Love flooded fields,
gave us harvest,
granted us a tide
for growth, for both
of our hearts
to decide.

We weren't meant
to be ones to hide,
while we were
always open
to confide.

Light shined when
we were wilting.
Water quenched us
after a long drought.

But it is now
when I want out.

>crumbled, rumbled, street survivors,
paper scraps that took the rage abuse rap,
dead love notes, bills red with overdues,
these pre-poems have traveled wind currents
some in from Jersey, some hailing Minnesota,
ain't never see one that crossed the Atlantic,
but reckon it is not a theoretical impossibilty

unpretty city streets, like a museum, collects 'em,
plenty of exhibition space, forlon, historically
orphaned, disbanded, whose paths all got confused,
some sweet, all beat, balled and thrown, no home,
no more, each a reveille, each humming taps, now,
all scented by strret odors, none pleasant, each was
in its prior life, the meat, the grist, the meal of what
was, coulda been, a poem that would have survived
yellowed in care, tender glanced, tucked in books,
safekept, but slipped away, victims of friction, fraction

look down, be unafraid, unravel them slow, careful,
abused, all these messengers all need a good home,
a box in a closet, a book of tenders, witnesses to what
they've seen, places they've been, hand held, tenderized
by words spiced, variegated, ink, pencil, typewritten, like
their prior human authors, all sizes, all shapes, some on
colored paper, a l l astrayed, accidental, purposed, details
and detritus, once deemed essemtial, important, necessary
and needed, even believed, but times change

you're stuck, brain ain't cooperating, tired of staring inside
your self's self, pull on a sweater, it's a chilly spring overcast air,
that don't natural warm, more naturally warn, be careful where,
you step, your next poem is laying right there, grab a few, take
more than a couple, this is like a school dance, try a few, until
you bank the right one in the till, the connection made, a kiss,
in secret stolen, and the drive, the forces, the perspiration urgency
leads to you desk, nook, granny's cranny, and the world of words
overflow like seagulls in a harbor, so many spilling, hard is the
choosing, but excited adrenaline, free basing, in your veins and
****, you gotta just write again, right now, add a ***** poem
back to its rightful place in a heart, upon eyes, tongue taste them
syllables, clap and laugh as they symmetrically form, subtle rhyming,
the sleeping seeds have sprouted, the brown brain loamy cells,
fertile and potent, energize, impregnate, and you just can't wait
to walk the streets, in search of many, many more

it's ok, you have permission to utter a whispery nearly silent
hallelujah<

Is there any way to become a mind reader?
Maybe if I knew what you were thinking,
I could do this better,
Because I'm not the greatest now.

The Silence of Stars

Stars don’t burn, they just fade.
They’re not lights, they’re holes—
Torn bits of the sky,
Tucked away in the night
So no one sees them rot.

People speak of them like gods,
But they’re just frozen screams—
Unheard, long-dead screams
That once thought they could reach somewhere,
But never made it.

You stare at them, thinking you’re looking at hope.
But all you're seeing is dust,
A reminder of something that
Was never truly alive to begin with.
They died before they had a chance to matter.

The silence they leave?
That’s all we ever get.
It’s the same silence you feel
In the pit of your chest
When the world falls away and
You’re left with just yourself,
Empty, staring at empty.

Stars are just lies dressed in light—
A final cruelty,
Making you believe something
That was never real.
                                                                ­                            -Salvatore

Humanity is a cracked mirror,
a thousand faces, none of them whole.
It smiles with blood in its teeth,
shakes hands with one fist clenched.

It builds towers, writes books,
paints skies with its brilliance—
then sets it all on fire,
just to watch the glow.

It sings of love, of peace, of hope,
but only when the knives are dull.
Give it time—give it hunger—
and it will eat its own.

Yet still, we stare into the shards,
searching for something real,
pretending the fractures
were never there.
                                                          ­                                              -Salvatore

smoke lingered throughout the air
illuminating my father’s face
and shadowing my mother’s
the bud of the cigarette catching fire
the somberness of this second fading in the distance
a memory being erased
the screams gone silent
her hysterical tears scrubbed harshly from her face
the look of shock smeared from mine
but father stayed still
through the cries he stayed still
and he let the moonlight trickle in through the window
reflecting off of his watch
the seconds ticking into minutes
and transitioning into hours.

we sit for hours in silence
in grief, torment, misery
letting the sound of shuddered breath
and last drags of cigarettes
ghostly wisps in the air
fill the room.