My Heart

A pair of tear
away pants
left on so long
I'm not sure what they are.


Eclipsing the City of Light


Twice a year a Japanese tourist falls into shock 
when his train of thought collides with the thoroughbred 
 vision of the city of light. 
In the arrhythmic moments of readjusting his frame
 life's own bright pastiche smudge 
bleeds through a tourniquet of belief 
 and the city seen as Paris, 
in his mind, begins to smolder. 
 Paradise is pointillist: 
thought shortcuts perfectly
 circular islands of color,
 sound and shape till seamless, 
using distance to fill space.


 Your face eclipses mine,
 world dimmed to a glow. 
To a tourist we are kissing,
 to me you are haloed.


Everything is Fleeting

I've been thinking more and more that life is a Popsicle in one endless summer.



He releases a valve, hoping to adjust.
Thoughts ribbon from his gauzy head

to catch in the maw of something else.
The computer's hum becomes a song;

it's lights: a burgeoning kaleidoscope.
He delves deeper to another surface,

loses mass, tries to exercise to slow the descent,
but resistance leaves concentric red bands.

His love disburses into the atmosphere,
hangs in the air like a question,

condenses shotgun on stark charred mornings,
obscures his porthole mirror image

with the crumpled geometry of landing.
The days tessellate together to form

a crystalline skeleton with red blood
beating desire blue into his torpid body.

The realization his eyes are only lenses.
The curdled emotion microscoped indefinitely.

He finds life and doesn't beam it back.


Real Love

It was such a disappointment

to find Santa isn't real

and it was just my parents

presenting their love each year.