"the bricks keep the cold in."

she said, quietly shivering

under the quilt that was supposed

to keep us both warm.

her explanation was simple

but she knew it made sense

in the way that everything

she said made sense to her.

if i had the words to explain

to her everything that I felt

she needed to know, I would

have taken her cloudy breath

and given her life and a smile.

Conversations with Avatar

There There child, said avatar;

when you sleep the sleep

of the dead, the world does not

exist. The weeks days lose their

own count, and tomorrows never come

to those who wait. Breathe Breathe child,

said avatar; his thick accent sweeping

the words around in his throat

like a broom, grey eyes far away 

from the todays lesson. Wake Wake

child, avatar said; the wrinkles

climbing his forehead like a ladder

smiling in a way that was meant to

say somedays really are worth living.

white noise at the end of the world.

I came out of the static
with her knives stuck in my hands
left my old self dead and buried
with a gun stuck in the sand
in my heart you carved your daggers
and the streets ran cold and red
if I don't carry you you'll stagger
is the last thing that you said
hear my foot steps catch and stutter
in the back she held my hand
found the alley that she stranded
and I found him as a friend

on the day she killed november
i hadnt seen her in years
her face it never changes
her heart is changing gears



i hope luke arnold wakes up tomorrow and remembers
that we're starting a hip hop project cause ive already started writing...

monsters in the city

and the streetlights

are out.

we felt the noise around

each corner, begging us

to find it; the walls

were made of braille

and the bricks made

signposts in broken

arrows; the mortar

weak with names

written with bullets.

even the rooftops left us vulnerable.

a message written

in morse code, paint

on our hands where

we told our story.

we never found the way out.

"I'll bury you in this story."

i have weird shapes

and jagged stones

in my mouth that

tell sleepy stories

while swimming 

through last nights

noir dialogue; some

conversations are

better had during the day.

conversations in pattern.

the jawbone sat still

anonymously, speaking

in half a whisper.

come to grips it said

the sunlight will hide for months

your time will end soon.

concrete holds us both

and our conversations are

stunted like cold breaths.

out of sorts.

I dread the changing of the seasons

four times a year I feel out of place

in my own skin, as my body gets used

to another climate in which it does

not feel like it belongs at all. I am a

stranger to this land, when fall skips

a beat and winter arrives unannounced

rudely like a drunken houseguest; If I

could I think I would hibernate like a bear.