An early bloom has split the air
With the subtle scent of azalea
And jessamine, the fragrance
Of a youth lost
Between the vines of honeysuckle
That suffocated the boardwalk.
I remember the night we last
Sat together beneath the summer sky,
And the purple torrents that crept,
Like death, ever closer.
We used to watch them and wonder
If the drops would reach out to kiss
Our troubled heads, or if the wind
Would blow them south to Savannah
Like lost balloons.
And when we walked out
Onto the dock to watch the reds swirl
Just beneath the salt marsh skin,
We saw Hydra rise to the surface
And swallow the day as easily
As time swallows an instant.
But the dark never bothered you-
No, you seemed to prefer it,
At least to the flashes of lightning
That oft slipped between the evening clouds.

But this winter bloom, soon, will fade
Leaving nothing left for May,
And only these memories of life
And love will last.

Each morning as the dew slowly builds up
And gently tumbles down my bedroom window pane,
I wake to find you slipping away. The summer
Shade has robbed your leaves of green,
And I can but watch you wilt and lilt into the grave.
These past two weeks have felt like dreams
That fade in and out of each other during the throes
Of my unending sleep, but I know that this desire
To paint your petals the dark red of your youth
Would only make me mad like the hatter.
Our queen, however, did change her surroundings
As she saw fit, and with, or without, a second thought
She shaped the whole of her kingdom into an arid oasis
Of thought and fancy; a land where lives the Jabberwocky.
So as I dive down this rabbit hole, I do not fear
What I might find below.
Instead I save my anxieties for what is known,
Like that one day you will no longer be my rose,
But a pile of memories about my bed.

White raveled feathers lie
Scattered about broken wings
Which sweat bluer than blood,
And distal eyes sit low in their sockets
With an air of indifference that I admire.
How can you remain so calm
As the life slips out of your breath?
I expect you don't know,
That nothing can be known,
But as your neck snaps between my fingers,
Like a twig beneath my boot,
I wonder whether it's right-
And what is right?
And do trees grow up or do they run from the sun,
Deep into the ground for fear of smoldering?
I cannot trust what I've been shown,
For my eyes fail,
But I have confidence in the sounds I see painted about me,
A cacophony of blues, greens, and greys,
Every color from Pissarro's palette
Or Picasso's dreams.

During the night
my hands start their
journey creeping across my
bed looking for you
reaching out into the void
hoping to God that you were there
They are searching
for your warmth
and those familiar curves
of your silhouette
They've been aching
and longing for
you
for a lifetime
but all they find
is that vast empty space
of darkness
where I last
misplaced my heart


very far away.

I am from the old world
    From over the waters
I am from old houses
    Majestic, kings and Celtics
I am from Mountains and Lakes
     Mozart, Music, Stereotypes

I am from red-white-red
    And what once was a monastery
I am from skiing, snow and sunshine
    From Schnitzel and pasta
I am from almost Espresso
    And people speaking fast
I am from languages
(Servus, Srečno, Ciao)

I am from a house with a mom
   And a brother, little me
I am from a family with 4+21
   I am from a field, tough but still a passion
   And rivers with the moonlight

I am from climbing
  And the top of the world
I am from kilometers and kilograms
   And from long nights

I am from Rap
       And the school where it’s never quiet
I am from a mother
       That says goodbye with the wings of a bird  
        And white roses
I am from a dad that helps me keep focused
        On the important parts of life

I am from singing people
That I left over the clouds
Far away