A jade phase
And indigo haze
The crushing center
Where gravity is abandoned
Poor you; poor me poor US

Nebulous galactic love intact
Disconsolate and lost/perhaps…
Never recovered? Never trusted

There is no touch
no eye contact
Not with you, ever/
Ever before

We were children then


Shall I Be “Her”?

The lilt of an ethereal tune
Soothes heavy eyelids
and standby limbs
I would be your inspiration

Your flesh intoxicates me
though the scent I can merely guess
& under your breath
I hear you speak (my name)

Like a dream

I am a spray of pink sugar
the kind that may go do/wn/


The seduction of subtlety
Worth the barking (mad?) frenzy
Behind door number one

(Authors Note: x)

Another Word for Violence

Skim the top, carve the bird
Suck the juice from inside
There’s gotta be another name for this
There’s gotta be

Hide your eyes, too delicate for such
Bright bright lights like a supernova
Just suddenly obliterated a tar canvas
And the colors bled out

And the veins poured out

Open them now


(Authors Note: it’s 2:56 am and I have no idea how to explain this to you)


Life is sometimes an unbearable thing.

A frame of a moment in time when shame had been the only thing you felt; no quick-snatched emotion could hide it, despite regular efforts to disguise it.

Something shattered, and when I went to gather the pieces He was suddenly there, like a retort. I didn’t know if he was what I was expecting, or what indeed I was expecting…

Pretenders in society stand out like a shrieking woman. His suit was the color of arson; his tie and vest underneath were black, and soft too, like the underbelly of a raven. The energy was very similar to that of something burning, the nonstop combustion and rising heat, sweltering us both as he came too close. He pressed his fingertips under my chin, gently so I would stand. We knew each other as kids, but life had transformed him into a man. Beneath the veneer of conviviality, he was hardened and sharpened like a dagger. Crisp and clean and deadly.

He chuckled a devastating couple of notes, like something Beethoven might’ve wrote… and I was bare.


(Authors Note: Not quite the usual.)