I compare my loneliness to the sound of a mourning dove.
It starts low and small, then goes up
It repeats the more each call goes unanswered

Perhaps letting it out, alone and loud
over and over
eases the pain, yet also pokes at the caged creature within
encouraging a festering of wounds.

A mourning dove never seems to be where the other birds are
Because when it calls it becomes all I can hear
It guides me far into the fog, ever elusive
until I finally spot it
high above on a line.

Every time it gets a little easier.
Every time it starts to sound less
like a Gymnopédie No. 1
and more like a Claire de Lune
major key as well as minor
content as well as sorrowful.

It's alone, and it's still singing.

i used to wish on stars

but people change and with that the place

now i have to make wishes on airplanes and satellites

i hope it works the same

there aren't as many planes as there are stars in the infinite of space

sitting on s cameron waiting for the
light to turn,
waking up for the morning commute
just like that indie electronica group
said i would. thinking about the various
ways i’ll allow myself get taken
advantage of today.
the city smells like ****
and desperation. to be honest,
i think i fit right in.

Caw , call , caul ,
the bird , mermaid birth ,
it reclined over the Childe's
face .
Striga and born with a shirt ,
carefully the child shifted it
to one side .
☆
An earthly lord ,
transcending a hero's
archetype .
Fly wastrel to enchanted
faerie kingdom ,
and watch a whole world
pass away .

you’re a deep canyon.
and I sit perched on the plane’s wing -
goggles on, sipping tea.

from up here,
you're a thin black outline,
a giggle and a wonder.