in the night i came upon a creature whose form seemed to circumvent darkness itself. there was light yet from the moon but no other where i stood, still enough to see that around me yet this creature i could not define in whole of structure, only his eyes which though seemingly darker still than…

back in the days when the days were blurred and the nights a cyclone of spirit and smoke, when everything you touched turned to wine, you lived and died by a solitary whisper in an ethereal haze of purgatory called summer. waiting on the telephone, all-consuming was the nature of your demons delivered forth from…

regeneration through isolation absolute, great holes in the sky bled sunshine down on the streets and in your eyes until you could see nothing but the breath of god. they fled from meaning like sin from priests, what some call cowardice we knew to be power and we cradled it in our arms like a…

out in the cold, bearing the slight sting on my skin, the only light from a street lamp filtering dimly in through a world of leaves and from my cigarette that burns slow and steady like life inching forward, an ember separating itself from the source and twisting upward before burning out completely and utterly…

the world is watching and hearing your labored breath, hollow sounds in the night that pull your soul apart and cause your bones to tremble, the belief that out in the dark there are things you cannot defend yourself from, cannot escape, cannot outrun, cannot understand. in a momentary lapse of logic comes the flash…

avoiding eye contact becomes priority above all, at no cost shall we stray from this principle as ancient as time itself. the space between us clouded with thick plumes of smoke like the aftermath of some great tragedy, the silence unmolested save by the hollow voices of dead heroes lamenting their fates to the wind.…

i found many things i thought were lost but none that i was looking for. yellow slips of paper with my thoughts from long ago now strewn about with other trash in a clear plastic bag, bills and letters, numbers handwritten whose meaning now lost, an empty box of condoms, a valentine, still not what…

as the years drag forward a distinctive bitter taste develops in the back of the throat much like the taste of ash or the stale aftermath of spirit and smoke, and not for no reason, there is just plenty to be sad about. every morning in the winter, it’s a little colder and in the…

too beautiful for us, never meant for us, the way it is, the way it will always be– we can look, but never more. they dance before our eyes and caress what we cannot have, such a tease for empty hearts staring on and on, ashamed of what we have become. safe in here, though…

she is draped in white, promising the renaissance and if i grasp her hand and close my eyes she’ll take me there with open heart, away from the broken earth and its broken homes. she spins just like a music box, a clock encased in glass smiling at the promise she gives while all the…