O' yellow, fellow, mourning braids,
shalt we dance along our black parades;
lest parting long-wards, O' fair daylight,
and golden shrews; the sun, we might...
O' gathered fortunes, gone and done,
and the countless bruise we hide; that's one,
that you may shine so bare and bright,
upon the coming pale, and peaceful night!

Dear parting, jolly, loyal chap,
bemind the turning, pacing gap...
And when yer folly turns a-bend,
remember one lonely, and most loyal friend.

A.r. Bazian
*Written in 2012

The bench is three paces
From the bike rack
Twelve feet
To the light pole
A million miles from
Where I want to be
And eleven minutes
Closer to you.

He's circling around
The L-shaped
Concrete garden
And she's singing where
The sidewalk
Meets the asphalt
While I'm somewhere
In between them.

If this campus were
A battleground
Every one of us
Would be losing
And the shuttle bus
Would only serve to
Carry away our
Stone cold bodies.

We're all waiting
At some earthy spring
Bus stop
For the same ride
A bittersweet
Kiss of death.

Now I see a car
Coming up the hill
And I get to my feet
After all
I shouldn't keep the
Hearse waiting.

A vision of black,
Heads bowed,
Women weep as he's lowered into the ground.
His mother cried,
So did I,
People couldn't help but sigh.

The rain flowed beneath our feet,
Into the ground where he would retreat,
A place as hollow as hell,
Where he would never  fit in well.

I feel responsible for his death,
to his parents I apologise,
I wish to join him;
Every single day,
In the ground,
Where he lay.

Would you attend a half-time funeral
Near the oak and pine branch at the cemetery,
Floral bouquet in hand, the last stand,
For the fool carelessly sitting there in the light
Of dark? Sorting through old newspapers,
Cigar in their mouth, unseen by such
That they remained happily in front of
Live TV watching the 7:00 news, amuse,
A vague smile, broken down besides
The window pane of a thousand tomorrows
Yet to come that never will. Piano dusty, keys musty.
You will see them at the "final hour of waiting,"
All come, when they finally reach you at full
Speed, to every end, to the same place you already
Arrived at in the light, and found the truth
Is not anything mystical or meaningless,
It's ironically simple, life is simply life.

A cure to a question
which way do I turn I do not know this place I have no direction
two AM
I caught the attention of pedestrians and firemen because
I was swearing in the streets due to a fleeting aggravation
that drove me
nearly
senseless
Praying on my knees to a god I scarcely even believe in
to expose this unknown disease which gave
you every reason to be un
comfortable


But you never complained, except
when we were awake in the break of the night and your moans matured to that of a dog’s deep howl and I
had nothing more to do than to hold your skin tight as if it were to fall off of your bones within minutes


and your chilled limbs would diminish to
nothing more than a stone in the ground that I would visit every week or so and
leave flowers for your soul to smell


I will thread my dress from scratch with a spool of black stars and a new silver needle
The bottom will drag across the dead dirt because I made it too long for my petite body,
on purpose
so no one could gaze upon my swollen bare feet bruised from suede heels that squeezed my toes for too long when I dressed up for you in front of the dusty mirror on Wednesday’s dawn


My lips will curve words like bubbles blown from a child’s toy
do I look okay?
The left fragile strap slips off my shoulder as a breeze steals the right and a breath sighing yes trickles chills south on the ship of my spine


I will be wearing a whopping gray floppy hat,
the one with the violet sashay you gave me in the spring
It will fold over my quiet face and
cloak the wounds of my hazel flaw