These days,
I’m killing time
--With a battle axe.--
In the past tense.
Where words
Were once trivial,
And then disappeared
Altogether.



These days,
I’m building
Stairs of glass and
Self-awareness
And in all fairness,
I’m quite a fascinating
Disaster.



And these days,
I’ve got so much
To proclaim
In the much-abhorred name
Of goodwill
And human immortality
Not a fashionable reality
But valid nonetheless.



And I’m a mess





So on nights like these
I bear witness,
Not children.
And let me tell you,
It is just as heavy a burden.
And just as worthwhile.
Or so I tell my bedmates.














On nights like these
I burn my bridges
With a book of matches
From the hotel that I meet them in.
And leave them inside
To become
Past tension.

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