Three Poems from collection: 3.59

“drunk on a stairwell” 



Nails chipped, fingers crossed, 

a letter left unopened. 

Sheets stained, pillows tossed,

a call left unanswered.



Sitting, waiting, hoping,

restless on a bench in a cloud.

Lying, screaming, longing,

drunk on a stairwell downtown. 



Phones ringing in the dusk, 

texts buzzing in the dawn, 

this love lost in lies of dust,

this hate played with a single pawn,



and it crawls through a vein

to a lung, attacking the heart,

pumping, racing to a storm of rain:

wondering, when did it all start?







 “august islands”

​

Succumb to bike rides, long walks,

sandy hair, green eyes,

ferries, and a moonlit gaze.



Succumb to 72 hours 

of singing in the car,

of secrets and sins,

of sacred love,

of a supposed sky,



until it became the worst nightmare.



The bike rides, blue with love,

the long walks, angels watching,

my sandy hair, your green eyes,

dangerous cards, dealt, gone.



It turned the angel into the devil,

and she walked the August islands drunk, numb, 

green. 

​

title: “silver my muse”



The moon and the stars shalln’t meet;

the skies and the waters shalln’t touch;

your East and my West shan’t cross.



At dusk, your ghosts haunt me in my sleep.

At dusk, your silver leaves a ringing in my head.

It follows me to chilling daydreams and mares.



Of all the seas and the sands, 

of all the windows and the doors, 

thou art a double dare rising at dawn. 



But you tug and you tear and you tangle.

But you woe and you wound and you wither. 

And I wonder if you’ll ever escape 



the silver sculpture I stuck you in.