In the field where we once grew,

I wondered why the deer departed 

as I pulled marigolds from their home.

Before the final petal fell,

I ate that wicked flower.

No lies left behind in its shadow.

The promises of stars

became celestial ash

marking our footprints,

scars.

Our plans became 

burned maps of places 

we would never see.

I tried to give you my soul,

only the weeds could hear me 

but they soon died from pesticides.

Let’s walk on the tree-lined boulevard.

Football season.

I don’t care for sports but you do

and I care for you.

Life gave us short change 

on a summer’s day.

Then in the fall,

a key thrown past a post

but I cut the field goal.

I dream of yesterday

dressed like a king

crowned by yew trees.

Your pinkie near mine

a promise owed to time.

The walk is a winding road 

leading to the start

with no end goal 

or throne of gold.

You fade like a breeze between teeth.

Noble wins belong to you, not me.

I, once a gem,

return to the path like a pebble,

And now, 

only the trees remember our story.

Niña con el rostro de oro falso

y ojos del mundo oscuro.

Había sueños que eran claros 

pero un poco raros.

No sé si la luz brillaba negra o blanca 

en el espacio de tu sombra.

Niño con el cabello de luz,

nadando por el mar azul.

Dueño del pasado y amor negado 

abierto como regalo.

Las olas te llevaron a un futuro más genuino 

que aquella quien mirabas como tu destino.

 

Niños una vez enamorados

entre páginas de pirámides.

Creció la distancia como carnero y ballena

porque un silencio condena.

I always swore  

I’d never etch love onto pages

but I’ve become obsessed with

Florida license plates,  hoping

to catch a glimpse of  your face  –  

driving among metal ants. 

I always swore  

I’d keep your name  

curled as a secret on my tongue,

but lately it seeks release

from my lips –  

like a kiss that never breathed 

I – a cure

you thought you sought but

now the space between 

the past and future –

remains a hidden trap of leaves 

and I –

the only victim claimed

your voice – a lost whisper 

my eyes – a shield of memory

your mind was mine

so was your soul

but I morphed into a pangolin 

destined to be chosen

then left broken

still pierced beneath hard scales.

Don’t forget to call 811

before you bury your divorce.

It takes five minutes –

unlike the four hours

you stood

to kiss her in front of Elvis.

I still remember that day:

We fluttered to a city

known for quick things,

our compliance short strings.

Panhandlers heckled us for currency –

they accepted sweat or time.

It was all the same to us.

The boulevard of mud

lined with vomit and crud,

should’ve been reason enough

for us to depart.

Midday weddings are overrated –

why parade like a Parotia

in proper places?

A church and a saloon

with thirty plastic rose bouquets

are the same

when pink light hits the frame.

We thought truth was buried in the dark

and garish lights – our sun and altar

There I swayed like a half-starved sailor

calling you my love and savior.

I swear we were the golden ones

in that line of lovestruck chumps.

I wallow in domesticity

and bake cakes

to feed simplicity.

I let them burn – they taste better

Egg shells mixed with walnuts

The frosting curdled,

granular and lackluster.

The oven becomes a temporary sanctuary

Scorched fingers – disturb dormancy.

Don’t mind the blackened crumbs –

just ash

to fill the urn.

Should I decorate with berries or with stones?

Sweet glass

only spits blood

from untold cuts.

My knife will slice a piece

I’ll never eat

and there it will rest – food of flies.

This piece you were not meant to swallow

will mold and rot

like my cadaver.

Be king for the day.

They’ll bow their heads

and pray.

This too ends.

The streets lined with kingmakers,

sorrowed-filled partakers.

The carriage that hauls you

falls like a failed coup.

Blind and deaf you seem,

but know love’s pity hold

shuts off a spite controlled.

Your scream is cut by a seam.