The only reason
i'm still here
is for you.

Don't tell me this has been done before
in Shakespeare
in romanticism
in the world
for I would easily tie a rope
around my own neck
not to be here anymore.

You can call that cliche
until you're standing by the grave
of a young man
yet to experience the world
have the audacity to
call it cliche then.

I am fine.

on a dandies corner
leaning back on the faded
brick..
got his toad sticker out
and peeling off the gravel
and dog shit pressed into
the fancy tread of
second hands
Smiles too those smiling
and blank watchful to
those sneering
grabbing their purses
checking their wallets
"goddamn pussies!"
he Smiles folds his knife
pulls out a long fag
with his four good
fingers and flicks the
zippo to its nice little
fire....
Watches the smoke
rise in the breeze

Slow birds wing over a burnt copper sky,
against the wind they sing,
silhouette petals falling upward,
matching the black mountains back.

Clouds become towering furnaces of rare colour,
beyond description they, dominate the evening,
gifting the sun's dispersion into an unknown spectrum,
more precious than any hanging gem glimpsed

stringent moths
weave waves
of shiny holes
Like breath
evaporating
in these mists
burning cold
and flooding
in the murk
Glass eyes
that always
see against
the shade of
time
Lashes trickling
through green
framed screens
rivers of golden
sun leaking
to the floors
a tannin tea
a bottom of
antique urge
where floor
boards shift
with the weather
in waves
nudging dreams
in lace stirred
night