I'm glad that I am here in the depths of this hurt,
I am reminded of my life, my very own life,
This weight that is heartache that I currently bear, I'm grateful to it and the changes it is making,
My face looks ever so different in this mirror, in this sorrow new strength, in these tears an elixir.

someone will drive you around the same roads i did
under streetlights at 4am
where our love was
where our love never was

to parks we sat in
wherein we spoke words of compromise
understanding and compassion
where our love was
where our love never was

in your apartment
i held your hands so gingerly
and spoke words of endless devotion
where our love was
where our love never was

//

in your arms
in my mind
in your heart
the place where our love was
the place where our love never was

Yesterday, a cloud burst in mythologies
and the rain fidgeted over the retreat

of a tidal pantheon; deities swept away
by a current, and we stood awhile, watching

the moon elbow out the dusk. Breathing
is burdensome when cars float on water

and corpses leak out of cavernous
basements. Every tablet, etched, in the cold

heart of building code was read again
and then again. It wasn't enough to blame

Aeolian whim or the raging riposte of Apollo,
now that we had marvelled away Gaia's

ozone skirt. Her amnion always leaked
in folkloric floods each time she birthed

a parable. She once asked Noah to build
an ark so he could ride her waves

and we scrape the sky to impale her
in shards where her womb is soft and yielding,

as we sour the air and burn the water and strip
her of her emerald sigh and melt her hills

and silt her wetlands. Mostly it was the asphalt
plastering her yearning that calcified her veins

and arteries, as she died slowly under our feet.
We could hardly fathom her sorrow for the tears

rolled off her torso like an oil slick
and rode far into the subway for sewers.

Are they still good
When the songs of life played
Where were they?
Playing silences on cottage

Are they still alive
When they breath half air
Are they;

When they wander to the seas
Are they Alive?

man was the first to preform suicide
natural born martyrs
too sick to bring themselves to eat their own filth
our strongest are easiest to fall
men were not made to survive
but sequential installments are in
follow suite in order to remain on top
in order to fall farther