oh sweet vase of heartbreak!
Harbinger of diluted inequity, cursed by your transgressions
hold your tongue, hold your tongue if only for the night
let me hold you for one last time, let my hands be yours
it'll be a miracle if you fought past your demons
yet making my deathbed seems inevitable
my tomb, my tomb, my declaration to all
without you I am nothing but hollow and empty
my heart has divided and pulled apart
sword sheathed at my side, my hands away
I yearn for one minute more, strive for your return
it's cold and empty in a broken house
my lungs are shaking and my breaths are shorter
frost covered romance urging me to come home.

winds

I noticed the man a few weeks after fall semester had begun.
Smoking a cigarette, pouring the grease into the soft mound of dirt right outside my doorstep
-each day, I saw him.

I swear I saw him behind the dumpster one day on the walk to class
using the ice as a mirror. I didn't know anything about him or his circumstances for acting as he did
but I didn't worry either when I saw him, because I saw him everyday for 3 months.

One day, while passing the dumpster, I didn't see him so I continued on, disenchanted.
A few moments later I saw him sprawled on an apartment complexs steps, sipping a pint of an abborhation of a tequila brand.

I had built up the courage
after 3 months of gazing at each other, of him watching me, and me questioning his motives,
I had decided to ask him why he lingered around, just staring at me.

So I asked, my words falling out over my tongue, out of my mouth.

He stared at me, blank eyed, the same stare he had first slipped me some 4 months back. His mouth opened and he softly replied, his voice getting lost in the wind:
"I'm finally living my life".

songbirds

nightingale

this isn't the complacency that's served to comfort me
for years, and days
slipping in and out of time
the tight lipped secrets of pantomimes
and statues
lisping out of my soul
boiling out of my mouth into seas of passion
and decay, the crumbling of my
bones,
limping away into peninsulas
whence our love faded, thrice.

each negative summer, erased like ripping through cassette tapes
finding each memory stuffed into a drawer discarded like trash
on the sun porch of our summer home.

lyrebird

I set the typewriter on fire if only to match my tears
stationery, pens and paper have all escaped my grasp
foreign to my touch and breaking my wrists
I set my typewriter on fire.

Piopo

Veins of liars and sighs of relief from saints
under a ceiling of ink
dripping and making us thirst
our throats drowning with the taste of such bitter ink
from your pen and paper ooze the vitriol to
bury a thousand empires
the secrets you've dropped have been collected
and placed in the shadows of the
kingdoms fall, because when the seasons change
and the sun is exhausted,
fatigued and
desperate we'll be clawing
at your throat. so please,
save us.