it's like
early season, leaves out
on the low twined branches
with the thought of
    you like
so many cabbage moths
(small white, actually
butterflies)
                       (moths are better anyway)
flittering
fo

r one moment I
say
"you are beautiful" th

e
breeze carries your
white laced wings to my
soft cotton, the canvas I
spread over my
winter-long
in sec ur i ties, 'cause I'm
still like
when I was sev en teen and
believed and believe
you'd never
really
want
b
roken
little
sad
little

me

anyway. and the
air comes in
from the northeast and
you-
-starry eyed-
-dance away, like a
soft
spring laugh.

Your tilted head
shifted your waterfall hair
to the left.

In a stream of beguiling blonde
ripples,
your chest was met with a dry splash of gold,
real gold.

Technology at your fingertips,
HTML scripts morphing
into long sentences, bouncing in grammar and not stopping
until you take another breath, another
sip from your coffee cup of bitter death- one sugar, no less.

Daunt Books bag beside your chair’s side,
the faithful mute mule carrying
your words and notes and probably an umbrella too,
it’s raining outside and I wish for you not to get wet.

I breathe
In through my toes,
And out through my tears.
“Daddy, you *******,
I’m through.” Your ****** reeks, as
I know the oven did.
Like the epilogue had ended,
You exit the stage.
The snake bit your ankle,
Sylvia,
And I ****** out your poison.
It tastes like a matchstick
And like the sweet, sweet stain of your pen.

Athena, Athena,
give us the wisdom we cannot understand.
We bow our heads, and close our eyes,
as you place the answers in our desperate hands.
You left Judas in Poland to hang himself,
and now you’re after me.
I can see her sift through each aisle,
only pausing to smell each vial,
before I drink them to denial.
Released by the oath you made me swear,
when you look into my eyes,
you can see nothing is there.
Dreamless, in a shudder,
too silent to mutter.
I found myself alone again,
becoming unknown again.
With a stomach full of whiskey,
a mind full of regret,
and a heart filled with neglect,
I want to hear my favorite songs at my funeral.
Hell and heaven are nothing but a forever dream.
So today is the last day.
The last day for the sands of time,
to appear in your eyes.
Today is the last day of my life.
The last day of our young freedom,
in the showers of flowers,
and my last day, trapped in the nightmares and thoughts,
standing alone in dreamless towers.

can you feel my demented thoughts

from where you lie.

pressing upon you
moving through the slew
of my thick ego
reaching for the tenderness
of the promise of one more kiss

I didn't mean for this.

In the midweek of twelves months I torched blunts and choked on wet smoke and chamomile tea.
Fretting the niggling giblets of a queasy disrememberance of a sober stroll through your tossed hair salad.
I managed to mangle  the marvelous gross lust of our impending
delirium. i farmed bok choy to annoy our local siege. our muskets were polished with misdeeds.
our demons barked, all coy and ravenous in the sweet diffuse of our useless aplomb.
ginger rockets in our thespian numb. you Dis-Oriental surrogate Mom.
You.... flame folding cranes, like a Japanese cancer
with opposable thumbs.
Unstoppable in the dead wink
of an awkward eye
upon your heaving *******.

You burn regardless.