I am black with love
neither boy nor nightingale
intact as a flower
I yearn without desire.

I arose amid violets
at the day’s first light,
sang a song forgotten
in the unchanging night.
I said to myself: “Narcissus!”
and a spirit with my face
darkened the grass
with the glow of his curls.

by Pier Paolo Pasolini

Crippled inaction
is the fear I'll fail at asking her out
when the moment comes up
or the fear that it will all work out but
it won't feel like enough
Same story for doing my laundry
Same story for writing songs and getting them out

Narcissist that knows he
could be Emperor if he gave it his all
But knees buckle at the thought
of those peons and
what they're saying 'bout me
in their decrees
These bouts, these bouts,
these bouts
Let's run to Nothingness
don't get off the couch
Let's run to mundane business
Everyday I scrub these floors
and someday I'll see us in them
___________

arm around shoulder
the sparkle in your eye
reflected back at me, me, me
You're the sing-song voice of my other
Even though I heard you say no words
I just finished the story I started
the first time we caught eyes, eyes, eyes

They feel like grapes and your
spaghetti hair sure feels like brains
so can I ask you something?
Cause I don't know you enough
to say I'm not a fan but life's too short so
can we shatter some distance?
Like, "Hey I'm not too partial on pasta and sauce
but I sure would like to chat and canoodle on the couch."
Lazy eyes find the forest in your perfect ones
No more mistaken for trees, trees, trees
We're all firmly in this world

I burn
beautifully in the
fires of
vanity

I got lost
in my reflection
on the
frozen foods
doors

I was
displayed
with all the other
products
on ice:

three fifty-nine
for four
egg rolls

six twenty-nine
for frozen
bread dough

six ninety-nine
for wild
blueberries

and
superimposed
among them
my long mug
doing its best
to fit in

according to my
forehead
I am
three ninety-nine

but if you
ask my solar
plexus
I'm clearly marked
five fifty-nine

however,
my **** is apparently
on clearance
reduced by thirty
percent and
selling for
one dollar and
nineteen cents

and that old lady
at the end of the aisle
is eyeing
my biscuits
and rattling
her coin purse
like she's about to
roll
a yahtzee

my eyes dart
back to
my reflection
on the doors

what did I
come here
for again?

O fair Helena descending-
How could you not look at me?
You were once Narcissus in the meadow;
Kissing the soil-
Blooming with lavenders-
Basking in the afternoon sun-
Where did all your sunshine go?

Your blurry reflection-
       of somberness;
                  heavy eyes;
                          calloused hands;
                                 disheveled hair;
                                   timid air-
                    
                               Dismayed the goddess in you.

                                          Faded golden lyre;
                                     Withered Pierian roses;
                                      Crushed altar of flame;  
                                            Mortal madness!
                                    Ascend back to the divines-
                                    Depart from this mortal coil;
                                 Be the Narcissus in the meadow.

a bucket full of withered roses
two repeated sentences —
both still lingered in the room

Echo repeating:
he loves me
he loves me not

she was not heard
another unrequited love
in the midst of a stillness