We're bored like monks
in the margins
of ancient scripture.

We want to leave behind lazy hieroglyphs
and accidental red herrings
feigning illumination

rendered by the deviousness of time
in its enclave,
running a brush of flaky gold paint
over delicate decadence
and sprinkling dust like a fairy--

we are to believe it is all
some ancient treasure.

We prance in the ether of the material world
in junkyards where we sift through the wreckage
coddling memories like drying uteruses,
realizing our generation will not leave behind artifacts
worthy of nostalgia's ensconcing embrace.

With that realization we weep and

We continue to dig.

I have a golden locket,
That hangs around my neck,
It's heavy as weighted stone,
And I'm a nervous wreck.
I keep it with me through each day,
And through the passing cold,
I keep it close, next to my heart,
Although it has grown old.
I have this ****** and rusted locket,
Filled with ash and pain,
I don't know why I wear it still,
Don't ask me to explain.

Though I thought you were different
                              You betrayed my trust
And with every passing shower
                        My heart will collect rust.

The taste of rust hangs
Heavy in my mouth
A copper color stains
My crooked teeth

I am awake now
Unlike how I used to be
Though my eyes were open
I was surely dreaming

The taste of rust hangs
Tangy on your lips
Blue twinges decorate
Your iced expression

Bound with veins
Of hope and smoke
We lie side by endless side
Entwined lost to the madness

Now the taste of rust hangs
Growing older still
Let me restore the flame
To the fire in your soul

In admittance,
In ecstasy,
In guilt and in anxiety,
In the gutters of Yuexiu,
The plains of Tamaulipas,
My precious mountain top
Near Calgary,
Or this flat, honeycombed and
High above Kyoto neon,
I’ve finally lost;

I surrender.

I surrender to –

Wave a white flag in comfort,
In defeat, and a first, when I warm,
Come this newer blanket,
Whilst we dance,
Come a first smile, decades, and
Finally to fathom,
“Embrace,” eternity, this
Hold opposed pierced when –
Swords eventually rust,
But fields forever bloom.

The frigid sigh of winter
Has all but passed,
But it is the rust behind my eyelids
And the slush in my head
That keeps my window open
And chills me so.

Beautiful faces
poisonous words
turn air
more acrid
starting a chain reaction
causing dreams
to rust and die.

I live for the moments.
Not the times or the days.
I live for the memories
When I'm swept away.

I live for sweet things
Hugs and kisses at night
For opening the door for me
And turning off the lights

I live for porchstep-kisses
And stars hung in the sky
I live for the wonderful things
The ones that get me by

I live for actions, not just people
I watch what they do
A deep head-thrown-back laugh
Little things get me through

I live for the soft things
A bird that flutters by
The jumping of a fish
The kiss of butterflies

I live for the love
And for the lovely things
I love the thought of fantasy
Of kings and of Queens

My heart beats for the good times
The times of happiness
Where all of my anxiety
Shrinks away like mist

I breathe for the gentle times
The rise and fall of a chest
For late-night sipping cocktails
Until there's nothing left

I live for pouring out emotions
I didn't think I had
And saying I'm upset when
I didn't know I was sad

I live for the moments
And the times of trust
When I know they'll last forever
Like friendship's loving rust.

To the distant creator I ask,
The reason to my quest,
Am I just a ***** in a machine?
Or mere a shadow cast by life.

The strokes of a painter's brush,
Swelled upon the canvas to create life,
Am I that painting of yours?
Or just a coincidental biological mess.

In this circular stone I live,
Floating in a space of infinite debris,
Am I just a thinking tree?
Or someone with a greater destiny.

I ask you through my lonesome walks,
With eyes dipped in question,
And heart soaked tired.
What's the purpose for this existence?

How can I fulfill the solace quest?
That my closed eyes had dreamt.
I don't ask for survival tricks,
Just a greater purpose to live my last days.

A mere rusted iron in this oxygenated world,
Excuse the pity brown, I can live with it,
Just find me a tool,
This rusted ***** can fit in,
This rusted ***** can fit in.