it’s like fishing for swine
in a sea of hopelessness

these words mean nothing
these words mean everything
these words trace the outlines
of shooting stars
with every lost wish

it’s the tumble when I fall
drinking from broken glasses
and cursing myself in the morning

it’s the pouring rain
washing away your memory

it’s tasting nothing
from your lips
yet
still
sweeter than a birthday cake
soothing temples of delight
leaving echoes in the dust

I was there when you sang your madness
your voice so smooth
like cashmere flowers in an autumn wind

now I paint temples of remorse
where I light candles with your name
on sopping wicks
that once caught flame
now dwindling silently
with thoughts of you

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