devils in our palms, (light lights love's love-handles but never cornered corners)

it’s funny how things work.
we walk armless ...

with good intentions placed where our necks meet our shoulders,

but always with devils in our touching palms.
we weather storms

but too quickly break our oars before we reach the islands
who are we to intimidate segregated feelings?
who was we?
we race along this love life lit lifeless loveless path,
in dreams to one day meet the window
when do we shut the door?
when do grey clouds turn light to day and night to existence?

.rain.man.

The rain man came one day.

With a heart made of thunder and puddles of conversation to light the way. He spoke of the universe. Of things once accepted and things never understood. Of medicine and addicts and wined lips and sin. He left her broken. Shattered to the stars with no negative space to hold her in place.

When he returned again, her heart spoke soiled pasts. Nervous, she jumped into the rain man’s puddles again. Only to be left sucked dry and thrown into the sea.

As she drowned, she said goodbye to the heartless.

... kismet ...

friends manage to blow brains of existence aside
full heads wait

saying goodbye is never easy
but you blur outlines beyond description

i twine
in confusion.

farewell
and wait …
you leave to foreign countries as
stars make stares unfavorable …

for different minds to sort different coherence
accept what is
moreover, what should be?
but ifs and shoulders are so easily thrown
when scratchy throats aren’t purged

ingemination.

knives sculpted into birds
clipped of wings
always in hopes

play hearts like others play promises
never knowing how effects affect beings

hearts are hard
nevertheless, soft with
second times

hurt …
forevers hurt worse.

spain waits and others call for broken hearts like their own
forgetting what spades felt like when aces were drawn

immeasurable eyes
built gutters in dams and ponds

goodbye to europe …

finalmente, en este segundo capitulo
tener cuidado con la pintura
tirarlos
no todos los corazones son como la sombra que los suyos greyly

gutter.

rain squares heavy on unabled
postures and I find myself missing
the way my feet meet the
puddles your gutter forms
more than I want to or
every thought I would ...