he was one of those dick-faced kids in shades of bright polyester salmon who seemed to always be laughing or looking at me. an ambiguous-named, feminine-famed all-school american douchebag in those quality leather sandals in the wintertime and golf-green shorts.
ta give you some background i'm about as far away on the social scale from him as one can get. you know how all the little groups overlap and flap together, pushed around in the wet sand like wave-rivulets blending little facets of stones together until it makes a dune? well our groups---they didn't even touch. i mean you could go from pop-jock to lacrosse to dipper to weed-dealer to
you were a lonely god with strong arms
and too many things to do.
it felt like my heart was a stone
sinking through the bottom of my ribcage
and you were diving into my depths to retrieve it.
you were quintuple-checking the locks on our doors;
i began carrying good-luck charms, praying to an empty sky.
we didn't speak for days.
sometimes our words hissed out, syllables took hours to complete.
i couldn't listen to music for fear that
the rhythm would carry me away.
"i'm an artist" i joked once, flipping my pen into the air
laughing when i failed to catch it
"that's why i'm so miserable all the time."
"no" you looked me in t
Dear Death, thou art shunned, yet I welcome thee,
I fear not thy shade nor thy trailing shroud,
Whilst mankind greets thee with a teary plea
I shall embrace thee like a monsoon cloud.
Why men fear thy presence I cannot say,
Nor discern why in thy company, weep,
For life bears us all: love, woe, ceaseless sway,
But death, kind death, cares for every man's sleep.
My love for thee exceeds mortality,
And as seasons sweeten the sweetest wine,
Lend my fruitful years to vitality
And I shall remain eternally thine.
Ring my vows from my grave O timeless wife
We eloped at birth for the afterlife.
To whomever finds me
I fear I have held something from you and from the galaxy, for many a year. As you all know I am the last of my kin and as I am approaching the end of my life, I feel it is appropriate to tell you the truth.
Back when I was Galan in the year 27π it was the morn of the seventeenth moon. I was no older than nine, a number which, said to represent satisfaction, brought only sorrow. The sun had set with a smooth sky yet there was a disconcerting air of the cavern. The only woman who ever loved me was resting peacefully, with child, upon the chaise longue, the fire kissing her toes with the sweetest crackling sound. The