Gender is a ****.
Now bear with me, I don’t mean it in a bad way
I mean it as gender is elusive
Gender is tricky
Maybe with my words I should be more picky
But that’s not the point
The point is gender is something I cannot hope to begin to understand

Maybe gender is a universe
And within it we are all stars
Or maybe gender is an ocean
Not quite the Dead Sea where everything floats
And not quite everywhere else where everything sinks
But somewhere in between
And within it we are all jellyfish trying to string together a coherent stream of consciousness that somehow makes sense

And-see?
It’s getting away from me
I used to think gender was a binary
Male, female, *****, ******
Everything coincides so we all fit into this dichotomy
But that leaves no room for Alex who is sometimes Alex and other times Cassandra
Or Sasha who is somehow both at once
Or me who lays claim to no label, because all of them throw up a red light

There is one thing I do know as fact
Pronouns are not a privilege
They are a right

They, them, their:
Singular gender nonspecific pronouns
A customer came into the store today and bought twelve packs of gum
I didn't know what was on their mind, but
Maybe they wanted to kiss their lover full on the mouth while an orchestra of taste crescendoed around them
Caleb came into class today with two cupcakes
One for them and the other for their best friend who hadn’t shown up in two weeks
Claiming “She’ll be here today, don’t you worry”
And the rest of us lapsed into silence, knowing she was never coming back

She, her, hers
No longer will I suffer in silence as those I care most for
Call me something I am not
I am not your daughter, I am your child
I am not your sister, I am your sibling
I am not a girl
I am a nonbinary
I know it makes no sense
But if you just listen you might be able see
To escape the past tense
And start living in the future with me

No longer will we stay quiet
Duct tape over our mouths as we are locked behind closed doors
Buried beneath accusations of
Transtrender
Genderspecial
“You’re just pretending”
No longer will we stay silent
The wrong pronouns whipping our bodies into submission

It
Is not a pronoun
*******
Is not a compliment

You sit in the audience groaning
When will this queer shut up and go home
Isn’t it enough that we acknowledge your existence
But you don’t
I cannot count the times I have been misgendered
I cannot count the times I have wanted to speak up but didn’t
Knowing I would not be taken seriously

Now I will not be silent until there are no more stories of
Schoolyard oppression
Trans suicides caused by a “lesson”
I will scream myself hoarse until
Trans women can walk the streets in safety and
Bathroom means bathroom not
Execution
Remember this
As we are forgotten by our cis siblings
As we are told we don’t exist
As you, the cis  in the front row
Realize
That your daughter at home
May not be your daughter
At all

AS THE BOMBS FELL A CHILD IS BORN.
A TRUE STORY
BY JUDE KYRIE

The night I was born the air was filled with the acrid odors of cordite and fire. Even the charred blossoms of the out of place cherry tree in the dark inner city gadens lost their sweet fragrance,
It was 1942 the war raged on like the four horsemen wanted it too.
Bombers of the Luftwaffe decided to obliterate our home at that moment.
Manchester was on fire and my first breaths were made of its deadly acrid smoke.
Inside the small row house beneath its humble living quarters we were sheltered under the cellar stairs.
My heavily pregnant mother and three older sisters clung to each other tightly as the roar of hate and violence crescendoed above the small house.
Somehow even in the darkened days of hopeless war I had been conceived in defiance of all the  hate a small flickering candle of love burning brightly in the darkness.
Missing from the house were my six older brothers who were away fighting in distant lands in the royal marines.
Also missing , my father who had served his country in the first world war. Now he walked in the darkened blackout of a Manchester on fire.
His job to watch for injured people he was  now too old to serve in any other way.
The bomb whistled as It fell from the sky its whining harbinger of death and destruction a precursor to its death knell of explosion a few moments later.
A cat oblivious to war and destruction watched the scene from beneath a stoop. The fires from the detonated TNT reflected in its wide green eyes.
The sound of our best friend the very air that we breathe to live being compressed into a weapon that would try to destroy us.
the blast wall of compression hit the structure of our house causing the supporting walls to fall inward and slowly to bury us alive in our cellar refuge,

My father at that very moment stood in front of the old catholic church of which he was a member with nine children as proof and soon to be ten.
The nave was on fire even gods house was not spared this night.

Father O'Brien appeared at the door of his beloved church in his arms in a long white smock was his altar boy he did not move nor would he ever again.
Tears flowed down the face of the old Irish priest. God has forsaken us Frank he cried to my father.

And together they walked in the mayhem of war.
As they reached our street my father saw his house destroyed and
His heart sank the priest last lament ringing in his ears.
A crowd of neighbours were pulling at the rubble. Mixed with plaster bricks a broken dish, a picture, a *** now so dented almost unrecognizable.
For hours they pulled and worked to reach the cellar.then finally they got there.
Under the cellar steps inside the gloom of blackened night we were all there covered in dirt and grime. Yet alive in defiance of the grim reaper increased by one more,
my mother held me to her breast to nurture her new child her seventh son.

My father wept as we were lifted out one by one.
He held me close to his heart covering me with his coat.
My mother kissed him and said
Oh Frank we have lost everything.
He touched her hair softly and said.
That's not true Mary love,
I just found everything I ever wanted.

across the yard a cat sat watching the fires in its eyes extinguished
and the scene of a happy reunion reflected in its place with the promise of happier times to come.

her presence crescendoed
a wind strumming sawgrass.

rustling into symphony
a hot summer melody.

from full to three fourths, to half, to quarter
then from darkness back to new
all the moon’s phases in mere minutes
I’ve seen pictures on the internet
a beautiful sight to behold
to watch her silvery bleu cheese
turn into a reddish cantaloupe
perhaps her face is embarrassed
to admit its heavenly glow
is but the sun’s reflection
perhaps she’s forgotten her place
in the earth’s natural order
she is not less, but equal
yin to sun’s yang
lost in the moment
she changes her mind quickly
emerging from earth’s shadow
she feels contentment in sun’s warmth

once in January’s wee hours
so very long ago
I spent the night outside
as backyard astronomer
telescope at the ready
awaiting a comet’s promise
a party of others crescendoed
suspense’s energy and excitement
but their numbers quickly waned
with the fogging of my telescope lens
coldness prevailing over patience
I sat alone for hours hanging on to hope
in the company of trash cans
sitting in silence as solemn sentinel
they said it would light one third of the sky
ONE THIRD!
a sight never to be seen again in lifetimes
I waited for its brightness and brilliance
until dawn started to peek out
over the eastern horizon
just then a sparkle of light preceded the rising sun
is this it?
could this be Kohoutek?
it seemed to slowly climb into the morning
as it approached and grew bigger
I realized it was just an airplane
what a rip off
what a wasted night
I was robbed
cruelly cast in the role of Kohoutek’s fool
nothing to do now
but bring my frozen telescope inside
and jump into a nice warm bed

will she be kinder?
will Luna eclipse that memory?
will her heavenly glory
be worth the cold and the wait?
I sat on the edge of my mattress
gathering the covers upon my shoulders
should I go?
nah
maybe next time
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Slithering serpents, midnight chills
The shadows twist and bend at will
The hall is growing longer still
                                   The spinning sky
Has heralded I've reached my fill
                                    A  fool am I

Instead of falling on the floor
There was a chair beside the door
I sat and smiled and begged for more
                                    And all seemed well
Not knowing what it had in store
                                     I could not tell

That floating feet beneath the mind
Had chosen to be quite unkind
And proved immensely hard to find
                                       That witching hour
Scared that they'd be left behind
                                        Or worse, devoured

Dragged with screams of desperation
Sighs lined with exasperation
Could not grasp the intonation
                                       Without my feet
Doubled over there was elation
                                        At last we meet

The wails, that proved I was insane,
Crescendoed, through my thrashing brain
This clearly was not my domain
                                        I found my shoes
Only the truest friends remain
                                        Can't hold my *****

The nebulas danced a twisted waltz, leaving a dusting of themselves behind after every step. White painted onto black, and then green, and purple, and all the colors of the rainbow into the sky, and the ballad wailed out its long notes as the song crescendoed into oblivion. Notes jumped up, adding brush strokes of stardust onto the azure of the absent canvas. A celestial battle was beginning, varnishing the open vault with beautifully broken carcasses and fingerprints forever to be seen. Each movement, every fractional breath, leaving a trail of stars and color and galaxies for worlds to gaze upon in wonder. Swords unsheathe and blood is finally drawn, dripping into elliptical formations, and hardening over stars. Asteroids are hurtled through the expanse in a way of symphony, in a way of ballet. The horrifying back and forth blending to something magical, creating an order from chaos, forming patterns in the dark. And suddenly the anthem comes to a ****** and stars are expanding and dissipating, leaving nothing in its place. And instead of new cruel masterpieces being added to what was once there, everything around gets pulled in, into the nothing until nothing becomes everything. The symphony swirls around in circles, adding bits of blackness between the blinding light, and soon the universe is following suit. As the closing notes ring out, the cosmos revolve and whirl and dance, they simply dance to the crestfallen fantasia as it cries out its call for help one final time.

I fell in love with a dancer once,
back before I'd come-of-age.
I was sitting in the audience with my family,
and she was up on-stage
along with five other dancers:
two couples and her partner.

The guys all dressed the same.
The girls all dressed the same.  
And yet this one stood out to me for reasons unexplained.
It wasn't just her pretty face -
In fact, all three were pretty -
but something in the grace she moved with,
as if she were the epitome of beauty.  

They wove in-and-out of each other in a spiraling ballet.
I strained to keep my gaze trained on her form,
as if she were the pearl in a gypsy's shell game
and I had my life-savings riding on the outcome.

The steps grew more dramatic.
The partners recoiled from each other.
The lights grew dim, for a second,
then the music crescendoed,
and with a grand flourish each couple reunited then froze in place.

A look of horror on my face as I realized the loveliest dancer's partner had made a mistake:
the hem of her skirt had got caught on the hand that was now on her waist,
and a black-leotarded wedge between her legs was on display for however many glorious, grueling, stomach-churning seconds that pose was held for until the lights went out.

The performance left me feeling a mix between elated and tragic,
and I sat staring into that blackness transfixed, as if
by some kind of magic.

I was laying in a small corn field
As the sun evanesced over the small hill
The sky was filled up with iridescent lights
The resplendent lights were all hues purple and pink
They danced across the sky as gracefully as a ballerina
Then the crickets started chirping,
quietly at first but then they crescendoed into a beautiful chorus,
like thousands of violinists smoothly flying their bows over the soft strings
The lights slowly faded away
And the crickets silenced
The day was now done  
And a new had begun

Unquestionable, firmly examined facts hold on solid ground,
Confirmed from living fiction and knowing minds.
But this is the sea, doubtful trade-winds, frightful storms, doldrums rich Of inactivity, the water looks fine until you dive. Until you sink.

Tropical rotations, influential easterlies void of West African dust,
Stir the depths into unnavigable waters. the boldest stitches will rip, Possessive nests will fill of cawing crow's imagining uniformed horizons. Clouds will hallucinate above an unstable phthalo blue.

Depressions created by uneven poles, so coldly separate but,
These days are in the tropics. endlessly middle green, equatorial and lush In figuration, continuing as the great divide between such chilly distances.
It remains the equalizer, massively active without the thought of day.

Unquestionable. Doubtful of Naught on land. these depressions are not For our concern, they say. They are earth, compounded by the will of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Bow; pray. Weep from fear. sacrifice your Souls for his favor, his pity will spare his wrath; his pity will spare life.

Unquestionable, they say. They speak in certainties. Not knowing the
Days when our nature remained unquestioning. A time before my vision Heightened towards perfection. Before his plans unfolded into Nothingness; scribbling pious fool. Denied of will, accepting the ill of it.

Placed at sea, our sails may rip and crows may gather together.
Their cries of fortune remain the most familiar. On land too, their call is a Familiar caw. not fateful of Godly affairs, or willful of the willing.
He was not there when the storm approached; Nor present as it passed.

He did not show pity when enlightened of our truths. Apathetic
Towards He, that holds the anchor when standing in rising tides.  
Apathetic towards He, beaten man of unjustly men, frustrated with Ignorance and misleading truth. Practicing rage, passing on hate.

Clouds of deathly intentions flashed bright of color and sound, revolving Above the stirring deep where circumstance crescendoed into a coda of Rattling crows. Where sails ripped free from stitching in the passing squall And hope had lost itself amongst the wailing souls and rising seas.

Unquestionable,there were times when faith drifted alongside in the guise
Of cooing Sirens, supple in song and form. Alluding to lust and love, Tempestuously adrift. Giving aim away from direction, only leading Further into Bedlam. Where the mirage of paradise appears.

Tilted storms spitting rain, winds pushed our hull closer to the deep. We Were left to truths of weathering might. Water spilled from above and Rose from below in equal volumes, displaced from equal but opposing forces. Differentiated by the sting, not by circumstance.

In it all, we lost everything. the caws of gulls, the coos of Sirens, the Hopeful sails to catch a promising wind. All we had were the cresting Waves of a torrential sea. All we had were the forceful rains and winds From clouds intent on freeing us from our undeserving existence.

No longer just adrift, our vessel groaned groans only equal to the sound Saved for aging beasts of dying mythology. The sounds of a beast Cornered in an arena filled with hungry spectators, out to feed their taste Of whining blood. Eager to watch "weakness" be ruled by humanity.

We held onto ourselves like the aging beast anchored to the groaning hull. We drank the water without intention like we were lost amidst the sahara Sun. We watched as blue joined together from above and below, Attempting to squeeze out life just like sweet forbidden fruit.

There was nothing we could do. this was no different than on land. We
Knew this place, in-between. Where our blood was used as juice to quench The thirst of humanity. Whether earth or civilization, we remain pressed Between, afloat in the seas of misfortunate circumstance.

Where we hold onto all we can with apathy to circumstance because
That is all we have come to know. That is all we have been allowed by god, Mother earth, humanity. We look upon all things with a smile and good Will. We know no other way, but listen for the cawing crows.

It remains unquestionable, that this is the sea.
On land too, it is unquestionable still, that this is also the sea.

Tonight it was like the pressure
From the entire week crescendoed
Into a single moment.
My emotions have been bottled,
My fires have been quenched,
But tonight I felt as though
All of that careful containment
Was going to be undone.
I was about to unleash
All of that fiery passion,
Until a bucket of ice water
Was poured onto my head,
And fifty pounds of
Compressed-emotions were
Pumped into my soul.
There they will stay
Until you take them away.

In fertile fields
Fragile blooms heavy with seed
Swaying lucid dreams
Coupled with a whispered destiny
Do you believe?
(Father forgive me for my sins)
I listened
Pulse quickening to the promise
Carried on transparent beams
the angelic rush of lesser light
Left me sightless
Blind witness to the culling
Harvest put to flame
Only aborted dreams remain
(My life ends where yours begins)

Fragrant flowers consumed
Emotional holocaust of volcanic ash
Scorched earth your cordial offering
Death is the memory of a smile
Shadows pass across your face
(Along this fractured path I race)
I let your passion burn within me
Fury, vengeance and rage
Your forever promise ever hellish
Echoes in my smoking soul
I let the sun set on my anger
(Falling far from perfect grace)
Let you shackle me with my own actions
My guilt a noose to snap my neck
You the author of defeat
another broken soul for your unholy altar
(resurrect this child from this dead end street)
I cling to life in the balance
Waiting

silence welling in the aftermath
Crescendoed message resonant
let go...let go...
Is there oblivion in the release
(place my spirit to worship at your feet)
Falling away from everything I know
The old man shatters within
(wash away my every sin)
(my life ends where you begin)
TL Boehm
05/29/2008

How long did I travel
to walk up to this fortune
among distracted people
I was somebody

How many sleepless nights
to climb this wall
among forgetful children
I've put my fear away

I was waiting for you
in my veins it crescendoed
an ardent music
burning from inside
and you held on to me
like an ultimate hope
I could feel it inside
in all of my clothes

My precious
now I’ll fly together with you
and this journey will be a song
for giving me the love to live

My precious
now I’ll go along with you
to fetch all the most beautiful dreams
for those who must go on

How long did I travel
to walk up to this fortune
without any jacket or tie
and like this I made it
among important blokes
who’ve reached for the moon
Sometimes I look back
to figure out what I’ve been through

I was waiting for you
in my veins it crescendoed
an ardent music
burning from inside
and you held on to me
like an ultimate hope
I could feel it inside me
in all of my clothes

My precious
now I’ll fly together with you
over the time remaining for our faces
let's smile

My precious
now I’ll go along with you
and continue this dream while we're awake
then I will be a man freer still

My precious
now I’ll fly together with you
and this journey will be a song
for giving me the love to live

My precious
(I was waiting for you)
now I’ll go along with you
(in my veins it crescendo-ed
an ardent music)
to fetch all the most beautiful dreams
(burning from inside and you held on to me)
for those who must go on
(like an ultimate hope
I could feel it inside me in all of my clothes)

It's been months since I've last been
The water took the melody line
And destruction became the harmony
Leaving dissonance in its wake
And trees bent to play that
Minor tune
Mud rose inch after inch,
Outlining the beat of this
Soaked symphony
It's in duple meter
No scratch that, it was in triple,
The tempo was about 200 waves per minute
The screech of wood scraping
Wood had short solos
With arpeggios
And the sound of sirens and
Screaming crescendoed this
Soaked symphony
The different pitches were so ranged in tonality that people had
No chance to save the time
To pick up things they need
The splash splash splash was the
Ostenato in the background
Perhaps a pedal tone
And the drip drip drip
Made anyone who heard the piece shudder so violently
They were shivering and
Quivering
Like an arrow shot from a now
Thus the effect of the
Soaked symphony
Played in the orchestra pit of Lyons Colorado

I'd sing you a song
But we've grown out of tune.
A simple melody we were
Basic notes strung together
In hope to be something beautiful.
But notes turned long
And the tempo changed
As we crescendoed toward the final measure.
I'd write you a story
Except the ending's already here.
We were never a blank page from the start-
Already ink stained from the constant rewriting of our chapter.
We wrote and we wrote
Until
Our pens gave out mid sentence one night
From all the
Scrawled out words
Crossed out mistakes
And unwritten secrets.
I'd paint you a picture
But the colors have run dry.**
My palette of reds and blues and greens
Have mixed to a murky gray.
The paint brush has grown stiff in hand
As I stare at the mess I've made.
What used to be something wonderful
Has become a blur of
Bad timing
Indecisiveness
And "oh wells."
Where there used to be a picture
Is now just an abstract version of
What could have been
But
Never will be.

the night before
the moon grew bold

I felt the darkness
move in from above
in ominous grey
opaque

it reached for me
half asleep, I
acquiesced

relinquished
pillowy clutch
splayed sheets
like legs

for his
chatter bones to chill
where my sallow
is tissue thin

his hail knuckles
affixed to wet tongue
drug me to the floor
raking my hollows
over and over

reeling terrors
on sepia filmstrip
some scenes repeating
some to-fro rewound forward
some hovered gory ending:

frigid tools cutting
to expose my insides
stirring entrail with bone
tugging ruddy strings
to see what sounds
they made as I
buckled; choked
on my leaks

I closed my eyes
tried to escape body
but he projected on
my shuttered
darting

knotting esophagus
around the backbone
fingerpainting my end
on worn flesh walls
in char-red spectrum
choreographed in
perfect harmony
with rote fear
chanting

this is how
you die -

alone

I felt it all
happening.

dangling my happy
memoirs with nooses
ungraceful reanimating
decayed draggy dancing
Xs where bright eyes
were once upon
and wide

open

every ache and
smothered secret
chirped by dark faeries
too quick to swat

but when all
the pushed down
were given mallets
they crescendoed
into discordant jarring
and in its peak came
a piercing shriek:

so loud -

all stilled
to look around

I couldn’t tell
if the voice
was him
or me

but after terror climaxed
the hear ripped and
grip released

I allowed myself
to loosen, breathe
headthrob slowly
melded into felt
beats:

limbs and tips
all pulsing
relief

and I
could see
no one was there

but me.

wielding expertly
book in my own hand
thick with tested maps

to exquisitely torture
every tenuous strand
in my fragility

he started the banjo man did plinkin'
amid the heavy drag of a slow cool
bass harmony strung out on a long low note,
it sounded like nails on a chalkboard at first
or a cat in heat mewing loud in the alley
and crescendoed into a full blown
attack on my sanity my notions
as he plunked away and chorded a falsetto guitar note
like eric clapton playing a ukelele
drugged out the clanking E
called out a G
then faster he took me as the bass fought to accompany
along an a fast tweedling dee
and a C that cried liked birds
and the blues fans applauded the folk singers sat agape the rock singers sang Hallejuah
and the minstrels swayed
so many fast
f'ing F's  G's B's flats and concordances
it was like a thousand harps from heaven turned loose in fast forward
and I ****** him
**** banjo man
that was good

something shattered
and something born.

something unfurling.
or something torn.

something crescendoed,
then something stilled.

something hollowed
and something filled.

her serenading song
echoes out of Africa

bound for the supermassive singularity
that stabilizes our hearthfire galaxy

a hungry-hearted vision quest
embarked upon

midnight whispers
shared

like satin laces untied
and falling

bare human skin
delicately balanced upon
the sturdiness of geology

entangled quantum edges
caressed with the bullet hole
magnificence

cosmic boasting
of fingertips touching

entropy quelled
in the electromagnetism
of the inherent silkiness
of touch and release

epic cycles of common sense
disregarded

pretty alien machine eyes
stalking prey

in the full light
of a ferocious star

the transparent
kiss of new beginnings

fogging scintillating
soul-windows

until we emerge
crescendoed with stolen breath

splattered into giddy blots
of abstract art

the mystery of love
throttling unrepentantly
in the ******* half darkness

yet in truth I have only
the weakness of haphazard humanity
itching between my toes

so I bow deeply to
the magic of you
which somehow still

splashes us both
with liquid nitrogen embraces
that writhe ecstatically
against the cruelly delineated
boundaries of time's arrow

shattering us into slowness personified
time's children caught mid-air

reveling in the blessing
of their twin heavy stares

oh sky top diamond spark shimmer
how do you fuel love's infinite body ballet?

here I hear the heavens speaking
with mouthfuls of desire
that are somehow not desire

and if only I had more than words for you
brutally carved from the quivering lips

but I am merely a poet marionette
marooned to this asteroid
of sensitivity and outrage

a lone figure shrinking in the distance
as the sound of each plaintive step
hangs like a fruit juicy with longing

and the regenerative shadow
of your beautiful spirit

look how it stretches taller and taller
with each tick of the clock

see the way the kaleidoscope
of your desire

shifts all existence
into fresh perspective

this
at least

is real

this
at least

can never
be taken away

because I love you
and I am broken

the stars and your kiss
are tourniquets

so see the reflection
of yourself in my eyes

before we disappear
as if we were never
here at all

We were play dates shutting down dive bars, biting off more than we could chew.
The echoes of our laughter
crescendoed over the sea of lonely patrons,
a somber feeling that we unfortunately knew.
Were we captivated by conversations
or had it subconsciously been our eyes all along?
Windows to the soul.
Holding onto the agonies,
that only we would ever truly know.
Our rugged exteriors,
so easily unraveled with subtlety.
Eye contact,
rarely,
if ever,
was it realized so indiscriminately.
I intentionally drug my feet
when we walked the frostbitten winter streets
taking in music
and whatever that feeling was,
because,
we were warned it’s not for us to keep,
we’ll always lose it.
I trailed behind you in a childlike protest,
prolonging the inevitable,
of cleaning up yet another self inflicted mess.
Hands would wander down the alleyways,
our bodies merely in tow,
illuminating the darkness,
to wrestle with our invisible foe.
“You better go.
Now.
I’m beginning to like you.”
Grasping,
pulling,
unwavering grip.
“It’s the way you’d bite my lower lip
and push your hips against my hips”
as you breathed your afflictions into me,
daring me to come home.
All too familiar was the suffering
that pulsed throughout my veins,
displaced residuals of ecstasy, solitude, unrelinquished pain.
What happened to the time?
We tiptoed through a hazy slew
of a hundred halfhearted goodbyes.
I always turned back around
to steal another glimpse though.  
I thought you knew why.

I thought you knew why,


I thought you knew,



I thought…

I was floating through outer space
Planets and stars orbit through my vision
The music ***** my mind into a black hole
That's when I found the cave

Darkness my old friend I thought
As he wrapped his arms around me
His steady breathing brushing on my neck
That's when I felt safe and secure

This might be happiness I thought
Though the sun will never be seen again
Safety, security, nobody can see us in here
That's when the music crescendoed

Nothing and nobody could harm me now
We breathed in unison the oxygen of fate
He carried me through a mindless state
That's when we fell asleep spooning

Last night it rained.
I was sitting on the porch watching masochistic mosquitoes throw themselves at the back light, wondering if maybe they have it right, if maybe death is better than getting burned and living to tell the tale. The air is heavy, reminiscent of the silence when you asked me to leave. The staccato symphony of rain on the tin roof began, crescendoed, then died. The air smelled of asphalt and heartbreak. The parched ground drank up the rain like an alcoholic a day away from rehab, as if it knew a drought was coming. I laid down in the damp grass and let the earth surround me until the dawn came and kissed me gently on the cheek.

When I turn from my window
I am out of reach from your lonely street
I have no looks to give you
But, who cares when you wander frozen sleets
When you aren't there at the dead of night
I have people to talk to, constantly
But, who comes when it's time to call
When you are broken but always gone
I have spoken true lies and nothing more

But, who needs you
When you are their home
But, who needs you
When I'm not looking for you

I have made love in the night
But, who scares you
When you have no one to fear
You are a friend indeed
If I cry alone
Because you make me feel all vulnerable

I go back to my dead alley
Near a broken building
Overlooking a crescendoed bridge
A tower stands among us, unyielding
It could be you and me, babe
With our hands empty
Who will love you when I'm gone, babe
With our hands empty

City lights blazed past completely indefenseless
shooting a futile attempt at yet another imprisonment
reminding only the fuel for how we came...

...Sun’s crescendoed, seeing us short-of-breath,
short-of escape, they brought their reckless justice:
but this is it, this is where it ends,
and they’ll take what we wished.