| An experiment with climbing rhyme that worked out quite well. Possibly the most joyful poem I have ever written. |
| An experiment with climbing rhyme that worked out quite well. Possibly the most joyful poem I have ever written. |


The absence of silenceThere is no call for the absence of my voice. Silence is spacious and I am tucked into the corner. I do not have ticking clocks or a watch on my wrist; it is easy to believe I am not waiting for anything to happen.The absence of silence
I am listening to notes that press fingers into nerves. Melodies push buttons, dialling the number for the room where
my heart lies, idle, gazing at blank plaster and trying to find shadows where there is no light.
Telephone music sounds all-too-often like the voice that is supposed to be at the other end.
Ar


Your hairYou say I am silly to loveYour hair
your hair (and I know sometimes you mean to omit the last five letters).
But I have waited years for hair that I can weave my fingers through as joyfully as I thread them through the rain after summer's thirst;
hair that I can sweep aside as I do the curtains on my birthday, revealing the gift long hoped- yet unasked-for;
hair that I can tangle with my hands the way I knot my fingers into promises made with a child's optimism, faith.
You say I am silly
to love your hair. But I tell you


DownpourI hurl raindrops at your chest of earth. Gravity lends them weight Downpour
they splatter; the dry dirt is scattered.
You watch my eyes, the deluge pouring from clenching skies. There is a storm beating you, water doing its best to dent your surface. Nothing grows in soil so firmly fixed.
I do not know how else to move you, mould you, disturb and shape you. I wish this was not what it takes: a monsoon, a flood, so much water -damage to re-form your settled landscape.


the beauty of starsLast night I swept my hands through the sky and pricked my fingers on stars. Here. I will show you the holes pierced and cauterised by points of light.the beauty of stars
You look at me and I can see myself, reflected in the dancing glimmer of your eyes: all soft curves and diamond smiles and skin like jasmine or baby's breath. And you, you are a constellation or maybe an entire shimmering galaxy.
You touch my wounds and I ask, did you know
that beautiful things hurt?


countdown to someone...and turning around wide-eyed you shoutcountdown to someone...
"I don't know what to do!"
1. I think you're lying 2. I don't care and 3. I love you


You've been on my mind...Quite frankly, you're heavy. Get off.You've been on my mind...


LeftoversNot that the ambulance men look like white vultures, but I can see them stooping over the roadkill that they peck at with needles and monitor leads, not that it'll do any good because I can see its eyes bleed every time they pump what's left of its ribcage, not from hope but procedure. I wave through the black van; they lift it on, shrug, "Not much left there, I'm afraid." They cried not.Leftovers
--
two heads taste better than one.
--
[Philippians 1:21]
xo!
--
one half of *ZombiesAteUs
--
[Philippians 1:21]
--
two heads taste better than one.
V
--
Eric Kripke owns my soul...
Jensen and Jared own my heart...
And Misha takes my breath away...
--
[Philippians 1:21]
xo!
--
one half of *ZombiesAteUs
--
[Philippians 1:21]
xo!
--
one half of *ZombiesAteUs
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