of speech, and twine my fingers,
We’ll make it through.

She was always strange and confused
in a state of ambivalence
where is God and where is my mind?
why can't I see what's in front of me? Why am I following my own destiny, yet also following the streets people paved for me?
She didn't want to wait anymore for reckless answers that didn't make any sense to her at all.
So
She walked in front of a train to see the end of her tunnel

Tide pool wishing wells  .  .  .
Seagulls circle above strands,
  .  .  .  Empty shell dowries.