First frost
Clings to tufts of winter green grass.
I am running
Running to feel
Something else.
I awoke sweating at 2.30am
On this Sunday morning
My mind in over driven panic
Just because
I have to face my future
My mind groans
Will I be this way for ever?
Will I ever break through?
I coax myself back towards the respite of sleep
And then I wake, knowing I cannot lie alone with my thoughts
They are not my friends.
So I get up
Wash up
Go running.
I meet people
Collect my daughter
Run errands
All, to stop the waterfall of my fear
As night time once more, draws near
And another week looms.
I occupy myself
Once again with things to stem
The tide of my subtext.
First frost
And a bird sings
So beautifully.

After this November will be the most dreaded month
not because it was when I lost you
but when I knew it was coming,
looming, and this time lightening wasn’t dancing
in the distance it was creating it.

Collecting moments of you
like storing food in a bomb shelter
for when I’m at war with your new
hand watch for not letting us work.

Every time the hand ticks
it is moving me closer to a time without you
and everyday is watching the hourglass of us run out.

Despite this, if I could live with you
in a calendar filled with Novembers, I would.  

But I can’t so before you go,
will you watch 44 sunsets with me?

My drive to school consists of winding roads and wandering eyes in this town of autumn.  There is a layer of undeniable honesty to this season, as if the world at this time has nothing to hide. Something about the fiery death of the maples down Laurel brings life.
The chill of the crisp blue sky is palpable from behind dusty glass windows, and zephyrs that threaten needles across your cheek rustle the bones of bushes with no urgency at all.

the wind is taking more drags off my cigarette than I am. that's buffalo;
wind&concrete;&cold.;
I won't let you crawl into the gutters,
and die in the snow.
in the alleys of these long lost streets,
we keep trying to revive.

and I ask myself
if you'd let me fall asleep out in the cold,
six shots down & I don't want to know.
I'm still walking on my own,
against the cold, and keeping warm.

I'm taking good care of myself,
now that I know you won't do it for me.

गोथार सान बर'नि
थुनलाइनि आबाद फोथांनो
1952 मायथाइनि 16 नभेमबर
बासुगाव गयबारिनि बिखायाव
सान अखाफोरनि साखियाव
बर' राव फोथांनो
बर' थुनलाइ जौगाहोनो
बर' हारिखौ मिथिसार होनो
नों बर'नि आगोमा आफाद
बर' थुनलाइनि बिगोमा
नोंनि थैथाब नांथाब नाजानाय
नोंनि थुनलाइखौ अनसाइनाय
थांना थाथों नों
अराय जुगामि जाना
फोथां नों बर' हारिखौ
खाबु हो नों
बर' थुनलाइ सोरजिनो

Please help pray for Paris. I feel so helpless and sad tonight. I wish it wasn´t real.

Paris

Friday night in Budapest
Music echoing in a bar
A man and woman well dressed
Walking towards their car

Friday night in Paris
Sirens echoing in the street
Chaos rapidly embowering bliss
Ground shaking under running feet

Friday night in Oslo
Laughter and good wine
Tall candlesticks standing aglow
Faces losing track of time

Friday night in Paris
Laughter twisting into cries
Searching for those you miss
As black smoke fills the skies

Friday night in Berlin
Together watching a football game
Hoping that your team will win
Cheering with a poster of their name

Friday night in Paris
Blood on the big green field
Lying on the ground alive you wish
That it simply isn't real

Friday night in London
Going out with a friend
Hearing the ringing of big ben
Thinking of how much to spend

Friday night in Paris
Crowds shattered by gunshots and hate
On your knees filled with anguish
You loved, but now it is too late

Friday night in Rome
Midnight walks under the sky
Couples together, walking home
Others turning to say goodbye

Friday night in Paris
Hate took away the morning
No words can fix this
Or dry the tears of the mourning

this isn't so much a poem as it is me just trying to catch my breath
the weeks fly by and my friends are already packing their bags
the great unknown lies just ahead and their exit plans are finalizing
and here i am
weighted and thin
winter already purging any signs of pigment in my skin
I'm just trying to breathe
until I can walk outside of my house without instantly regretting everything
I don't have time to process anything
and certainly not prospective affection
but here you are anyway
thin like I like them
blonde like winter wheat
and I know it doesn't mean anything
but I couldn't sleep the whole night after we first spoke
contemplating all the ways I could get to you
cataloging your tweets and analyzing the time it took for you to speak
where you've been all these years and why we never knew each other sooner
I do this all the time
chase your imagery on my bike
stay up late and try to find you in bits of the city
and this isn't so much a love sonnet as it is just another waste of space
unattainable and shimmering and new
tinted golden and blue
god I want you now but I always do
and everything is changing but I still feel the same as I did when I first started writing this
so don't look for resolution
don't look for some cosmic statement about how this is how we were meant to be
or some pretty sentiment of unrequited love
because
this isn't so much a poem
as it is me just trying to catch my breath