Fireball

I do not walk through this disaster with

my hands covering my eyes

I do not step across the ruins of

this fragmented, shattered shell 

or run through the forest with

the wind in my hair

the trees so high they block the sun

fear not, my love

this fear it is alive

I can see

my hands are not covering my eyes

Judgment

Whisper it to me while no one is listening

tell me I am a fool

tell me I am not

tell me something that makes sense

and then prove it

Despair

come on swoop down over this one last shore

tell me what it is to fly

what you were flying for

Gone

Were you caught

in the firestorm of a million

conversations

or lost

in a dying admission

because just one thing I can show

and that is I am here                          

without you

alone

Daydream

In the world all grey I 

wanted to feel zephyrs and 

sunrise against 

my face

it looked so warm

it looked so warm

from the other side

The Other Side

There once was a girl.  The saddest girl in the world, because she kept believing.  She thought she was so clever and strong.  She thought she was different.  She thought all of the red lines would lead to one circle that would form a barrier around her forever.  But the red lines didn’t.  They just lead to more red lines.  She can no longer remember the red line she started from.  When she tries to walk backwards nothing looks familiar—all she can see is what is in front of her. 

The boy laying down the red straws does not help her.  He pays no attention to anything other than the red straws, and to placing them on the large, white sheet spread across the middle of the open market.  No one cares about him being there and he doesn’t care about them.  He does not see the girl standing in the middle of all of the red straws, trying to remember where she came from.  Soon there are so many straws leading in so many different directions that she loses hope.  She does not understand the pattern.

Only the boy does.  But to him it is a math puzzle and you either understand it or you don’t.  He is a sort of genius.  He is the one who keeps us all wandering down different lines, so that we never meet.  We must never meet.  We must never speak to each other.  The boy’s job is to keep us all walking on the same sheet, but never at the same place together.   We must always remain lost and alone.  It is a math puzzle.  There is a solution but the boy genius will never open his mouth.  He talks with the red straws.  They tell his story for him.  And it is a beautiful story, in its own way.  A beautiful story of loneliness and loss and of being lost until all wandering ends.

Fare Thee Well

In our graveyard of

convictions

one last night

of fading ambition

your promise on the 

end of my fingertips

and it falls 

it falls