You’ll love it… It’s a way of life

Sucking the juice from our naughty language

The writer finds himself hollow and dry

Seeking an adjective existence,

he steps into spaces

hides his face around pregnant pauses

prefers ellipses…

…Sentences alive with space at the end

A definitive ambiguity.

Nature plays along

Death is nothing but an alternative ending

Sleeping

These nights I am so close to the stars

I can scrape them off with my hands

Their shimmering halo moving like cold breath in the air

Like dreams, they die in stages

Here, together, she shields me

paying for her compassion with hours softly spent

And yet, in the glimmer of candles, hers is the face that is alive

While I chase hot moons, she hibernates

And I howl and cry and play my drums and she moves not at all

She is what I strive to be and what I fear to find

Saving her blood for some future time

Is it you who is good from beginning to end?

Then you are not from here

and you do not belong here

Here, better angels find themselves far from home

From this place, no wasted soul is removed

Bones laid at every door

Every window has eyes

We are waylaid, drunk with talk

You are not welcome

until you show me your scars

***