I walk through the park every day.
Sometimes I squeeze through the crowd and toss a coin into the fountain, longing vibrating through every molecule of my body.
I’ve done it maybe twenty times now. I wish for the same thing each time.
(I can’t say what it is, though— then it won’t come true. And I really need it to.)

Amid a cluster of intermingling people, I stand almost-alone;
Me and my coin and my one wish.

I wonder, sometimes, how much it matters.
If I’m just deluding myself and tossing  
pennies nickels dimes quarters
Into the water, emptying my wallet splash after splash in naive pursuit of something I know I will never have.

Small children join me in tossing nuggets of wishful thinking, their parents laughing at the naivete of it all.
I imagine a world where I don’t rely on a coin to shift my luck.

I wonder if I know somewhere beneath this self-deception that it doesn’t matter.
That no matter how many pennies I toss,
No matter how many stars I wish on,
No matter how many dandelions I blow into the wind, eyes squeezed tight with desperate desire,
Sometimes wishes just don’t come true.

But I know I’ll toss another coin in tomorrow. I don’t have to wonder about that.

Separation-

Exclamation.

Exasperation-

and then silence-

for all the years
when you were speaking to me
have found the words

silent-

and as the feet
slide side by side,

the heartbeat
is deafly quiet-



a treasure is lost

a foundation is cracked

the stone i leaned upon has swayed-


my only wish,
if i could have it,
would be that you could’ve stayed-


that maybe grace and understanding could keep you
instead of sending you away.

what does it truly mean to "be lucky"

we determine how every aspect of our life plays out.
our successes and failures
alike.

whether that means bottomless sums of money or
life spent on the cement corner.

content and joyous or
a constant sense of numbness like your heart is filled with
anesthetic.

visualize, motivate,
and it shall be.
*******, luck doesn't exist.

females
lovers
yachts

forbidden fruit (eden)
little hole (eve)
Yahweh (tizzop)

friends
luck
yack

turn every letter around turn warriors
into choirboys allergic against weapons

turn vampires into
humans

turn around: somebody behind you
spying each letter you gotta

be better
don't turn the page NOW
the paper'd simply fly downwards into hell
with you

besides: the book of your life will end soon enough

Playful sunboy, boisterous and rash,
do you think this is funny?

I’ve seen you snickering
swinging from the roof beams,
pecking at the taught strings
of us, your unwilling playthings.

You dangle comforts in front of our eyes,
long enough to want,
close enough to widen,
fleeting enough to waste away.

Who’s leg are you pulling?
Which ribs are you jabbing?

Playful sunboy, boisterous and rash,
your teasing is our torture.