I fell apart when
You pulled away your hand
Now I’m sinking under darkness
In the room I made my stand
So I lull myself to sleep
Under waves that you command

I thought I heard you call out
Just a phantom and a sickness
All alone in the dark now
You know I cannot do this

I screamed so you could find me
I drifted out of reach
In the ocean I created
And my phantom on the beach

Now the room it’s cold and empty
Your songs are far away
The music that you left me
Are distant echoes I replay

I see you sitting on the back porch chair
Under the kitchen window
Where light crept and moved upon your hair  

The air is heavy and I cannot move -
The heavy limbed dream
I see you sitting on the back porch chair

My arms ache under the weight
The hermit thrush beak open is frozen too
Where light crept and moved upon your hair

No morning songs or alarms  for you
And the elm tree roots search the earth
I see you sitting on the back porch chair

And the weight of the air around me
Like an orb weavers web in morning dew
Where light crept and moved upon your hair

And the dragon fly spirals out
Of the heated upwards draft where
I see you sitting on the back porch chair
Where light crept and moved upon your hair

He walks alone, the path unsure,
Yet sees beyond the present lure.
With eyes that pierce the veils of mist,
He speaks of truths the world has missed.

Clad not in robes, but thought and air,
He heeds no crowd, nor seeks their care.
A whisperer of winds and time,
He answers not to man nor clime.

They mock his gait, they jeer, they laugh—
Yet drink his words by quartered draught.
He is the stone the builders spurned,
Yet in his silence, worlds are turned.

‘’As I open this book,
I start thinking and pondering, then sobbing when I remember that look.
Funny how these words can play with your life,
Because I started to understand that the day i cracked your lies.
I wish there was a way to abolish emotions from memories,
Just write everything without shedding tears in the evening breeze.
Now I'm holding this pen,
I decide to let go of my wrath,
without retrospecting my life.
As I close this book,
I start thinking and pondering,then sobbing because of everything you took.
How can I distinguish all these memories,
If the only thing I do is sit here with a book full of raindrops, coming out from the source of my love?
All the stars are shining in this world,
But the only thing that lightens me up is your words.
Now I'm in the dark because you are not coming soon,
It's like getting banned from the moon
I let go of this pen,
Covered with this blanket.
Closing my eyes, falling asleep in the fantasies of Peter Pan.''

On Io
The eruptions
End up like pancakes
So hot
And liquid
They are
The plumes
Go so high
And get spread that much
The edges so far


Just a bit bigger
Than our moon
It's spew
On account
Of the friction
Between
It's daddy
And his own sons
Familial
Contradiction

Step 1: Smile.
Step 2: Forget why.
Step 3: Keep your voice steady
when your soul is not.
Step 4: Pretend it’s fine.
(Everyone else is.)

Step 5: Fold your feelings
into paper birds.
Set them loose.
Watch them burn mid-air.
Clap softly.
Repeat.

There is no final step.
You just keep going
until you don’t know
what breaking feels like anymore.

I

She exits herself on the
Sofa. Blanket, dog, and bits
Of a poem on a pad of paper

On the table, like a half-eaten
Piece of homework.
Shades of wine on her sleeping

Lips. Exits herself; space-walks
Outside that frame of mind she's
Been expected to hang herself

On the wall within; she knows
There is more.
There has to be more.

II

She has to be more.
Like so many writers, she falls
Asleep working. Sometimes

Works to fall asleep.
Digging her way through
Herself, mining for words,

Hacking away at painful pasts,
Gathering emerald experiences.  
Diamond doubts and ruby

Regrets all fuel her poetry.
And she reads, spotlight kissed;  
Audience adored,

Goosebump summoning; hairs
On arms and necks stand up as
She whispers directly to me.

About me. Because of me.
In front of everybody.
To music, and I've brought a box

Of pins, and between each of her
Every word, I drop one. And I
Swear to the gods, you can hear

Them all. Like the unsteady
Ticking of a clock too cool to
Care.

III

Poetry jewelry; set with stones
From her innermost. Chips of
Gold from her heart melted

Down to a key pendant she
Holds in her hand; chain dangling,
Eyes closed, forehead resting

Against a door she knows it is
Time to open. Key in one hand,
Pen in the other,

She
Enters
Herself.

The sign said, “welcome”, so I opened up and I went in,
Thought I could move within and along.
But the faces were strange
And it seemed oh so plain,
Here was a place
Where I don’t belong.

There was a table before me where I thought I could sit
To devour the radish and bask in the song.
But gold brick shattered the plate
And the minstrels were late.
It turned out to be another place
Where I don’t belong.

And the next door led to another room
The lock was not so strong.
I wanted to fit,
Even expected it,
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Down the street another stop to observe,
And I’ll wait among the throngs.
Perhaps here’s where I’ll see
Some people like me.
But it was another place
Where I don’t belong.

Alone on a walk, no need to talk.
Somehow isolation doesn’t seem wrong.
And it could be good,
This silent solitude.
Maybe
Here is the place I belong.