Two roads diverge in a wood,
none leading to my address.
If I could choose I really would,
but I'm only a work in progress.
...
One must imagine Sisyphus happy
because there is no rush
to act so tragic. Not everything
you've let go of is
...
Remind me to listen,
in groves of mangoes raw,
to not mistake leaves that glisten
as fiendish swords drawn.
...
As your skull cracked away,
with neither yellow blooms falling
nor children cackling afar, I
wondered if it could be different;
...
Writers live on Neptune
wishing for our children
to fall in love because
we couldn't,
...
There was a moongate to my heart
with gardens sunlight-drenched
and flowers spaced miles apart
of glass paperweights and hopes entrenched.
...
My bones creak again,
I've been living too many lives that
ask for sentinence and yet
long to be a tree and rock you to sleep
...
Wake me up
when summer ends and let
the stars leave
nothing unsaid.
...
You must drench
the cloth
in water, mother, and
squeeze it, so
...