Holy business,
steady work, hunting and gathering

hearing ears and seeing eyes
deafen'd and blinded,

by the rent sky demanding all
attention,
now, insider, consider,
be as wary as the ants
scouting my kitchen for a season,

while I remain safe and warm, and
welcoming, for now,
wishing to know how the foragers
bring the team
I may easily imagine, the harvesters,
happy as ever any ants must be,
working bits of a tiny empire
seeking shelter from the storm…

I can feel
Her presence
From across
The room
Her quick glances
And drunken desires
Her hand
Slipping
Into mine
The blanket uncovering
Our tender feelings

They know
Now

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet you fill me up, overflowing with feelings,
feelings that I have yet to feel,
let alone even believe.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet I find myself being able to give you more,
right when I thought
I could no longer give.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
so we throw away our old fragile mugs,
take out the fine, gold-rimmed glasses
and we began to clink.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
so we took out a bottle,
carefully tasting by drips,
and into the night we drink.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
So we threw a feast,
with only us two as guests,
until it's the dawn
and even then we still celebrate.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet we clink, drink and celebrate together,
finish one bottle after the other
because you know we have
a fair surplus of wine
down in our cellar

A dream of you is capable of
unleashing so many hidden desires,
I dare not speak of

I have tired to bury every
tender feeling I held for you,
only for it bloom again

You, who sickens me
with immense tenderness
I cannot defy by myself

Your voice alone turns me
into a weakened thing,
and I am forever unwell before you

I wish to plague your thoughts,
and to consume your frigid heart

I wish to escape you entirely,
and to always be near you

In the dark
I write you a letter
hoping it would reach you

It starts like this:
My beloved,
I love you still

From afar,
but I still love you
as tenderly
as ardently
as ever

I hunger for you
as violently
as madly  
as ever

And I wait

As I stood by a window  
smoking a mint cigarette
at my miserable job

I saw two butterflies
flying together

One was orange, and
the other was white  

Two lovesome creatures
existing at the same time as us

The orange one made
me picture you peeling a
clementine to share with me

The white one reminded me
that there is still beauty in life,
and it is greater than my pain

There are more butterflies
that I have not seen yet, and
I wish I could see them with you

I am soft and mandible:  
          fresh clay,         the inside of an oyster,        the belly of an armadillo.  
          vulnerable.                      tender.  ­                             the anti-sharp.

everything is blurred.  dulled.  hidden
behind a gossamer haze and ambient noise.  
a photo out of focus.            one eye closed and ten feet back.  

dizzy.            so dizzy.            disoriented.  
there is no logic here.             no rules.             no laws.  
and that’s what makes it horrible and incomprehensible.  

the transplant recipient still dies.  the man in perfect health
                                                                ­suddenly has cancer.
the proned patient flipped back to supine for intubation
                                                codes and dies immediately.  

nonsense.  it’s all nonsense.  
it's easier to take a breath and
                                                        compartmentalize.