it bubbles and burns
the softness I yearn
leaves its mark inside me

its sweet and its raw
of earth, and claws
and fizzles deep inside me

flowers grow better
sunk in seltzer
poppies bloom inside me

petals caress
like a maid's wedding dress
up my throat, inside me

they say I'm in bloom
so I consume
the soda, now deep inside me.

Angels of death and sorrow
Hold open the doors
At elementary dead
Where children become martyrs
For the pride of men
Who cannot let go
Of their precious right
To arm themselves
To **** with speed and efficiency
And pockets lined with greed
Are more important
Than your hearts right to beat

Please lay down in your coffin
If you must, you can scream
Don’t worry it will only hurt
Until you are dead
We will wash off all your blood
and dress you in your Sunday best
Then bury you under earth
and false promise
With your dreams
Stolen we know too soon
Tell lies in guise of prayers
And then forget your name
So we don’t feel guilt or shame

I see
I observe
Information floods my banks
And I continue on.

But, you see,
I saw you,
Sitting there:
Gazing out the bus window.

Instead of storing.
Moving on.
I stop.
Watch on.

"Beauty"
Not in my syntax,
Nor in my archive.
So I watch on.

Brown hair
Deep eyes
Many of these archived
So I keep on--

Why
This order
Of things?
I think on.

Her pensive look.
Sad
I suppose.
Ponder on.

Her hand,
Chin resting on.
A sigh lifts her form
Breathe on.

Bus heaves.
A stop?
She glances:
Leave on.

I catch a whisp of her leave,
Her hair weaves through the crowd.
No, she can't leave.
Follow on.

But the crowd was too deep,
Like an ink drop,
Back to it's phial
Indistinguishable.

Opportunity, gone.
I see,
I observe
Information floods my banks.

And I, sadly,
continue on.

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of the experience
Or the beauty of memory
The small time I knew her,
Or the time after.