something in the morning
breathes relief to the
whites of our eyes. i'll never
know just what it was,
when he cold walked in the door,
that took me by the wrist
leading me (single bridled faith)
giggling like a school girl
blissful and impulsive.
you have no
idea; i'll never tell.
silence fills spots of tension;
we're breathing with our eyes shut.
draw me in and
let go, (struggling between moral promises
and desirous impulse. it must be
something about your eyes;
drowning emerald glass green. but
who am i to say
where honesty lends its neck to
betrayal stinging with the sarcasm of martyrdom
all summed up in the value of_
language is inert.
i'll stop crying beneath your feet;
first i want to tell you...
seventy two straight hours
sleepless, just to
be and enjoy what you are.

suffice to say, we think we know
everything
like why honesty breathes
chill along the inside of my spine, and
defiance moves me
to shallow breaths upon the
sound of evening breaking. it sounds like
life breaking into shards; you said
love crumbles with words_
maybe truth has found its
home there,
dwelling in the leading
between lines of verse.
salt dries a
translucent resin slowing
full cheekbones and
shrinking, diffuse to hollow.
the door turns my head every
time outside
tumbles in. speech is
trappedin the texture of
white stuccoed walls and the
threads of green and yellow that
weave relief to my eyes
lost to sleepless mornings and i
know it'd make me feel
so much better.

falling through daylight and
squinting between the blinds of
our eyes, daylight slips unseen
through cracked corneas, windblown and
white, light of
prefrostbitten day.
cold curses (50 lashings to, oh) the cheeks-
burn whipped red,
stapled blood stop. our eyes
strain for circulatory sustinence.
oh this pain breaking stillness
stings; lightning branches
strike (oh) to the marrow (bleed
though we cannot
wholly see) but the day catches the collars of
our shirts, shrieking surprise- and moving
jolt-catch and drags us on through
waking moments, harsh scattered day and
dead speeding time of dream life.
falling clutches of morningtime
stroke the backs of our straining
eyelids burn whipped exhaustion with the
coming of the rest of life's waking (oh)
painful time. we whine like children with scabs
fresh raw red from a forced meeting with
pavement breeding tears and later
necessary roughness. numb, we see them for
as ourselves; their knees martyrs for our
sleep-loss bitten eyes, leaving you screaming
whygoddamnitwhy! -find your hardened lines, love.
nothing in this world pitys everything that is
pathos begging sympathy
about you, hear you me.

shadow graced cement luminous, beautiful;
sunday afternoon in february.
blinking hours find stumbling feet
tripping- over
cracked sidewalks
crushing another glassy maternal spine beneath
lost chalked childhood memories somewhere
long behind passed years.
light shifts between wandering trees and love
crumbles upon
contact.