body blazing, he roams
with flames for feet, drags earth
behind his back, as in magma
melting mountains, as in moon
pulling, seas shifting; skull swinging
open
        like windows
                             at dawn—

all gloaming, sun slept on the satin sheets
of his mind; make merry the morning
melody till it awakes, it wakes—

he weeps, tears trickling like candle-wax
dripping from its flicker. he flares
& firmanents fall through the fumes,

bruised, blinded
—burning bush for his
banquet.

ash and cinder know not
his swelter. he bore the heat now
he becomes the fire.

600 feet up in the air with you
Battling gravity tooth and nail
"No strings attached” you say

While my soul has already nestled  
in your arms
There comes an incoherent yell  
Of an old friend from beneath
Her alarm attempts to tickle my ears
Yet I’m held to your heart too close
To care for anything
Other than the melody of your pulse
"No strings attached” you say.

Aye- agreed!  
What holds us together is a chain
you must know.  
Looping itself around us both  
With each twist we take
In your whirlwind of passion
Every tiny particle of space removed
Locking us together- as one
“No strings attached”  

You murmur into a deaf ear
Hurling my soul out of your lap  
At long last.

600 feet downwards I’m shot
Like a bullet out of a ruthless gun
Landing in wrong hands  
and wrong beds on my way
in mid-air,suspended
In dreams spinning

Now I’m fumbling in my heart  
for the rusty chain  
That held us together  
The old friend too yells “No strings attached”  
My chest is empty
You must have pulled at my heartstrings..

The warrior walks
Dawn's first light in the forest
A babbling stream

The birds are chirping
He wades through the tide of mist
Around his ankles

The stream is ahead
Dropping his weapon he falls
The battle was won

He saved his village
But suffered a grievous wound
He reaches forward

The ice cold water
Brings wet fingers to his lips
A slight refreshment

Savoring the taste
A bed of wild flowers
A perfect cushion

Weapon behind him
He thinks about his breathing
With grass on his face

Remembers, exhale
His wife and child, inhale
Beautiful, exhale

Remembers, inhale
The days long battle, exhale
His people saved, still

Remembers, inhale
Vibrant colors of spring, still
His daughter's face, still

Remembers, exhale
Cold water on his lips, still
Birds are chirping, still

Wild flowers, still
Rays of dawn pierce the trees, still
A babbling stream

Baseboards lined with spiderwebs
That shimmer in the slanted sun
Next to worn, wooden chairs
Feeling sturdier than ever
Shelves and shelves of
Outdated textbooks and encyclopedias
Crinkly and brown and yellowed
How many trees went into these pages
This forest rearranged
And defaced by movable type

I crackle through dead leaves
Layered over dry, green grass
Hands in my pockets
Making sure not to trip
I crouch in front of a stranger's grave
A rough, stone reminder
Of a soul lost in time
I read their name aloud
And I let them know they're not forgotten

I sit in my school's dusty library
Like a picture taken on film
Full of grain and texture
Frozen beams of light
Through slanted venetian blinds
Capture and hold dust
Suspended like dew in a spider web

Rigid, impasto clouds
Stick out of the sky
Like Van Gogh
Put them there himself
Sky peaking between
Buildings and towers
Pushed and pulled
Twisted and ripped apart
Like fabric tearing slowly
Moved by the breeze
Invisible currents slicing
A silent cacophony of air
I reach up and feel
Solid, dried paint crackles
Under my finger tips
I pull my hand away
Digits stained white and blue and gray

Shifting streets and their buildings
Pulsing and moving and shaking
Jagged and prickly corners
Edges of windows glint
Like drops of blood
On the edge of a sword
Walls and sidewalks
Rough like a giant cat's tongue
The skyscrapers carve the landscape
Into a distorted forest
An amalgamation of today
And yesterday and the day before that
I reach forward and feel
I pull back in shock
Fingers pricked and knees scraped

Soft-spoken with the loudest presence in the room
A March wind that caresses through
Petals of daffodils in bloom
A salted sea
Stinging fresh faces under the moon

Eyes blue like the world under cloud-covered dusk
Eyes like the clouds and everything beneath them, his dusk
He returns to his place by the sea
The new moon brings new clarity

by now my cup would have been filled
with the grace you sing to my name
and how you string sentences together;
letter by letter, thought by thought.

tell me, what does your mind sing
whenever we read the same page of poetry
or listen to the same songs over and over
that they seem to be a dull buzz

a static, a background noise
a façade for something,

                   (dare i say a tryst?)

or would fate call that too early?

but by now, i'd listen to you
speaking my name like a prayer.
maybe for once
i will believe in religion

as long as you're the one

                             preaching.