The boy who clicks off the light, reads on the couch, to let sleep consume me-- or who reads beside me, metal-frames dipping low
while his eyes pour over the page.

The boy who tucks me in, acquiescing the blanket softer than peach fuzz-- like the ambrosial peaches his grandmother gifted him in the winter and he shared sweet.

The boy who always makes sure to kiss me good-bye
and fills the room with jazzy notes-- because they represent me,
though he never liked jazz much at all before.

The boy who asked me to wake him if I go somewhere because he'd prefer me to remain beside him, but he understands I have things I need to do, so he cannot always wake beside me,
a weight he can handle.

It does not match the boy who told me he does not love me,
though he likes me, and I am haunted by hollow translations
that force me to delicately dance around a swear word in the
English language like "love".

It does not match the boy who said we wouldn't have much of a relationship without ***, and I am haunted by uncertainties of my convenience that force me to stumble with the hope that our
past does not define our present.

How I feel about you, through my actions, through my words, are truer than any logic, but that might not matter
because the boy does not want to hear words that have
a weight greater than he can handle.

Don't let perception of the Weak-Minded kind get the best of your reality.
With editing, other people's words get twisted and misalign clarity.
Envy hardly reflects the truth- if so, it's a rarity.
Lurking under a cloud called obscurity- often they hide.
These Weak-Minded kind.
Thriving off of the pain of those they casually misguide.
Stirring up emotions then they run off to the side.
Cowards, these Weak-Minded kind.
Watching as two half-truths try to coincide.
Cut and pasted, the truth gets lost in time.
Feelings start to hurt as hateful words collide.
Repeating things never said,
But overheard more than a few times.
Angers flare,
As words fly.
Regrets of all kinds,
slip and slide,
Breaking ties,
damaging pride.
Fine on the outside,
Scared for life,
on the inside.
All because the Weak-Minded kind, rather lie.
It's people like this I despise.
Hidden behind their friendly disguise.
To afraid to show their face; but diss guys.
When you confront them; get no replies.
Just a shocked dumb look in their eyes.
These weak minded people are a waste of time.
They can't make up their mind half of the time.
So they are basically lying, all of the time.
Having a good-time, ruining your good time.
They only way to beat them; don't pay them no mind.
Best way to **** parasites, especially the Weak-Minded kind.

Hounds

The hounds are barking again outside my window.
they are snarling and snapping with teeth of ice
that rips my tears into a tundra of frost.

The indifferent air carries their hunger
under the unhinged door in my head;
a gale is coming, feral and wild.

I am not comfortable in my head right now;
Chain smoke to keep my hands to myself.
I wander through ash and fire: what have I done?


Planets

I am helpless against my misfiring neurons;
numbed against myself and you;
Pills streak like comets across the bed.

In the sky the stars peer in confusion,
planets misalign again, a sun implodes,
Earth groans and shifts, somewhere something dies.

Swirling galaxies light up the synapses
Serotonin battles amphetamine
Orion stalks the twins and unsheathes his sword.

Submersion*

I need some water on my feet, my head;
submerge me in the Lethe and bathe me in forgetfulness
the room grows hot and I swallow another star.

I am swathed in your concern, smothered by your regard.
I need clear air to think,
the night and the susurrus of hibiscus bathed by the moon.

Inside my room in my bed
white noise and white sheets wrap me,
bundle and bind me tighter than panic.

No, I will not go outside tonight.
The hounds are barking outside my window-
they come for me.

Creative actions are more than enough
To convince me that I am working hard
Blooming flowers prove the point
That nature has a method of showing the world
How amazing we all are.
Dedication from each of us can portray
The effort of clarification from results
Mornings of sunshine days are also great ways
To feel we are on the firmest of footings and cups
Of our enthusiasm drench us as our excitement bubbles
Flesh is weak they say but not so
Eliminate our thought process
Just leave the muscle and the bones of the plan
By any respect the job will be done
Sometimes dwelling on an evaluation is fruitless
Gain some notes in your tune
Misalign your face and just work at it.
Develop your space and live
Don't think too much
Enjoy the life with which we are blessed

The first girl I ever apologised to
created craters in my veins and filled them with love and she didn’t even know
how beautiful she was, lying next to me face-to-face with nothing but TV reflections and an orchestra of words spoken in silence
I wanted to tell her I love her over and over again but my eyes stole any sentence I could form in my head from my mouth and did nothing but stare
They say a person’s face gets more attractive the more you look at it but I feel this is a lie; if I had only got to glance at her face for a second, she would still be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen
and we fit together like tetris blocks, building a foundation to plant the root of forever
and I want to grow beside her, watching her blossom from a caterpillar into a butterfly, from a star into the sun
and I want to be the steady trees that stand beside her, humble and proud, showing her that I meant it when I said I would never leave because I am rooted deep into our soil of forever
and I couldn’t even if I wanted to and I kept my heart chained to my ribs before I met her but she waltzed in, handed me the keys and I haven’t been the same since.
I felt her come crashing into my life like an asteroid; I am sure I was wiped out and taken to a universe where only good things happen because I can no longer see bad, only flowers where bullets should be
I can no longer only see red, but violet and magenta and mahogany too and she has opened up a world where everything does happen for a reason because it has led me to her
like a sleepwalker looking for home only to find something much better than that
like a sleepwalker waking up to find themselves immersed in golden sands and out of touch with reality but rife with the knowledge that she’s real
and her touch is there to remind me of this,
the world’s biggest mystery gracing the palm of my hand with their own fingertips, two DNA connected and the vibrations of my love for her bouncing back to whatever God introduced me to her to say thank you
and I remember the first time I held her hand. We sat in silence as I traced my fingers over hers and back again, like a visual of tentative attraction on loop.
I didn’t believe in anything until I heard my name on her lips and suddenly angels existed and
Sometimes I feel like I’m hallucinating but I don’t mind when her presence in front of me is tripled and I can see not just one of her but three and each one outstretches their hand as they morph back into one person, as if to show me that in all her various forms, I am safe
and I have never been safer
I can no longer only see red, but hues of cyan and aqua and agate blue and they merge together to form eyes I dive into searching for the very depths of her ocean and I never gasp for air
because I am safe. They merge together to form irises that look at me like I’ve never been seen before, like a rare breed of an extinct animal discovered again; irises that look at me like they could stop time with their intensity
and I want to stop time with her
I want to contort it to wrap around her and I and protect us in the promise of eternity
because the stars will set the sky on fire and everything will melt in embers and ash without her
the planets will misalign
the soil will sink the trees at their roots
and the ocean will swallow the earth it once harmonised with
and I will, simply,
cease to exist.

I will cradle your memory in my hands against my heart, and the pulse of it will be warm and soft against my fragile skin. These memories are permanent now; sewn into my bones and intertwined with the very core of my soul. In your silence their voices echo; how you're only one human in this fleeting life when the universe is vast and endless with so many more to meet, but they do not know you like I do, like I did.

If I ever forget the way your hands felt in mine or the way your smile triumphed over the sun's own, I want you to know that I will return to you somehow. Even if the stars misalign and this world collapses into the crevices, even if the end is in sight and my faith trembles with exhaustion, even if the distance between us grows infinitely, forever -

It's always been you,
it will always be you.

(A.H.Z)

There’s something in the silence, but it’s never been quite clear

Is it comforting or deafening, or music to my ear?

I find it in the quiet, it comes from deep within

It tells me where I’m going, and shows me where I’ve been

I don’t need an ear to listen, or someone’s hand to hold

Because my thoughts are loud and clear, underlined and bold

I listen to the echoes, but I cannot hear the screams

Of all the thoughts inside, and reoccurring dreams

Like a bullet searching for it’s target, I am looking for mine

Silence brings motionless and the planets misalign

I’m looking for that defining moment, when my world stands still

I don’t want all the answers, because searching holds the thrill

I want to be like the rhythm, to my favorite song,

Meaning I am sensible, and that I belong

But aside from the song, I find great value in the silence

Because for a few moments, it ceases all the violence

I don’t mean world wars, I’m talking about battles inside

I guess I’m saying at times, I’m conflicted on this ride

Sometimes life can be raging, like a heart attack,

But in silence, I find, that all fades to black

It’s a ride I can’t get off of, and nor would I try

Because that would be like gravity, which I cannot defy

So when my thoughts are spinning, like electric ballet dancers

I turn to silence, because it holds all the hidden answers

We enclose, impose and expose ourselves
As poets we do not see in black and white
Instead we use words to paint the countless colors
In between
Our stars align
Misalign
Great works of emotion
Spilled out from sore and joyous hearts
To reach the hidden cavities of those who read them
We are the dreamers, the night time schemers
Filling up afternoons with sunshine
Midnight walks with moonlight
Hold our heart, feel the weight of the world
Hold our gaze and *see it

my love,
i had dreamt of you,
my entire life.

i wished for you
on every star,
11:11,
and dandelion puffs.

i worshipped you
in the prayers of my every poem.

i loved you
with the entirety of my existence
from the moment i found you.

i believe,
that the universe reoriented itself
to keep you at the center
and it was the first time
i had known peace
and belonging.

your departure from me,
would untether the planets
and misalign the galaxies.

your eventual absence
will catapult me
into the darkness.

i am a ghost
without a home to haunt

a heartbeat
without a chest to belong to.

i will know nothing
except for the loss of you.

i know it will consume everything
i will ever have known.

it will sound like a goodbye
and it will feel, alone.

so don't go,
don't ever go.

To ride the subway clutching half dead roses
in a paper bag is to know that shadows
have weight, light has gravity and geometry
exists in algorithms of pain, that  sadness
is  a reflection of the loneliness of space and time.

Even the sisters under the MTA map,
one cradled in uneasy sleep
in the cleft of the other’s shoulder,
the woke one staring mournfully ahead
as the cab lights alternate between
jaundice station hues and tunnel blacks,
are aware that they are moving grave stones.

The lovers awkwardly  kissing in the next seat,
her eyes slightly open not meeting his gaze,
their heads tilted so far their faces misalign,
exist in the uncertain promise of intimate connection.

A woman stealthily smoking nooses of ash
steps on, cradling  a crying cup of coffee,
while an old man with a cane holding a
rattling tin of coins blindly exits to the platform.

At the top of the exit, the nearest brownstone
has a family gathering to take a clan photo,
their impatient gazes exposing the micro spaces
between their existence and their own lonely thoughts.

Flourishes amidst freedom
once invisible (alice in) chains shucked
when soul no longer kept linkedin
to jane's addiction
with corporeal duty, entity, fealty...
while formerly shed body electric
gendered as former googly eyed hotmail
actually a prodigy, whose outlook
arouses suspicions regarding him
as person of pinterest living social
in a webbed, wide world of uncertainty

precariously perched atop pinnacle
pirouetting at light speed,
nevertheless defying the laws
of centrifugal and centripetal force
as spirit blithely ushers forth
along a straight line
of orthodox dogmatism, idealism
opportunism, and volunteerism
hemorrhaging, purging, and xing
staunch archconservative
punishing outdated edicts.

When after the final countdown
to the global apocalypse,
(according to Doomsday Clock
January two thousand twenty three  
ninety seconds to midnight)
one beatle browed, foo fighting nebbish
departs the land of the living
and joins rank and file
among the grateful dead,

he (more specifically
the physical and spiritual
embodiments incorporating him
will separate) at long last,
thence latter day sainted essence
can freely exit from the cares
and concerns of an uncertain tomorrow  
no longer plagued by earthly travails
particularly the necessity of money.

Within heliocentric/ Copernican theory
broached sixteenth century promotion
sans scientific paradigm
dogmatically hefty, kinetically lofty,
and poetically thoroughly,
xyz beliefs misalign
wherein mechanistic Ptolemaic,
static venerated yin yang benign
choreography describing elementary forces
governing heavens inviting jinxed, kooky,
loopy measures necessitating

normalization, pacification, rectification,
transformation, validation
to guarantee spatial objects remain in line
which notions trotted out
a cosmic deal with invisible ink
omnipresent, omniscient omnipotent
benevolent creator linkedin
synonymously affixed terrestrial
firmament (planet Earth) nsync
with bedrock as Fred Flintstone
beatified, certified, deified,

edified, fortified, glorified Gibraltar
until undisputed supposedly
figuratively hermetically sealed
fostered religious (church) fathers
to do more than blink
when inquisitive minds (undaunted
though invoked as heretical martyrs)
blaspheming solidly entrenched
blind faith no more functioning with charm
mingly quaint association
with amulets, churinga,
exquisite fetishisms guiding humanity

innumerable journeys kickstarting
legendary modus operandi initially harm
less lee sounding out,
what manifested into a schismatic alarm
regarding millennial questions
undermining liturgical moorings
strong lance heaving arm
irrevocably toppled geocentric mindset,
nonetheless this oblate spheroid dance
sing with the stars redoubled
devout hangers-on fixed

with barnacle cleaving
devotion stalwart stance
populace behooved
(as would be expected),
when Doubting Thomas'
(Paine) revolutionary screeds
threatened (prior to unending)
universal schema just by chance
and despite proclamations pronunciations,
and provocations roiling status quo
hashtagged as evil rants

eventually zealous warfare between
growing heliocentric individuals  
with sacrilegiously blatantly deranged
fiendishly gnarly heathens –
perhaps the Renaissance own
groovy, nutty, and trippy Timothy Leary
the dawn of a quantifiable, explainable theory
(minus all those concentric
embedded orbital paths)
diktat preachers eventually became weary
to challenge recalcitrant

(purported hell raisers
****, I would have fit right in
as a rebel rouser)
whereby agents provocateurs
spout vestigial claim
to Gaea remaining front
and center of galaxy
on par clubbing with Mother Mary.