The table still brings up your name
when I visit quietly sitting.
The curl of ink, which stained the wooden
porch of thick smog.
Today I walked by,
eyes grazed between metal shackles that close
the place where
a thousand notes were exchanged.
It was crossed out between pages and lines
the words are still attached to the ruins we left
behind that day.
Gathering the dust, inside my pocket,
I walked on, only to look back at the bargain sign hanging
in the window across the hallway.
Couldn't today of been, then.

I never thought
I would pine for the way
a heart...

could implode.

The falling together
The ****** laceration and
for the first time in my life
I realize that I'm
twitching from lack of sleep.

My pillow
shudders loud.

Remembering the note
I hold with intent
blaming myself for getting lost
inside this Polaroid.

Van Gogh furnished a eulogy
for the rant in the wake of
this scar that implants itself in the
palm of...

breathing.

Our ribcage could use a
little bloodshed.

We scream in flooding bloom.

A leafless tree
Arms folded, at waistside
naked eyes hidden beneath
the shade of a plastic lens.

Breathing life in open air,
Lost and found
isn't discovered in a box



Sometimes, those moments
bruise us. My hand, torn
shoe string of tattered fever
which holds intent like
an infant, cradled.


You never told me it would
last this long.
Penetrating vice of verbage
that hold lips in
backward content.

Annotation: Faded Tattoo


We can't always connect
cities, streets or names.
And this bloodshed inside your
journal can move quickly.


Born again into city streets
At night, when the world is still
the mirror of ashes consist
of watching this dawn
until our fingers sing
the silence of things.

Laid out like soldiers
under dim lights,
what happens if a car comes?
We dream this in lilting laughter.

If I had a lotus flower,
if only.. I had.

Hanging on ivy vines.
Your taste is, impeccable darling.

All we want to do is sleep...
inside me is a city
an entire world
congested with clouds
and one way traffic.


I passed the range of midnight,
soft and slowly it became a footfall into the back of his clothing.  

My words become shrill,
like helium escaping the most half dead balloon.
We are close enough to see them,
the days, years..
paths controlling this blissful evolution,
forever evolving.

Here rested on a beam,
a ball of light,
wrapped in string,
floating..10 secs of forever. evolving.

We can't always escape the thickened edges.
Leaves of ivy, moss and eyes of violet.  
The reflection you laid inside my hands,
*****, worn, out. T-shirt.

Washed with the most potent sound of trees,
still stained by the blood of winters bloom.  
Pulling closer each minute threads the needles eye
and the hour unwinds itself...again.  We are timeless.