“Let us go further!”
We would recite like sounds of horns.
And we did.

Our rubble was beautiful during the heavy summer,

And we’d sit silent on roofs made of mountains.

now, go.

Christ, how I get myself into things!

Misdirection’s plunge

under white skies and

others dark eyes.

And

you'll never know

the ink spills on these hands,

that

I could stab my eye

so to carve it out,

just to place it delicately in anothers drawer for later:

Gone.

Now, go.

spend your days silently waiting

for something lost,

Sunshine is cheap.

Push the needle through this muse,
Hit the recta fluid to my belly:
This is fine,
Made of quiet prayers and moans to an inadequate God,
But hard boiled eggs hold more love in the palm of my hand.

This late night sunset wraps around like repetition. Standing through my window looking down so to admire the strength of sincerity the woman below holds—juxtaposed—draped within her burka, against the pink smear of the sky.
Instead, here.
I smoke my rolled cigarette,
Awaiting the fall
Into dense green, when those thorns hit me
Allow my skin irritation, red and stung.

We could’ve been
Perfect confluence:
Merge, babe.

a prayer to return

Seek refuge,
Let us be gracious.
Let us find shelter in fruit trees of spring.
Let us be held in their knotted palms.
Let us converge into earth.

I resolve not to love to love!
She says on the blissful day of rebirth.