A planet left out for you and me To blow like dust a cerulean sea And feathered blue light Such an elegant sight To unsettle the dust

In frost covered fields With garnets congealed A pomegranate drips Scattered seeds amongst the star-lit field A twilight blooms

To scrape beneath the surface brings with it its own mortality. To bleed and feel a fire made flesh. Ruby colored pulp trickles downward, sometimes slowly and at other times with a flush of emotion so to drown out the hours and days and weeks and years of otherwise monotony. Sloshing up, spilling over, at moments gushing out, until it’s all spent at the bottom of the hourglass—that damned silhouette in which we drove with a turbulent force your vibrance and my rage. To fee

I want to be the needle in your thigh plowing endlessly the field of your discomfort like a splintery thing. Extract the venom to your groin, belly up writhing. I’m like poison groping through the artery. White knuckle the blade. Sweet savoring. Could I prick the vein and string it up like a harp string? I’m plucking away at you, plucking away at you. Don’t you think for the moment that I have the twist on you? I turn you up, under, down, and through for you to chew the

The key is to detach and then to reduce it down to the roots, strong solemn things that grip the body, and smooth out the mind in copse rippled monotony. It’s the giving in of things and letting out of things until the spine bends the wrong way, then sets, waiting to be snapped back, not at once but continuously creaking at the vertebrae. One, two, and three. Society does take its toll on me and I learn that I cannot bend the wrong way as other people before me, trying to de

I wish that you’d listened to the call of leaves and the purring in trees, but you got distracted, turned away (as they do), and left me astray on the path to the wild ravine. It’s okay this way. I’m used to it, admittedly. And I’m not what I’d call gentle beneath. Biologically predisposed to think diagonally, to cut through the grove and creep nocturnally, catty-cornered to the sun soaked drove. People have got stand in line, so I stretch miles between us, chance the of

I go away Are just three words I use sometimes To break the silence of a fragile state I go away, I say, when the moonlight breaks Through tufts of cloud wisps Blue light spilled out at the windowpane I sift through moods and claim An imagined room that’s furnished With a small wish To go away