A map of places you’d rather forget.

He rolls over and presses his face to the sheets

smiling as he breathes in the heat

turning back a moment later

she’s gone

so is the sweat that hung on his forehead

and the echoing calls

staring into the ceiling he takes another tab

just for good measure

he holds a pipe and the sweet tobacco burns

smoke plays like dancers in his vacuum

a friend appears in the corner

a collage of conversation

gone too soon

the pipe and the long deceased flash off

tonight he can sit in the desert

but sometimes these little holidays

are nothing but maps of places you’d rather forget

sometimes things get a little ugly

stumbling under monuments of heartache

losing yourself in the halls of the dead

whistling to make sure it’s still your head

that you’re parading about in

the night takes him to all the intersections

and says: here

should a right be

where a left you took

here

you shrug and wilt

the flowers of reason

these things won’t heal you

as if coming up for air

he pulls it into his lungs desperately

selfishly

the effects have worn off

but the nightmare goes on

Lightning rod.

Sitting on the apex

feeling the wind whip

and change with a sweetness

distant clouds crack

roll into one another

boiling over the sky’s edge

let me fulfill my purpose

wait for the rumbling

of gods on the horizon

butting heads

wait for the cool black

split wide like a knife down a sail

a door cracking

to maladjusted eyes

astraphobes poke fun

from white-washed fortress walls

sit and wait, sit and wait

they say

leave me my hope

or let me rust

In the roar of a mad summer.

We met

in the roar of a mad summer

the overture

an ominous tuning of stings

by teenage Cassanovas

turned explosive

homemade fireworks

mortar and pestle

working our confusion

into a fine powder

short fuses set off

by our morbid curiosity

embodied by carless cigarettes

driven to awe

mistaken for maturity

that roar still hides

in the dark alleys

waits for summer nights

to reveal itself

now stifled to

soft humming

pumping blood

light rain

Apothecary.

out at the apothecary last night

cut through the kids out flipping their eyes

back and forth and back again

cages leaned on brick to hold broken spirits

gives the threshold a sickly glow

impasse with the septuagenarian

sweeping up the ashen evidence of accidents

caught the biting scent of something bitter

something familiar

breaking bubbles hold down the rhythm

unseen mechanisms set in motion

that only stop with the sun

burning out those stars I’ve seen enough of

tall dark vials uncorked

crimson on the counter

curious hues with light struck through

a little something to take the edge off

wash it down with something to bring me luck and love

must’ve worked

now the edges are gone

left with the frayed seams

just holding this all together

heart beats in modo di reazioni chimiche

I whisper to the symphonies inside

keep it going

we’re bringing down the lights

and letting the rain in

left them shaking their thoughts around

evacuation dumpsters full of debris

it’ll all go to hell eventually

fill my lungs and overtake the counter

buy myself some time in a clean glass

Through sleepless eyes.

soft pats on the stairwell

an uneasy greeting

a murmured response

through the mindless haze of night

through the thick smoke of death

I shift inside

I wasn’t always a shadow

flushed face

a crown of poison oak

avoidable

if a keen eye is kept

but in this nocturnal

reflective state

I fall prey to the gentle call

the soothing features

I wasn’t always a shadow

slurred speech brings about

a slurry of names and angles

wine mingles with winces

a chemical cocktail called acceptance

once you’ve lost it

your best will never be enough

Bibliophile.

as soon as one tome is finished

he replaces it to retrieve another

begins anew

and yet

something, as if a fusillade of vines

stretches from one to another

creating this barricade

shielding him from lightness

from dark

through the rough breaches

he sees the maples shaking

in the soft breeze

he sees a girl in the soft glow of street lamps

turned to find her shadow

he sees the pages of his own story

the sinewy limbs tighten

the words are gone

Hole.

heard stories

people who throw themselves in

there are those

who wring their tears out

into the dark

people who try to measure it

searching for understanding

people who spend their life

looking down

eyes met by the callous unmoving depth

she touches my arm

while her gaze is somewhere else

don’t stare too long

don’t you ever wonder?

I’ve been down there
pulled out
saved, I suppose

(nothing you can say)

it’s alright
everyone wonders what it’s like
it’s a cold, dark place
no person should ever see

I’m sorry

words increasingly
ineffectual in moments
like this

let’s get out of here

we leave behind

drops wept down a wishing well

edge dwellers gathering courage

and losing it in instants

instruments and hypothesis

we leave them there

walk in the sun

with a quick glance behind

and I know I’ll return

Until I ruin myself again.

It took a while to get here

I’ve been chased

wolf eyes and business cards

good sense and shrewd hearts

but they’ve never had to run

no, they’re not as fast as me

when they wear themselves out

reclined in nebulous chairs

telling us life’s not fair

and stamp it on our hands

on my way I’ve seen excavators out in the quicksand

dredging calls for help shot skyward

ditches just fill back up

when left under sun and time

I got out in time, but I’ve seen some fall

inquisitive wanderers ask me why my hands are so white

I’m not ashamed to say I can’t let you go

although they tell me I have to

among the cracks left by winter

you see their prideful smile

stretching out to devour stars

nothing is their own and no one owns them

I can see it in their eyes

they didn’t mean to be so brave

the only end to this road

the gathering of those

with strings grown in to sew them together

unwinding threads of bountiful mistakes

that’s the only way you can end up here

tonight we depart and forget this place

until we ruin ourselves again

An unseasonable beauty.

amongst the calendrical crowd

her face stands out

surrounded by those of tousled hair

the color of grass long since dead

limbs of leafless trees

that hang overhead

she takes leave of expectation

an unseasonable beauty

I do my best to stretch

and catch her warmth

for the few moments I have

I won’t see her again for sometime

I’m sure

Our dear music machine.

like hummingbird wings

my simple strings

flutter for keen eyes to catch

some wind played percussion

on the front porch

changing tempo every second

panic-stricken hearts

trying to keep up

low bored beat down

humming of a man

thumps along the path

towards downtown

or out

mostly just hanging around

drowned out by the din

the cacophony of his perpetual tape delay

mechanical music

some golem of aluminum

piano keys and tin drum

feverish tubes and the soft puttering cough

of exhaust

exhausting chameleon fingers strain

shaking rigidity aches in refrain

my simple strings are muted

everything built to return

has returned to the ground