tell me how to be good again and tell me how it feels when it isnt because i cannot know the world through my eyes. my eyes that hunger and maniacal hands that wash you aside.
i asked her how he died

did he swallow toxin to poison his life from the inside. did he explode his head to quiet the nagging nefarious voices. did he gas slit electrocute or fly from a window soaring in the city's polluted breath?
his windows were left waving, a record turning and pennies scattered the streets drenched in his blood.

they miss him. his mind and his smell. and his purity.
he was their light.
and so he plunged in crazed disorientation in search of himself.
i feel his doubt at the ledge
the quivering in his final notes
and his accounts closing

i feel the wind in my hair and the irreversible freedom.

the pennies rolled a block away.

ten of feathers

it is the bleeding eyes, rouged, that lure a calling, craving
deserted wanderer to a new light
and from this heated anxiousness
no warn heeded
he will lift, fed and free, like icarus from his suffering island
the feathers of flight mock in their weightlessness
at the plunge into darkness
and they slowly traverse like the autumn leaves
to create a soft bedding around the fallen hero
what is it then from this space of blood and cracked earth
that will rise the phoenix
to turn again to the burning sun
again with the ten or the seven or the thirty two points
lined to precision
from this space of failure
i will meet you in the earth. in the carrion composing dirt
and we will rock and tear
and scream the venom away
and hover ever so lightly
with regathered feathers
treading lightly.

swollen doors

and in the moment of quiet
of the first taste of the day
i think nothing but to hear you
and how you love me
and to struggle to put into syntax how my body tingles
when i think you

and then
what with this
when i am lifting shovels full of dead earth
and wish to see the sun setting every evening for ever
and your voice fills my head with dislocated pining
there and not

and following you into eternity
as we have danced for eons
the fruit chasing eve
and the banishment from green
i cannot not
if this is all i ever am

and winter beckons
and my empty pillow
and the blood from my sweating hands
and the dragging hope
dust
the doors swell in the cold

torrington

i would scout here for the set of our movie
so trees. changing, will line the blue sky
and every pedestrian would know how to get
to where you need to go
with secret view stops on the way
and as the season comes for the first time in two years
the pit hollow in my guts wants nothing alone
wants warmth and dreams of your breath

triggers with miriam

there is within dark
and carmine violet
and this is all i truly own
in a bedroom size storage unit.
type in your word and webs will load
purging years of history
i am here
listening the heating breath
and the voice rising from her cauldron
i hear --
and descend into my heat
like hades losing his harp

solid at room temperature ii

what do i have to say today that i haven't said before
so let me make a list of my future
my mind map countdown red button shivering
and come back to the autumn
to the cover crop and afternoon drizzling
and the greening abouting to replenish
i am ready and i am always
waiting for the curtains
and drifting center stage for the call of the hawk

and they tell me you're a messenger
that you sing like an angel
like you're insane
and do i take this
or do i sit with your eyes and melodize our meeting truth
like it is it will be like it has always

and the nights get longer and darker
as the rope taut tightens toward you
counting like an ascension into the mountains
for a flame
for this very now.