I like to write in the graveyard, I know people there
It’s nice and quiet, city sounds fill the air
A peaceful feeling comes over my mind
All of the memories my heart can find
I don’t see any ghost walking, I only hear voices
Some trying to say make better choices

I like writing in front of my grandfather’s stone
He makes me feel like I’m not alone
I look up, I see more stones of granite
All those names and dates, with no faces
Their memories are there, just in different places
When I finish and it’s time to leave
I’ll dry my eyes, stand quietly and grieve

I'm picking up

       What you're putting down

                   You didn't have to throw

                                     it

                                     at

                                     me.

There are multitudes

of faces, everyone has --


many more than one.

My love smiles at me,

he is good to me, he doesn't --


need to be better.

Tell me your secrets
Tell me your sorrow
All of your regrets
Your dreams of tomorrow
If I asked you to stay
What would you say
Would you tell me right away
Or make it a game we play

I undress voluntarily
The assistants lead me
to the middle

into the half-dark circle
of curious students who
search for the connection

between my bare legs
and the light swell
of my white shirt

I lower my eyes
and follow the instructions
of the professor

as if I see myself
in a film, turning around
in the circle

of light
of attention
of thin voices