in the centre of what is supposed to be good, Dreams speak my truth.

little blood speckles from mozzie bites in the sapphire evening, and you

 listening and loving. (forgiving) Both caught up in the quiet, fire

pouring from your throat, smoke teases up

spelling burnt hope into the tile roof.

– oh, you. Still friend. Still real. Still here.

I don’t need a dream this time.

later than it should be

we’ll look back on this and say

it was apparent from the beginning, reframing perspective

but believe me I

know nothing of myself.

Bitterly afraid of choice,

we laugh at nonchalance –

always that sweet sorrow:

is this the last time? will I lose you

by accident, you slip away into a snowbank,

fall back, eyes glazed, swiftly buried

and I forget again

not because I don’t love you,

but because I cannot hold this hurt.

walk: a true story

Last night, I sat on the edge

of the river and yelled out into the blackness

admitting the truth, clinging to the ground before I fell

headlong into the black-encased stars.

You held me down with a hand. We talked of

broken wrists and cold mists. As

always, the rushing of water calmed and with it

flowed away the things that were wrapped around my eyes –

I saw the treetops silhouetted, chilled fingers losing flesh-leaves

as I fear the skeletal, I hope

you will not let me hide when the winter comes.


How do you explain to someone that you are in love with everything they do?

Maybe it is just because I am lonely most days,

but I would love to bask in the shadow of your hair.

I’m trading love, not lust, just a taste

of your heart has me hooked. You’re my hero

In my little, mostly empty room of a world.

Come see the pictures I have on the walls.

i like who we are right now

here, time melts, unfrozen

and runs down to bathe us in wild sweat and tears

work, we are finally moving

getting things done worth doing, breathing

in the heartbeat of a second’s time won

over our own loves,

I can just be a person and not think why.

difficult to explain – let’s just say that I am finally sleeping deep

 in home’s arms.

no one is complaining about homework or food

because a fifteen year old girl died yesterday

and we are fighting for the moment,

winning some small part of glory for now

before we follow her.


thank you for being you.

you are the last one left that i can look straight in the eyes and just talk to

you bring out words i need to say

you hear things and see things in me that are really there, that are good

you have seen me for years

and understand when i need to have my fingers stirred in shape and color

i do not have to explain

we are just talking.