called death

forget to light the candle o'er
the fire's glow of faded edges,
what little can be remembered
of what once was though it's broken,
thrown away through burning wick,
the word flickers and suffocated,
pulses to each weakened breath,
is a starry, familiar ghoulish face

writing in rain

there, across the keys
bobbing up and down

on waves

monosyllabic, mute       saints
knuckles cracking, bones snapping
strung along about the endless white

a long march of nothing

thoughts about death

but I will not die today, in the rain
as it tumbles down yet          unseen

I'm ready to let dry

clothes, fingers, the day     the night

where goes the wind in mountains unseen

and the rain distorts the screen
floods the page.

Thrown away

pale are the glories brought before and
quiet is the history of the mind. One that lies
and falsifies itself with story.

There in the trunk is the truth. Locked
safely away. The many thoughts of every
other body minus my own. My own is not
like those.

Orange peels, onion skin, egg shells. All
I have to offer is hollow leftover remains.
Pretty paintings without a canvas, no brush,
no pen, not a single frame.

Nothing worth keeping.

Home

when i am gone. things
remain static.

i had once clung to imagery. to
write down. now I can't find it.

you called me. on the phone,

i could have texted. but
i didn't.

i never do. i constantly
think about it. texting. how
i never do it.

it was a misunderstanding.
why you called. why i replied,
i never meant to.

so i had to lie. to
not hurt your feelings. i lied.

i said 'i was just thinking about
calling you.'

but i wasn't. i wasn't thinking
that at all.

First spot

closest to the farthest spot,
first space on the longest mile,
left in park, ignition off;
walking home through the rain.

Holly Ho 2

time the lights
are hollow husks,
torn from cable
wrapped up tight
safely melted down,
colored as bright
as the sky
on empty winter nights.

Holly Ho 1

time the lights
are broken down,
locked in caskets
metal-lined,
stowed away
beneath the deck
in dank galleys
on haunting ships.

12:03 am

hey, it's old
news
by now;
move on.

12 am

auto-tune
countdown
one second behind
the rest--
where were the visions,
then?
--happy new years;
i guess

12:02 am

over
the other side
what remains
already done
another trip
around another
sun

12:01 am

on the
balcony alone
no shouts

cork flight out &
down for the sidewalk
bound

champagne cold

on my hands

the wind