devolving

the beautiful are found at the edge of a room

crumpled into spiders and needles and silence

and they are crying like plants whose roots are cut.

each dead child coiled, a white serpent.

the young today are born prisoners

perfection is terrible, it cannot have children.

men are made mean, by fear, and a system of grab.

and the best won’t breed, though they don’t know why.

how suddenly the soul in a man begins to die.

*above image by street artist SWOON

break up never make up

the aching aftermath of our breakup is not these random tears that help me learn to lose you, but this final letter you sent. silly words cheapening our experience, desperate for a memory that will reverse the painful end. these words sit crumpled like wayward insect legs in the corner, pieces of something long dead. it’s over and these skeletons reach to revisit moments that no longer exist. your image of me is delusion now, and the pedestal i placed you on is illusion always. 

you do the killing my love

i’ll do the digging my love

everybody else can tell:

we’re a match that’s made in hell

i’m fire.

you’re magic.

we might have lost some battles

bruised and torn and battered

but we’re gonna fight until we win

because love is war…

see how i leave

throw your soul through every open door

count your blessings to find what you look for

turn your sorrow into treasured gold

domestication

who learns to cook anymore? who has time for that? i’ve been busy making dollars. who has time to give birth anymore? i’m busy breaking hearts. who cleans the toilet? not me, i’m busy.