...heroine...

I am terrified to try heroine
it has nothing to do
with drug propaganda,
but rather
I am terrified I might enjoy it
too much
because numb parallels exactly
the reprieve
I need.


She is the protagonist to my plot
I am the empty page


Fury overtakes me
this state of the world is a failed one

but all I ever do is shout in my own ear
as the world keeps spinning
under my car tires
warzones firework the night-sky
under my dollar signs
all I ever wanted
was safety
a home with family
and the people running the show
to not be the hypocrite
I am.


most days
I want the answers to be easy
I want the questions to be on subjects I know
since the advent of the internet,
I have become useless.
I always lose arguments

because I can't remember my exact position
I forget that agreeing
isn't as comfortable as it appears
late at night
when my pillow attempts
to suffocate my backbend
these questions aren't easy
warzones are all around me
in the battle to fuel my car
to eat a meal
to meet an eye


apathy is simple,
I am not the heroine of this page.
my loose-fitting morals look more like
magazine clippings from Better Homes and Gardens

look more like martha stewart threw up everywhere
they are ugly sweater hugs
they are dirt swept under rugs

like chic values for the lazy
and incompetent.


I bet Jesus was lonely.
I bet there were days
he lost God's sweet serenade


I have yet to tourniquet my life
though I want the answers easy,
part of the struggle
is seeing
my part.
all that remains
is the start
of pulling her out my page

30/30 Give Anyway

no,

my dear

all lovers will not be yours

some you will unfold
delicately like origami
you won't know how to recompose
slowly as the gift of sunlight
to the darkness
but what shelters inside
can only be for another to enjoy

some lovers you will welcome to your inn
once fed and full-bellied spent,
they will be on their way again
another is waiting to welcome them home

It will hurt.

but only if you dare to carve your initials

into the direction of their purity

you see, they were never yours

anyway

they cannot be more than their own
just because you gave them so much

of yourself

doesn't mean it will ever be a fair trade

nor should it.

the road which leads to regret

is paved by those who give 

only to get

the tamed

They say I'm beautiful                 at a distance
and an absolute riot                        when I'm drunk
I am the mystery of a moment           not the ugly of a housewife
who is she that I am not?                       settled, perhaps; fermented, moreso
someone worth more than fantasy             my ribcage petals are dressed to wander
every sight and night spent alone                  lonely isn't lonely when it is a choice
so tragic is the taming of a woman                   no easy feat to be dainty & wild
or to be someone loved                                         only at a distance

29/30 June 5th, 2008

a noon we could not
repeat
we made a meal of guava
though neither
cared much to eat
thick-seeded
passion fruit slicked
from my chin
as you pressed your calm palm
and kissed the nectar there
we were walking the red road
southeast of the lava flow
northwest of the mango grove
where the trees are so thick,
they flirt to touch
high above
through all the winded wingtips
fighting for flight sounds
I tasted my name
in your mouth
followed your footfall again-
the way we played,
if you had asked me
then

I would have stayed.

Constitution

it's true

some days I loved you more

than others

they were not created equally

if there were a constitution of days

it would read- We The People

Value Some More Than Others.

some days I thanked the moon for your eyelids

I thanked the ocean for the twinkle below 

the first time I met your spark

I asked who she was;

what skill this invisible beauty had

to pluck you from the heavens

and float with you at her side

some days girls can get away

with clichés

in dawdle near the end,

I couldn't stand you.

I held the stories my ego spread

my own grandiosity

cloaked as Esther's wrath

some days I saw through you

others I couldn't see anything else

we both knew this day would break

if there were a constitution for days

it would read We The People

Are Sorry

This Isn't Fair. 

today

is not equal to yesterday or tomorrow

somehow each sunset and sunrise

walks in single file across my timeline

my hand will never again hold yours

& I will carry that weight
in gratitude

blessed by the supple moments

you had a hand

in composing

28/30 panspermian cosmos

panspermian cosmos

make me a field 

of dandelion-stardust

when we kiss,
blow my wish:

to be empty and whole

11:11 comes twice

my one prayer remains

Dorothy's ,

when home falls from the clouds

when love wakes me from dreams

when you remind me

it is in the bend

of our awkward arc;

fall on me

give me alien thoughts

compass my footstep

to darkness

to things that survive

the light

27/30 memories never go below

to feed on
bread or poetry,
eat the word
so fat
should rumi
leave you
dear son,
do not be
the fetid car
I saw today
cutting the funeral
motorcade
A life had died.
cemeteries so full
always pray
they were done
above
they were loved
above
carve your bang
deep

In everyone

you meet
gravediggers
pocket the earth
only
with empty casings
memories
never go below
yet,
honor the shadow.

Witness Colors Bloom

between birth and death
my terse tight-roped dash was
only
ever
the shy line that followed your name
This has taken too long to say.
the first day I tried
all my pens ran dry
the scribble of making them work
was fine art
was a portrait
of having the breath
crushed out of me
we were vulgar
from the root: to ruin
the organic existence
you make me less
than someone who once lived.
as a parting gift
for your pain
you ransomed us
mutilated our history
made in times of peace
torpid moments we spent
unfolding each other
in the end
I curled at your feet
barricaded to the tidal tilt
a pitted barrier to love leaving
to you, it felt like abandon
the way silence shelters
surrounded by sound
to you, not fighting is synonymous
with not caring
no one should envy this naked love
picking at each other's scabbed wounds
kicking bruises to witness colors bloom


when I dream, it is of gravity
the ground rising to cave in my skull
collapsing my memory of you like exploded stars
a trophy to hang in the sky
of an absurd dedition
& I would fill the universe
with our dust-

concision

youngly honest

shot up
to bare:
languageless
wonder
of sense.

breathe me be by beauregard's bench when & where we will have outgrown our sex
touching to taste elastic skin draped in haste, wrinkled and memory-laced

recent hunger 

an empty echo

from: once-filled

to
capacity

a pleasant

wound.

Oklahoma City Turns 125

On the precipice of admit
you were almost a wasteland
except for this
one day- years from now- I will spin a poem
about your taste
the grit that still resides in my lip
you yelled into my silence
cursed my solitude
it was an ache in you to build empires
in the middle of nowhere
There are too many thoughts to think
it's easier to compose
a soliloquy about a rusted wheelbarrow
then to say
I hear you.
I am afraid of the echo
trapped in the cavern of your hate
on Okc's 125th year of stealing land back
that had been given away,
I think of the settlers
there's a reason they settled
it is not a word we use
for a scissortail building a nest
a redbud slicing red dirt for a root-flow
It's knowing that better may never come
feeling the work call to your bones
much must be done
you, to me, will always be
That one.

Bullshit Windstorm

I don't want you to agree with me
I want you to agree with yourself
fiercely (in fact) so that when I say something that offends
and I will
you will know exactly why
be able to touch the trigger raw
and we will have something to talk about
Hate is only fear when it spins around kid-dizzy


we should fear silence
when something needs to be said
but no one should be afraid to be right
too often misunderstanding
sits bottled and ferments
into violence
overnight


I want to find out where we disagree
and touch our edges firmly
I want to lay with them, like foreign friends
but nothing gets at me
the way a good hot & heavy debate hits.


If we don't talk with some discord sometimes-
and I mean sometimes, like:
            sometimes
               it is dry
           in the desert.
If we don't disagree sometimes
then where we connect cannot feel like:
           a slow rain
          to a scorched
             tongue.
It'll feel and smell more like a bullshit windstorm
like small talk between strangers
I don't know about you, but I say fuck small talk
only strangers talk about the weather
the rest of us
feel it
together.

I call you Barbie

Yeah, I remember you from high school,
and I didn't like you then.
I see you haven't changed
obviously, I'm no longer emo or goth or
whatever label you forced on my fashionable melancholy
you should know black goes with everything
but you're into white, aren't you?
bleached hair & teeth, fake-milk tits
that your husband gave in trade
for his four syllable name
I have not missed you.

I've seen you everywhere.

you still wear the word popularity
like I wear the word accountability
I never found you charming
Even now, after years
I want to break open that polite smile
that daddy bought you with lies
placed on your face the day he named you princess
never told you no, because he thought that was love
what a pretty sociopath you've become
It's my pleasure to tell you a world of no.

No, I will not be your fake-baking buddy
at your favorite skin cancer booth
because hanging out with me would be your pity-deed
& rotting from the outside in
does not a fun sunday make.
It's called Sunday, you know,
like, omg after that big bright thing in the sky
one of the few things daddy couldn't buy you

No, I will not be your shopping pal
because my style is still my own
and afterall, I'm a thriftstore whore
that 3rd world boy who worked fingers to bone
to knit your seafoam cardigan,
should've spent his day playing outside instead
I'm not an advocate for growing up quickly,
but you should consider it.

No, I will not be the one
you bring to church this month
because my church is everywhere
and I will not go to a place of hate
to watch ventriloquist bigots
talk for god

I won't even donate to your atrocity
a skyscraping reminder of Jesus' least favorite days
like he's going to see it and return
see it and thank you for spending so much
on advertising your guilt
and not spending even a thought
on the hungry or the homeless


It isn't all your fault
they've rubbed you raw with class
so you'd glow pretty
I know we are all blessed with strange talents
mine is not knowing when I've said too much
and yours has been to look good
without thinking too much
I see crimson blood dripping from your credit cards
I can't tell if it's middle-eastern or american
because to me, it's the same color
you've eaten your truth- that war is necessary,
only it doesn't happen in your salon booth
which is filled with so many just like you
and they're pumping oil into your sparkly SUV
and money into your mister's mastercard
why bother with 300 missing girls
with those who are far away and fighting
just fighting not to die?

So, TV-fed stereotype that I wish didn't exist,
sometimes justice is not polite
sometimes it's a rude slap in the face
from an introvert who no longer has the luxury
of being apathetic to your ignorance
I'm trying to show you that you have a choice
& I'm not talking about what you think of sexual orientation-
a choice that goes beyond what you wear
I'm trying to show you that you can be
more than a lesson for my son
of who not to become.

23/30 April

April, I hear you
the dank den still calls
as winter sits fat
on my eyelids
ebbing me back into
the sadness and silence
of the year
April, you're winning
there's a rumble
in my mid-arch
my spine forced vertical
by hungers thirsty lust
yes, I am more than animal
which is to say
my thick buds
are also near blossom
grown ripe as I slept
you naughty temptress
you've laid an ocean of sky
below me
& I
am already mid-dive
April, you're reeling
spring from me
& I am answering loudly
with a grow I know.

Single Parent Sacrifice

many a night I laid listening

to stomach sounds unsoothed

by the air soup

when days were wrung

with only enough for my son

there are many easier roads

than this one

but it's mine, by god

he is built on my bones

you can keep those stones

you're about to throw

you just don't know
everything he is to me
he is more parent than I'll be

more teacher than student

growing daily more prudent
roots and branches of this stunted
family tree

Sappho's Promise

we ignite like Sappho's promise
Cassandra,
I believed your prophecy
this is your laurel wreath
in our embrace
treaties are signed
weapons dismantled
peace pipes lit
this is friendship.

when I scribbled
-don't settle for less
than someone
who makes your heart
sing-
I didn't know
it would be me
trying to string
your tattered ribcage
and make music
in harmony

21/30 Party of Five (NYC Style)

tonight we ride like the westerns

a bug-eyed wagon, clown-car full

of pedestrians

we are the thirty-somethings

Neve's toes are brightly painted somewhere

grown out of the alternative cynicism

we wear so well

This party of five will ride

outrun our 90’s depression

down 72^nd to Cain’s and other

an ear to the grinding stone

finally we can afford the tickets

but not the cost of a meaning

to it all

or of a hope

to find one

tonight we ride orphaned

careless, regardless

of tomorrow.

Everyday

Everyday

I will send her diatribes and sonnets

a week will go by so slowly as she delays. 

K2 will have been peaked

Jonquilles will have woken up to spring

Revolutions will have been planned and executed

Before she will say:

There is much to say, and not much I'm sure I should.

She leaves it there.

She leads and leaves me there

I will sit at her borders and beg.

I will show her my depths

that bear her flags

And another week will go by so slowly before she will say:

I have not gotten over you.

And nothing more.

I will recall to her that from her lips my heart still pours.

I will bleed to her.

And another week will go by so slowly

I will have met a bodhisattva

crawled through Einstein's biography

listened to Rachmaninoff for the first time

I will want to share all of this with her

to reclaim the years we lost apart,

but she will only send arrows of intimacy-

from the safety of her solitude

I will think that she is teasing me

I don't know if it's to be left

Or lead.

I will think that she is caging herself from me

Or me from her.

I will remember that her parents named her Aubrey, from the song that sings:

"I never knew her but I loved her just the same".

I will hate them for it.

There are encyclopedias of other names

I will name her Ardent Hello

Then, I will not call her every bad name in my head

When, I am more honest 

I will call the incredible love I bear her

Worse names.

I would erase every word

That I have ever said

If it meant she would really talk to me again.

Everyday, I walk the tightrope

between regretting I ever met her

and regretting not knowing how to stop her from slipping away.

I cannot understand her heart

Even though she is states away,

this world is not so big 

that I do not feel her everyday

it is not so small

that I know there are borders

I may never cross. 

Worth The Fall

we crawled back into our shells
and sighed, and closed our eyes
like the day was done
deep in both our minds
we were quick-sanded under by our many doubts
            beneath my skin, there is not you
            beneath my skin is mine alone
in the hollow of ourselves
we debated whether to jump or fall
like it was a choice we could make
            behind your eyes, there is not me
            behind your eyes is you alone
we were spinning in lonely orbits
like two pulled grenades
ticking to touch
and break into real lovers
someday.

Oh You

college has done this before
taken a supple mind and gutter-clogged it
with itself
the mind's most garish flaw
is that it thinks too much
of itself
she talks properly, thinks she is cultured
but thinks so much of herself
college has broken her curiosity
traded a diploma for imagination
for innocence
How I used to love these fertile halls
I see what it has done to her
made her unmovable, inflated, mistaken
I lust for the luscious fields
that I thought were once here-
sexy bookstacks that could take me anywhere
the deflowered truth has molded each page
the roads were built leading to
dead-ends.

Gendershame Game

I adore how you twist them
you almost look like a little boy
but, you aren't.
my pulse knows
the hotness of your bold honesty
you remind me to see the suchness
unlearn the labels I've been taught
peel back to the sweeter nectar
to allow things to be themselves
you've carved yourself
out of this and that and neither
and both
with no thought of, "omg, is he wearing lipstick?"
you were not made to fit in a world where-
these clothes are for you
these clothes are not.
You twist them to find what's underneath
their layers of gendershame
watching them squirm in vain
for a category
is not a sport you force
you just are
all and other and you know
it doesn't really matter
aren't there better things to talk about?
aren't there other combats going on?
This game is silly, just a throwback
to a repressed collective history
like we're only attracting certain forms
you allow people to offer you a taste,
but it's more what they say, it's more who they are
than whether they bloom in pink or blue
not long ago founding fathers wore wigs
even powder, stockings and heels
it was practical- they wanted shapely legs
and to cover poor hygiene.
we're all being twisted around this gendergame
bodies aren't anything if not convenient
but we give too much away
to continue the binary convenience of labels
like parts of us only fit with 1/2 the toolbox
you say, tools are meant to be used
& it's not what I say or look like,
but what I do
that will open you.

18/30 Of Sisters

Mine sow hope
and trouble evenly
Adolescent me believed
growing up was like-
being the loneliest star
was like- a bad trip
followed by a worse come down
and no one knowing
you were ever there
All this is a simple thing
returning to sisters
watching their mistakes
hearing them say
they're not mistakes,
only what you wouldn't do
I had to learn I wasn't alone
that sometimes I had to fight
to be heard
to learn I can't walk away or move away
from them
Umbilicaly tied
to my best and worst friends
and growing up is hurting
obviously
it's standing, pockets out
repeating I'm sorry, I didn't know
crying you're wrong
laughing I still love you
It's- we look so much alike
and my inability to see it
a not small portion of my genes and memories
time-capsuled in people
I don't really understand
It's nodding
blood is both thicker
and thinner
than water

17/30 Kenning

the breath around me

hangs thick with battle-sweat

the weather of weapons

Only just begun

I, the once stout-hearted,

folded now into a prayer’s bend

my forfeit: the evaporated squeak

a labyrinth of retreat

nestled into my cheek

Whilom, I lusted love

ever defeated, desolation was

the silver bell consolation

this pattern is now brazen

this field has only grown casualty

though I felt the fray as my design,

I never had an option to fight

go, ask the egg,

why the need

of armor.

No One Really Knows

I've never been one to read the last page first

though I have this question

which will remain unsolved until I let go of this life

and possibly even after.

I want to know the feeling of the entire cosmos

I want to peek at what is beyond this universe

I have tried imagining this,

though I know it is impossible

with my paltry mind

I feel intimately the pangs of more that I cannot grasp

I am filled with a lost and lonely hunger

I do not have an answer for the question of God

and someone told me that it is love

look at all the newborn things that are fresh from God

they are overflowing with something

that love is close to describing

I do not know love like that

My religious friends urge me to just have faith, like pushers

In my heart, I am a romantic scientist

fallen for the curious idea though still desperate for proof

This may prove to be a fatal flaw

as the only thing any of us know about God

is that no one really knows

it's obvious to me, there's only one way to find out

My friends with faith believe so fiercely, they claim

that certainty in belief feels just as real

I do not know faith like that

Some say you must live to know why you're alive

I am not convinced

I know I won't know certainty until I die

if there is even such a thing

if I am anything more than a worm meal

yet

when I pray,

it is for the patience to wait for the answer

while never to stop asking the question.

15/30 It Is The End

I think, moments after our first kiss

though you may hope we might,

we will never be more than this.

there is sparingly little reason to fight

quick as we collide, so shall we part

& memories provide opulent delight
 
It is the end that begins at the start.

An Ode to Her Cheekbones

the synecdoched curves

lay northeast & west on a plain

of abandonment

adopted at under one

by people who weren’t her people

kind new Dad, as tall and dark as
the Father she would never know-
the ghost who would fight for god & country
but not his own
warm new Mom with hwangyong floating on her lips
in the same tongue as the original Mother 

who opened her legs
but not her heart
to a babe in rags.
her cheekbones tell the Juliet & Romeo tale
tragic death of a young love

genetic convex still sings

a song of a Head Held High
regardless
of what came before
her mocha mountains
look down over the valleys
where, when given a chance,

smiles still bloom.

13/30 She Is The Dot

She is the dot

too much

& yet never enough

this is not an abstraction
this is a pinpoint feeling of stop
in the spiraling top
of our galaxy
she is the dot


you’ve met her on your own timeline
she
can flow, & follow & flee


we don’t remember years or days
slow moments are those

that clear the haze

in your thin dash

between first & last

it is the dot

that pushes & pulls

us past

she

is over & over

& never again

she is him & me & them

everyone everywhere

who is aware

so many I don’t yet know

she

can flee, & follow & flow

He Said Baby, Pretend

He said
Baby, I will make you beautiful
give me your appetite, your passion
your hope for anything more
I will make at least one dream come true
I will make you appear bored, listless & hateful
& people everywhere will admire you


He said
Baby, pretend
imagine food as the excrement
it will soon become
lose the taste for everything
turn into the shell
that's all anyone wants to see
I'll fill you in
but I must have a blank canvas


He said
Baby, I will make you nothing
& it will be beautiful

11/30 Rebirth

Tenzin Zopa sat near a hilly path

and wept
his rucksack laid beside him patiently
knowing he would pick it up again
for now his shoulders buckled
under the enormous weight
of finding his mentor, brother, friend
Tenzin feared the worst
that he would choose the wrong child
or not recognize his beloved at all
tears fell unashamed from the truth
it would be his burden to bear

if his friend was never found

maybe you don't believe in reincarnation
but tell me- what isn't possible
for a soul?
(hollywood witches may not be real,
but they can certainly fly)
from my side of this lake,
the world looks like a country of evening stars
I see both stellar explosions and myself in your eyes
we've driven here to escape the city fog
to breathe uncorrupted
to catch the ancient twinkle of distant homes
as the breeze greets me 

with a wave's rush,
I think of Tenzin and feel
we are all looking 

for our old friends
in their new faces.

7/30 We Aren't

the beg has been made

poised as a triggered question mark

How do you know you're alive-

the blood sugar spike

caress of a strangeness 

morse code apostrophe of desire

of ownership

consistently false

Nothing is yours or mine

How do you know you're alive-

the breath that lingers 

pierced with tongue and teeth

you are not that infant in the photograph

clouded memories of firsts

yet you are nothing else

follow feather's fall, follow hollow feeling

wake and sleep

plan and dream

step lightly here

she will love too hard

she will be as lost on the wicked path of meaninglessness

how do you know you're alive-

he will collect you as a bird

fallen from the nest

treat you as a tender thing

who foolishly felt flight in broken wings

and people

wake and sleep

forget

(please!) it all

5/30 ==\..__

the message delayed on my tongue

as my soldier toes marched me

to the front lines

of a couple's love

I fell unlike an autumn coat

shed from last season's branches

I fell unlike indolent lids

draped over eyes that are too full

No, I tripped into their daybreak

the way a waterfall feels the rush

and pummel and drop

the way the current cannot

escalate or rudder the wave

all it can do

is let gravity call

whisper it's gentle promises-

you will be okay at bottom

throw back your head

grow out your laugh

and fall


le message différé sur ma langue
que mes orteils soldat me défilé
pour les lignes de front
de l'amour d'un couple
le message différé sur ma langue
que mes orteils soldat me défilé
pour les lignes de front
de l'amour d'un couple
le message différé sur ma langue
que mes orteils soldat me défilé
pour les lignes de front
de l'amour d'un couple
Je suis tombée contrairement à un manteau d'automne
versé à partir des branches de la saison dernière
Je suis tombée contrairement à couvercles indolents
drapé sur les yeux qui sont trop plein
Non, j'ai trébuché dans leur aube
la manière d'une cascade se sent la ruée
et rouer de coups et déposez
la façon dont le courant ne peut pas
faire des vite ou ralentir la vague
tout ce qu'il peut faire
est d'entendre l'appel de la gravité
chuchoter ses douces promesses-
vous serez très bien au fond
jeter la tête en arrière
développer votre rire
et à l'automne

4/30 Rachmaninoff

Rachmaninoff,
you aren't entirely wrong.
maybe I'll never know how to write a poem
the way your crescendos and trills collide
maybe emotion is my much too much
the thick honey which permeates
yet never escapes this landscape-
is already a poem.
my attempt: hyperbolic,
just a fingertip arrow poised at the moment
when the lithe aspen meets the tempest's force to bend
all we have is poetry
to brace against the break.

As It Turns Out

(written while a teen)


I’ve whittled her  of sinew and clay
an earth-bound goddess
ideal in every way.

I’ve etched her details delicately

given her a heart
that beats for only me.

I’ve made her an exact fit
to every curve of my body;
to the complexity of it.

So why can’t I stand her?
What more can I demand of her?

Imperfection & ego call my name

& I answer, overcome with shame.
I live a life of flaws
dying by illogical laws.

You see, I’ve summoned my perfect mate
but as it turns out,
She isn’t anyone I would ever date.

Stars Kiss The Night

poppies bloomed in the meadow
& my own bud hid, scowling

my stem scribbling

thinking the more I wrote

the closer I’d be to you

trying to be the better parts

so you’d come

& kiss me like the stars kiss the night

like snow sighing on a hill

masquerading as warmth

I wanted you, all of it

so much that there’d be

nothing left of me

so travelers would come & say

 “here she laid, but she became sated.”

and as wind blows autumn leaves

I would scatter myself

over the fields of you.

His Brand of Special

Stacy, the hairstylist, pulls me aside
a fluster of seriousness says
he is the most with-it 6yr old I have ever met
What do you say to that?
when near-strangers love your child as much
I thought I was special for seeing him
I am overflowing with gratitude- she sees gets him too 
at 2 he asked what dirt was made of
instead of eating it like toddlers do
a few years later
in the same wondering way
he asked if it was true-
that people really kill other people.
in reply, I cried.


I am disappointed to be so small
to not give him a better world.
Last week he said Santa was creepy
Because he sneaks into your house
Presents or not, he gets it
Stacy sneezes and he tells her 
he calls sneezes ‘bless yous’
and also, in an excited bird chirp
if you want to break-up with someone
Just get a really bad haircut
that way
their feelings aren't hurt
when you don’t like them anymore


He knows sometimes
you don’t like people anymore.


He sees Stacy’s pack of cigarettes
and asks in his tiny voice
why she wants to die
then quickly adds
that he wants to be a “hair cutter”,
a pilot, cook, 1^st grade teacher, actor, singer and dancer
that he wants to do it all
but mostly, he wants to be a “hair cutter”
Because they help people look good on the outside
So it’s easier for them to feel good on the inside
They help people remember to smile at themselves
maybe that’s why she was impressed
as we walked away she was smiling
I know every child is magical,
but Charlie’s special sparkles
he has an answer for nearly everything
we say we love each other to infinity
and if you ask him what is after infinity


he’ll say- sparkles.

2/30 Summer Sun

it’s no from our brief past together

it’s an almost vacancy

flowers feeling spring has left for them.

melting in the summer sun-

while flies thrive

feels unfair

unbearable

even the air is smoking like steam

praying

just stop the collapse in me