the woods

one day I will go to the woods
to seek what I cannot find
amidst the steel and concrete;
asphalt and emptiness.

between tree roots I will make my bed.
cover my slightness with fallen leaves and branches.
nothing will take notice of me;
it will be not cruel, but a kindness.

my flesh will grow grass
to sing along with the leaves
as the wind passes through them.
together we will tremble.


Do not mind
The mess,
The mindless
Carnage strewn
Across your vision
As carrion caught
And dragged
By vulture claws.

It will tend
To itself—
The sinews
Will stitch themselves
Back into place;
Tendons will again
Tighten on bones as vines;
The offal recomposes itself.

There will be little evidence
Of the incident.
Some stiff new skin
That shimmers in light;
A shattered face
And broken bonds.
Nothing here to see, unless
One pays the price of pity.


this world
was not meant
for people
like me–

what a precious
thing it is
to belong;
to be a part

of something
so great,
so vast
as the world.

yet i do not–
there is no place
for me to lay my head,
and always a glass

parts me from
the greater whole.
so, i build walls
to make my own

space in this chaos.
i lay brick on brick
to delineate
where I belong.



I am not a part of any of this.
It is better to be silent, and still.

I will be a stone
On the stream-bed;

The world
Cascades around

My dispassionate form.
I am inviolate—

To my cold eyes
The world falls dead;

A flood threatens
To bear me off to sea—

The roar deafens.
Silence permeates

The dark carapace
Of my mind.

Sticks and stone
May build a bridge

But the words
They say to me

To bring me back from these depths, no—
They may never reach me.


I must remain—
I must hold on

For as long
As I can.

This rope stretches out
Into a void

That drinks light
As I drink air.

Each fiber sinks
Its teeth into my nerves;

My entangled sinews
Are pulled upwards

Inch by inch,
Year by year

To an end

I cannot see—
The glare blinds me.

This is the light
For which I seek—

This is all that I have left,
Caught along the path

By the daily wax
And wane;

Here I must stay
Until my skin shatters

And my bones crack
Into sand

Once more;
Nothing left

The silent shore.

[5/6/11; edited 1/6/15 & 3/1/17]

modern love

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.