Thursday poem

All the translations have been set aside. There is no one left to interogate. And the rain knows what it did. So why caress at all if not to remember who you meant to be? If not to forget everything else. Even an alibi.

tuesday poem

i miss the paper. i miss the pen. i miss the things that inspired me then. i miss the meter. i miss the rhyme. i miss the things that pass with time. i miss the form. i miss the style. i miss the things i dared not defile. i miss the performance. i miss the review. i miss the audience. and i miss you.

A poem for Monday

I hammered out the shadows. And painted all the dreams white. I am ready for anything now. I am ready to deconstruct the night. And when i am certain that i have no breath left to keep. Then and only then will i lay down to sleep