Moonlight puddled in
through walls,
windows, still dark.

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where the gods watch the world burn ~

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The sky is sick,
slick and soft with memories.
The blue nectar, waiting
to tumble down, any moment now.
And me?
Well, I am made of memories too.
Sherbet memories,
bitter and brutal,
deranged and drenched,
in a sea of goodbyes,
that sloshes forth
with glamorous glee
but recedes back, equally.
And I don't know if I'll remember to
and so, I write this down.

To give is to grow
and so, I give these frolicking rains
and those misty times
under the pretty skies.
I give the rudimentary grass blades
and the funny-shaped sun.
I give them up for you to have.
And remember, I'll return.
But until then, take care,
as I collect the salty nectar showering
down heavily, from somewhere.

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That which brews
paper promises
is here, again.

-

the birth of tragedy ~

-

dear you~

-

a beetle in an empty jar of apple tart~

-

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languages we do not know~

-

you think your parents are strict?
imagine being the circuit board of your house.
always grounded.

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