slap the beat across his back,
nails strum the strings hard-
tongue contorts, the violation of song-
storm that rises in and out of his chest:
when i think
of all the clean words
i used to use on you
you've gone now,
given up on the idea
of who we were to be together-
I will never be apart of a radical movement,
except for the one inside the soul
that pits the spirit against the ghost-
A night, spent in the agony of being.
The first to wake,
first to walk: cocked eyed and fractured soul-
Morning comes before sunrise can wake the world.
If memory serves:
there was a dark pool in my dreams
that you were bathing in-
and the moon, or rather, its other self
kneeling between the corn-rows
I heard you
speak to God
there should be more to write then just simply goodnight-
and where are the stars, no word from the moon; where is your heart?
time is a duplicate lover and the wind is always vanishing,
like a forgotten lover always promising to come back one day.
It happened in the time it took him
to go from putting on his left sock
to tying his right shoelace.
I’d quit loving him-
You can't imagine how much I miss you, the sound of your voice, the softness of your lips. All these things torment me you know? Not a big surprise since you already knew I'm a haunted soul. I think about you often, and somehow I think if I were to allow every single one of my thoughts, of every enduring or passing moment be consumed by you, it still wouldn't be enough.
I love that the magnificence of you lingers with me always, in everything I do.
I think it's beautiful that the more I ponder you, the more I learn about my own existence, and the more I unravel of my fragile self, the more parts of me long to know everything there is to know about you. As if by knowing, and learning and understanding you, might somehow lead me to the answers of my being.