Down lies a still smouldering crow,
his sullen wings saturated
with fast-drying wines.
The rouged soils rupture and burst

into bloom. The rotting welts  
turn green with age.
Now petal spill
like blood from the buds
The wilting, creasing constellation.

Down lies a smouldering crow.
He wears his mother’s
face now, as he rests, at last,  
amongst the flowers without a
casket  
to separate.

Now feathers spill
from hollow bone, and cold  
eyes widen, blind.

The birdsong  
will be  
silent
yet now  
until  
spring.

Up rises the dimmed dove
with wings unfolded, revealed
as a stray unsent letter -
the white cross. Even still,
where the flight feathers
dust upwards, they

do not reach the sky.
Because, although they are
white and soft,
ash bruised skies

refuse to open.
The winged shadow stitches
into the poppies below,  

darkening
vermilion into a sickly rouge.

A crow lies beneath.
Too young to die, yet
old enough to fight.
His poppyseed eyes
are eternally blind
to beauty
of the dove.

I remember the blend
Of light and dirt
As it painted my vision.
But I didn't care much
That I was no longer
Beginning to see.

She was the one being buried.

I'm depression. As real, as light,
As dark. As feeling, as air, as
Light. I'm as real as the sun
That isn't there. I'm as heavy
As its nowhere-
Ness. I'm the sum of sub-
Tracting parts, I'm the price
Of hell, a worthless dream.

My life
Is found, when life
Finds meaning (when was it lost?)
If you think
That means
It was me
Who gave
Up on God. . .
I gave everything
And nothing he returned to me.

Death to the saviors.
Death to the sayers.
Death to the forsakers.
   Nothing to arrogant nothing.

The greatest ******* pain
Is your child,
When he was just born,
And inside you,
And later, when he
Disappointed you.

You tried so hard,
Gave it a name,
Something you wanted it to be,
Gave it food and water - Your
Food and water,
And for your birthday,
You get a coffin.

Life
*****,
As the saying goes.
And I guess
Death is the Doctor
Who draws your blood
To replace some other blood.
As the saying goes
Around.

But maybe
Our dreams will get us somewhere,
When the end comes, when we sink our bones
Into that pillow the Earth, and in a thousand
The sun will abandon, and make it
No longer daydreaming.


But until then,
Let them **** each other.
So-called "family."

Peace
On the operating table.
I wasn’t very faithful,
But ever since Death’s call—
I fear. for my life.
   God save us all.

Adieu, adieu, adieu.
A tremor hits the old room,
Antiques and glasses crash,
Dust folds and my heart.
   It's all gone.

Still,
I don’t want to say another goodnight
To those dreams you sent on meandering flight
when your words gave my spirit new sight
even your memory sets me alight
Alas, I miss you, such awful fright
Abandoned again…Gone, your light
I, heart broken, sigh & say “good night”

Once a starling choir at dawn’s first light
Wove borrowed lore of multitudes in flight
Each mirrored trill a surge of many souls
Naming the air in shared, harmonious might

Now I stand alone—a hermit lyrebird
My lone lament is all that’s heard
No flocking wings to quell my cry
Or crack of broken twigs beneath my feat
Then solid silence seals my defeat

Yet in these plumes both communed rifts abide
I bear the lore of countless hearts allied
For one lone note that trembles to be free—
A joint chorus and a hermit’s melody

the canyons you carved
mains nues
like cracked earth
prend soin
break cycles between
ce qui est figé
surfaces and heavy skin
fixé pas coincé
now leaves and has left
seul à nouveau
reconfigures my vision
proving i never knew anything
et je saurai encore moins
me, i travel and pass past
de l'eau qui se jette sur
les bords du rocher
she reminds me of me
when i loved you