cracked glass implodes/ shards

come undone to moon dust/ wings

cut, tempered against/ light

refracted, oh, to get tipsy/ drunk

on the full moon’s golden/ enamel

shed the density of glass pieces/ of

jars embedded in your seraph/ being,

the horizon undulating to the/ cadence

of your heartbeat, running parallel/ to

your body your wings your stardust/ flesh

all the while breathing for/ exoneration.

{{So, my brain preserved in a glass jar: /

I’m supposed to take it out/

& use it as the last shooting star/

I’m supposed to bake it in moon juice/

& inject the remnants of its magic/

in my palms, so you think that’s all/

my brain is good for.}}

I can loop etudes and crack an aria/

on the side of your head/

call it an egg, (yes I’m throwing it at you)/

I’m throwing it at you to sing to you/

that I’m not the only one going to hell.

Fires can burn the soles of my feet/

they’ve already hardened their fabric/

to withstand far worse:/

decayed school bathrooms preserved/

on my shoe, I don’t know why you still/

keep it there when it’s just about dead/

the wall paper crumbling, moaning of death/

there was another reason I threw at you a song:/

because you don’t have any music at all/

in the blood of your being.

the clock is ticking

and before i know it

i will have labeled this

another dream to forget, before i

know it i will have walked away

from my rainy mornings

and pressed the loose-leaf

paper into some random poetry book

to be lost forever in the

depths of my mind

to be lost forever in the abyss that is time.

(the abyss, the abyss, sucking my soul

into endless chasms, the soul i give in the hopes

that it’ll come back, transformed into something

better).

I.) stardust collects on the corner of my windowsills,

spelling bittersweet in the sunken patches on

my heart. it doesn’t seem all that

long ago when we hadn’t disintegrated our starry eyes

into something different. Don’t you think?

or have i made yet another mistake, a blank

chapter in my memory. Yes, i have. yes, darling, i have.

II.) years, and years, and years.

i think i should say “once upon a time”

but it never felt like a fairy tale. even now,

looking back,

i never felt like a Cinderella. i may have been a

Rapunzel, though: it’s been too long; i don’t remember.

back to the point: if i unfold the pockets in my heart

there are tender places i haven’t visited in a long time,

but darling, trust me, they exist. i tucked poloroids of us

in them, of our starry beings,

wild, untamed.

i reached into those folds on a rainy night,

to see what was left of us. my fingers came up to reveal mold

and blood.

III.) yes, darling, that’s the only thing left of us.

we are but decayed flowers taped to my door.

IV.) we decomposed ourselves, once, years ago, I

didn’t think we’d go back there yet again. but we were

born again, were we not?

We Will be Born Again.

We Will be.

light crystallizing and clinging/ to my eyelashes/ sugar in a jar/ trying to extract a wish/ from silhouettes falling short/ of transcending above and beyond/ heaven and god, overthrown.

the sky is red/ today, and tomorrow won’t be different/ i tell myself/ the sky falls short of the/ universe before the horizon sinks into/ lavender halos of dying angels/ wings shredded, bleeding/ into clouds, the sky painted/ today, and tomorrow won’t be any different.

the moon dissolves into skies/ absorbing the silver tears/ in exchange gifting blood/ “wash away sorrow”/ into dark solvents/ which never completely absorb/ silver tears, just/ happen to be dark enough/ so that nobody notices/ the stains.