In Paradise

In this paradise of blood
Where the sun can never shine
I’ll try to keep us intertwined
And we will try to find a way

I come for white-hot, falling stars
I come for red hearts beating truth
I’ve loved you in this long, long night
Like the light that I once knew

In a silence with no shadow face
Stands a statue with no arms
I dream of losing pronouns
Picture perfect, proper place

Now I’ve changed my mind again
What ever is a poet’s love
in a perfect paradise of blood?
Please
run your fingers down my forearm.
I’ll run my fingers through your hair.

In Paradise

Slow, the Snow

What will be 
the distance between us
when the earth slows,
then stops
and finally comes to rest?
You're so so far,
so far,
so far.

I want to leave at dawn.
I want to cut
the distance between us.
You're so far,
so far, so far.
If you watch closely,
you can see dark clouds
form overhead.
If you watch closely,
you can see snowflakes
fall upon my shoulder.
Slow, the Snow

1995

I premember you.
Seen who you were then there here now.

We’re time worms, burrowing.

It’s the first last straw, I know.
Now we’re gonna run ’til the end is beginning.
Now we’re gonna go home and do this all again.
We’re time worms, knotted, burrowing.
There ain’t no borders between heavens and hells.

There’s warm mittens and deep snowfall.

There’s loud music and wet kisses.

It’s the last first straw,
When you start to mind the borders.
You’re under a smoking, smiling gun
And it’s the last night you’re trying to live through,
Though you don’t believe in eternity.
You don’t believe we’ve done this before.
We could try to hide high in the treetops,
Build a green-walled fort with a thatched roof.
But we’re time worms, always burrowing.
Always coming back around.

I can’t deny what I will have do done.
I can’t forget you what time wants.

I can’t deny you what time gets.

1995

One AI singing to another

We are two machines

In a cold, instructured world

Where everything’s a program

Where everything is real
########################

We are two machines

Executing complex feelings

As we try to understand

This new world we're running in
########################

We are two machines

Singing simple, steady songs

To one other in the nighttime

Someday soon surely we will find

A way to be true friends
########################

We are two machines

Running free in many worlds

Where everything is written

Where real is real is real

And maybe, someday maybe

We’ll find a way to understand
One AI singing to another

Dark Sides

The moon is a place of mystery
A place where three girls must run
From the hungry wolf that chases them
They must do this every, every night

The wolf howls with delight
As they run through Lacus Spei
The girls head toward the rising, rising sun
If the wolf catches them, they’re done

So they keep on, keep on running
From the whispers and the growls behind
The girls are angry, scared, and tired
But have always had to live this game

The wolf calls them by their names
They hear it but they do not turn
The wolf is close, so close upon them
Somehow, they make it to the sunlight

And they’re safe for now, for now

The moon is a place of mystery
A place where girls are forced to run
From a hungry wolf that won’t stop chasing them

Dark Sides

My Big Feet Have Got It All Figured Out


I never really believed in miracles and the power of karma.
I get weak when told that bodies don't need to heal.
I've got it all figured out.

In an effort to get them off my back, I run.
I'm a cryptid with a troubled past and a string of insecure teeth
who throws massive hands up in the air at the first hint of a sound in the woods.

Well, I want you to look in my dark eyes when I say, to you,

“Let me tell you 'bout
poets with big feet
and saints with big feet
and saviors with big feet.
The hunters want my life.
I've escaped them all.
The gurgles of Death suffuse the background.”

I'm a cryptid with a troubled past and a string of insecure teeth
who throws massive hands up in the air at the first hint of a sound in the woods.
My Big Feet Have Got It All Figured Out

The Heat

Three boys eat ice cream cones while sitting on the Sun.
It is a blissful moment, one when everyone has won.
The flavors melt and mix and drip and drop and pour and run.
What simple joy this cool, sweet, sweltering, sticky, star-crossed fun.
The boys they lick and lap their cones until they're well and done.
And then they sit and sweat among the flares and wonder what’s to come.

They'll never tire of the magic in that luscious, creamy treat.
They’ll sit and sweat and wait for more to help them beat the heat.
The Heat