he has forgotten
himself again,

as morning comes
devoid of memories.

grey sunlight
casts a pallor

over the silent
room, contained

of lost thoughts
that dissipate

with the approach
of another day.

eyelids will lift,
and he will

behold the
hollowness

of raw
dawn.

(1/28/17)

would it be so bad,
he asks himself
on another night
spent like a thousand
nights before,

to be alone,
to lock oneself away
from a world
full of cuts and bruises;
thorns and thistles–

all the hit and runs
of modern love,
they are meaningless
in the end; they amount
to nothing.

tonight, the stars
shine brilliantly
over a city
full of people
with hollow chests;

they sit low
in the sky like fruit–
you could almost
reach up
and grab them

to bring them down
to fill the hole
in your chest
where your heart
once was–

but all
you get
are shadows filled
with what was,
and is lost.

1/30/17

there sits the cornerstone.
in the summer,
its almost entirely swamped by weeds.
the autumn winds
see them off,
and golden leaves tumble over dry rock
like acrobats
in a dried-out circus.
the winter frost crackles over,
and melts in the icy midday sun –
but nobody campaigns.
springtime summons
her clearest skies,
breathing new warmth
into the frozen stone.
i wait for the first daisy,
and smile
when it sprouts.
i know the first daisy will come,
it always does.
but with you –
with you, i do not know.
yet still, i wait.