be like a poem never will be written

how does one describe the exhalation of breath

the incomplete gesture the

tangible space suddenly

apparent?

there is a part of me died with you

a fragment

a trailing cry pulling at my hair

wanting to lash out and

break…

something to see

the color of blood as

a way in

as a way out

to look for you

all this is like a poem that never will be written

to die to find you

to leave this alien place premature

and come home

when life was wonderful

i wanna say how grateful i am. what a wonderful life. today is gonna see rain in a dry land. what could be more welcome than tears to a hardened, willful visage? when life was wonderful was now

life & luck

i am so lucky to even live
so many in my circles they
passed on

may the thankfulness
live forever. if nothing
else

coda

wip. coda

this morning i was not feeling well but i got up just the same and chose tea instead of coffee to steam in a cup beside me while i wrote. i worked on the epilogue. i am reframing it: coda. i also changed the prologue to prelude. i did not simply choose these words because they are sweeter to the tongue. i chose them because i do see my novels, holistically, as musical compositions. they have rhythms and beats, high and low pitches, hooks and repetitions and refrains. life is like that, too.

life on life

fightin to breath
swamped with media
loving you

mad at a careless system

sometimes it feels like
the last day
and

our boots crush the leaves
trodding on
into the thick

of it

what was life

what was life before our devices?

yet

I was on the yet and thinking of you before we even met, and you let me down when I met you. Beware of bold imagination, I promised myself, before meeting me where I was, the only place I could be, many years after a lifeless rehearsal of life.