I am sitting,
staring out from beneath a hard glance
calling over crowds of municipalities
to govern the majority of my surface reflection.
I am sitting, one chance
on this raft made from my hard-wire bones
through storms and three thoughts made from you,
stopping seventeen years and a while to memorize the sunset for your metallic absence.
I am sitting, rewiring phones to connect our landlines
sifting through rusty blue waves to find you
of your saturday ocean
of your good morning sunshine
not knowing what it’s going to be like waking up next to your dead body;
swishing carnivorous clarity and vegetarian sentiment in a bottle
of your Russian tears.

The waters are calm.
Your face is imprinted on this ace of cups rarity
and I’m watching,
slowly, I watch you; opening my palm
I click the locks behind my eyelids,
I bend the blinds of my windowed, mirrored soul
and I see you,
I am watching you--
remembering the sun, burning a hole
through your mouth,
life is made whole again
as rebels paint cities in gold
and dogs bark for perfectly good reasons
and goodbye was never the reason
for the clicking locks
and shuttered blinds
but only,
only;
because I was watching.


We are sitting on the wind
and the sun is setting ahead of our sword-shaped dreams.
I’m asking you what you’re thinking
and i know
I have seven kinds of nails
to make your coffin a safer place,
and I know it’s scary to love someone who isn’t even there
but I was watching
with shut eyes and clicked locks
I was watching
as you kissed me with eyes of words upon my shoulders,
and you watched me;
you let me kiss you
you told me come closer,
let go,
hold onto nothing and
let the boat of your bones drift away
and I will fashion you a blueprint--
I will make you a memory
of what we will do with flying time
and a world on the brink of ordered chaos in a wind chime.
I will let you drown and pretend to tell you
the answer, man, the answer is right there
as I sink
you’re staring down and I am watching you
as you think you’ve killed me
as I’m nailing the last of my justices into the piece
the broken piece
that will keep you six feet under--

What is love...
What is love?
I wonder,
What is love?

That,
Yeah, that
is a really good question.