a freckle on your nose
u n c e r t a i n t y ;
and a delicate acceptance
of what they thought they know…
what you thought you knew.
rub it off, impulsively,
staring down the cold sun—
it’s lower than this afternoon
like the sky sank around it instead
of the other way around…
silk curtains fresh with dust
and an alarm clock that acts like
a hatchet clean down your
confused head, splicing
your migraine in half like a
raging hydra having a bad day.
melanin is lost to sunburn;
quietly-peeling skin picked on
like trying to remove the memory
of a bad vacation, and
u n c e r t a i n t y g r o w s —
the toaster flies off into eternity.
Oh yes, she’s my redhead darling
The rarest kind that makes autumn feel so jealous
From her button freckles to her pumpkin-spice skin
She dances vivaciously in a riot of fireplace colours
Oh yes, she’s my redhead darling
The rarest kind that always makes my vintage heart feel new
When the pages are torn to cliffhangers and wishful nothings
Her camera smile captures every quaint blush of my pale hue.
You tried to kiss me through the window
I tried to settle for the taste of touching glass
Over the sound of answering machines
Because I love the way your voice
It says it’s gonna get back to me someday…
Remember the morning that wept cold stars like winter rain
Diamonds unraveling as they danced against the faded windows
As the pale pink light beneath the horizon left taciturn stains
On the browns and greys of onlooker eyes, barely open with sorrow
Painting a polychrome noir by the griefstricken brush of a god
Seeking those wandering souls that have strayed too far to go back
Piercing glass concealed fallen ashes that traced the broken blood
Like bitter scepticism left locked under closet doors so it won’t distract
Remember the morning that drained nights of their dissonant reverie
As for saving the stars that fell that evening…only a fated few were so lucky.
And this is gonna be the best day of my life
A celebration of an ending, come on…
He was always
A speck in space
Unable to be seen
By the naked eye
U n r e a c h a b l e
It was foolish
Of me to attempt
To catch a meteor
That it would burn
My fragile palms
So I stood every night
Under that canopy of stars
Wondering. Hoping. Waiting.
Until the moon bleached my skin—
But shooting stars can never fall,
They will only pass you by.
She looks at the rain
And she sees a hurt sky
Trying to tell her about
The woes it hides behind
Its silver-lined clouds.
She’s the only one
Who perceives beyond
The slate arctic weather
And feels the woes melting
Into reveries behind her eyelids.
She’s the only one
Who looks at the rain
And she’s the only one
You were my mockingbird darling;
Caught in between my smileless teeth
As the universe revolved without wonder
My cigarette lungs are no good for you
But the cobalt in your stare was all I needed
To get away from a summer-set heaven
I must have lost ambrosia on my tongue; as
Your ichor paints over the autumn gloom on my face
And every infinite thought of ours ceases to exist.
I want you to swim past
Beyond the scattered polaroids
Covering up the linoleum floor
And I want you to breathe in
The memory of my lost phantasm
Drown as if your sleeping sternum
Was nothing but a mere tidal wave
And simply taste the particles of glass
That fall on your skin like dying snow
They’ll whisper secrets, will you take it to your grave?
I want your hands to feel numb
From the frozen stars asunder
I want your eyes to feel scorched
From the sunflowers dipped in gold
I want you to feel s o m e t h i n g
And I want you to tell me
How it all feels to you
Would you tell me how it feels?
Will you please tell me
What it’s like to feel?
i had a dream that
i plucked the flowers
from his chest and
his smile turned it into
a wilted bouquet.
with the stars wrapped
around the hem of
my sundress and saturn
crying for lost navy,
i was a callow-minded
breath beyond rain
and he told me i was an
endless night, but no,
i did not mind that at all.
for i was kept safe by
the space between his hands
where callas revolved
around forever; and forever,
like time, didn’t exist.
only him. and i. and a garden
full of impossibilities.
I was doing fine meeting
My words according to time
But the poetry written to save me
You wanted all of that and more
Keep me, collect me
Like the rare records on your shelf…
the way i think.
your broken wings
don’t carry me far
but you’re a bad habit
and i’m an addict
with a song on my lips
and a smile on my lucky pen
and i could barely hold
a thought in my head
at what it might do to me.
hold it apart and catch
the raindrops falling
on my open window,
writing poetry all
over the shadows of oak
bookcases, as i sit in
my empty bedroom
and conjure up a fiction.
there’s a blush
in my alabaster bones
unlike the ones in
my cheeks, trapped
in the midst of
a tedious ballet and
the infinite breaks of my
scratched vinyl records,
and i’ll cascade away again;
and i’m misty-eyed.
your arctic gaze is gentle and
obscured by plumes of
take another quiet sip
of the words painted over
in an artist’s epoch,
and let me in…
let me in.
What are you fighting for? (I was doing fine)
Too sad I’m same as yours? (And the days
I would catch myself from falling)
What are you fallin’ for? (Keep me, collect me
Like the stones you would find on the beach)
Too sad I’m same as yours? Tumble me smooth
You know it’s some of that I need…
the thunder serenades
and the lightning makes
for a spectacular interlude—
hey rain, why don’t you
join this parade and start
the solstice’s show for me?