I hate how you ruined song after song.
It’s not fair that you have that power so strong.
Music is the only thing that makes me belong.
Taking that away is just plain wrong.

It may be cute but hear it from my view,
Getting a song captioned, “this reminded me of you.”
Makes the song stick to you like glue.
So after you hurt me I can’t stand it and take it off queue

i don't want it back at all
but i miss you
the way we laid together in the grass, holding onto the earth and holding onto each other
i miss the way we ran with our toes in the sand, our hands intertwined and our cares free to roam the beach and blow in the wind
i've nearly forgotten how perfectly your hair falls, flowing down your back like tears on my face
i miss how you made me feel like i was on top of the world
i miss how you would pick up when i fell
i miss knowing who you were
i miss wrapping every word that left your mouth around my pinky finger like an oath
i miss whispering my wishes to you in the dead of night, knowing only you could hear me
i miss you like a dreamer
i miss you like a prisoner
i miss your smile
i miss your frown
i miss your promises
i miss your lies
i miss the summers we made out of those cold december days
i miss you

Orpheus Listens to the Requiem of His Own Undoing  
                (after Leonard Kress)


Orpheus hears his songs played on broken strings,  
A dirge plucked soft by an old man with blight.  
He laughs at this fiasco, cringes as it rings,  
Echoes bending, whispering through trees at night.  

Behind him, nova bass lines swell and roll.  
He imagines the dancers weaving in a line,  
The wading birds now gone—silent in their toll,  
Their scattered iambs left to beachgoers’ time.  

He turns back—loses his time, theirs too.  
He pleads; time will not rewind for beggars.  
He cries; sorrow will not soften, nor undo.  
He sets his vision on a new career—foreteller.  

He fixes his fate, throwing his guitar,  
Its keys, its chords—all song surrendered to riptide’s pulse.

A burgundy heart pounds under the cedar of her chest
Like a grandfather clock, she cries out at midnight
Inside the plush, velvet canopy where she lays to rest,
Mechanical begging in the silver moonlight.

Sensations and textures overtake our heroine, unaware
As death watches from the wardrobe in awe
And the darkness cloaks his silhouette as he stares
Flirting with death, she screams ‘ah-ah-ah-ah-ah’

Push the threshold when all alone,
In the comfort of her own home
Nobody to answer to, nowhere to go
Cinnamon fingernails, she can’t say no.


She avoids the eyes in the light of the day,
But yearns for the freedom of the cabaret.
Heavy bronze curtains conceal secret ***
No one need know how she tempts death.


Magenta, and lavender, black and then red
All of the colors that rush through her head
The closet’s a coffin in the glow of a candle
Death as her ******? Imagine the scandal!

Push the threshold when all alone,
In the comfort of her own home
Nobody to answer to, nowhere to go
Cinnamon fingernails, she can’t say no.

Once she reaches as far as she can take,

Her knuckles glitter with liquid quartz
Slowly, from heaven she seems to wake
Cheating hell with la petite mort.

(i remember…)
making out to ska with the lights on
(i remember…)
the day i finally got your pants off
(i remember…)
the look in your eyes told me something else was up (shhh)
forever bonded, didn't matter what was going on


not like thœse other guys
you were the caring type
circumstances not within your control
but you still had to make it right


it's so unfair
the unwanteds wandering in my dreams
but i still haven't seen you there


forever 23
a missing part of me
with every birthday that i have
it’s another you won’t see




forever 23
a missing part of me
with every birthday that i have
it’s another you won’t see

it's the most heart wrenching thing
he forced his way back in again
thought i was safe in my dreams
but it seems he's still haunting me

can't shake the feeling of his touch
i wouldn't call what we had 'love'
younger me didn't know enough
to get out of that hole i'd dug

All songs are sad, the poems aren’t better.
Maybe I should remake them all?
Re-write, re-concoct, re-live, re-slobbered!
Maybe they should be re-baked in whole?

So that instead of the night there’s the sun!
And in place of the blizzard there’s summer.
And no sadness! Out with the blues!
No more tears! No ill lucks and dramas!

And what about love? We’ll keep it on!
But let’s go and change my loving colors!
Instead of the rain and sleepless nights,
We’d paint white camomiles and flashy covers.

The wind would always be tail-on,
And love would live into old life.
Cinnamon, almond, vanilla aromas…
Am I right? Is that the smell of happy life?

I’ll write such “love story”, where they both
Love each other and were both faithful.
The sun shines brightly, birds sing clearly,
And they both live till their death in full.

I’ll finish writing this loving poem
And put it on the back shelf grandly.
I can be inaccurate, but I don’t like it.
And in my poems I won’t lie fully!

All songs are sad, the poems aren’t better.
I won’t remake them all in no way.
I love and I write my fanciful life!
And I will do it further alway!

blind and naked starling chick
dead on the pavement

parent looks down and sings

out of context
i'd think it a sweet bird song

is my reading
of the situation incorrect ?

Perhaps am about my last
Round of applaous a breath
Taken and suprise as strange
sure is, ask perhaps answer.
Soul without expectations resolve and interupt in manner of miracle in the new world
A secret, allow the heart a rest
Perhaps for last its wonders
Free to interpret and translate mind to bless and a last word
To keep, in matter of universal
Perhaps this is it and no more
Whatever its worth beg to differ:
i dont want to rule the world..
Ladies and gentleman, cheers