all things…

the stone is calling us both
       & the flight was a great success
         sitting up front with a window seat
             an empty row
                          |close| …
                   almost celebrity

          I spoke to you the entire time
               gentle chatter inside my mind
                   I felt   the weight      lift
                         under orange sorbet clouds

            but I know as the curtain is drawn
                       this show’s just begun


authors note: photo from my morning flight


Her platinum anklet chain rattles
   yet the bed splinters below
         no fear no fault no guff
     these things / replaced tomorrow

  There were studs on her garters
            leaving shining imprints
                the way your hands might
                      if you used them correctly
    I wonder if, ten seconds before
          you dove in/ your heart might hold


shallow breaths

I glimpse these hues
 dark umber, taupe and ash
       shadows on my photograph
      whisk across your face
      people say, mine does not age
       but.         [I am always changing]

         I have to be at the airport
            in two hours



Dark umber, taupe and ash
       shadows on my photograph
      splash across your face
      people say, mine does not age
       but.         [I am always changing]

         I have to be at the airport
            in two hours
                        & mediocrity



alter ego

she’s wearing a top hat
   a black waistcoat
         & cufflinks but
  I don’t know if she’s fashionable
           or androsphinx
           all I want
           to know is who wore her
                         pinstripes     to       tatters

                     & who freed those waves
                         from pins and elastic
                             looking up while
                  she glares eagerly overhead &




I’m starting to believe
          the light-green luna
       moth I saw might’ve been
                a pretty glitch
             in this buttoned-up matrix

                    a        flashy sign…

      Who knows, who knows
                I’ve got a thousand things
                            in mind &
           Yes, dear, you’ve got the evidence:
                  [It’s been a hell of a week]

            I swear I’ve ripped my skin
                                            to shreds
                   |feels like an old pastime
                        has arrived for a few

                              I never got a memo
                       then again I never checked
                            the fucked up schedule

        & now I’m on the hunt
                               again》for    you


thousand yard stare

Thick black frost
    between my teeth
          under my nails and
      rifling through my lungs
        I’m starting to think
                        it’s not frost
                                     but tar

                                  A   built-up

Ink; maybe|


I want to feel something else
I wish I knew for myself
                   [What the fix was]
but because
I’m lost
I need your hand
In the dark
I need a hand
I need you|r| hand
I need a hand


butterfly scales

Maybe aboard my steel eagle
                I may make my ends
              Expect drama elsewhere
                        I won’t be bringing it with me
                  Butterfly scales glisten on the
                                   last iridescent frontier
                           between reunion
                                        & insanity
           I hardly have the wherewithal
                                          to swallow
                                              this loss

            when the owl searches at night
            I hear your call

Reap What You Sow

Truth is
     I meant every word
     because I’m cursed
     because the present
     is an ongoing nightmare
     and I know
     it’s only going to get worse
     from here so I’ll jump these
     randomly placed hurdles
     just for you

    without you
    there is nothing
    there is no identity
    there is
    [whatever that means]
          I wish I could hand you a brochure
       because    this world tour is looking
 & I know I have the ticket to leave the ride
                                   at any time
                                  but I’m
                                 not ready
                     to stare death in the eye –

& it’s not like you didn’t tell me goodbye
                     & I should’ve wondered more
                                  at the time
                                  about the timing
                but life’s a prick in the same way
                         I’m a horrendous mess and
                              menace so
                       check to see|the hollows
                           in my eyes may just be
                                      [pupils] instead