A pair of tear
away pants
left on so long
I'm not sure what they are.
1.06.2014
8.27.2012
Eclipsing the City of Light
1.
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.
2.
Your face eclipses mine,
world dimmed to a glow.
To a tourist we are kissing,
to me you are haloed.
6.14.2012
Everything is Fleeting
I've been thinking
more and more
that life is a Popsicle
in one endless summer.
11.15.2011
Mars
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.
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.
10.31.2011
Real Love
It was such a disappointment
to find Santa isn't real
and it was just my parents
presenting their love each year.
to find Santa isn't real
and it was just my parents
presenting their love each year.
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