He wonders why he can't even ask you what you did over The weekend.
Then look how nothing else with her matters
Then he remember

But You don't have to love in words
even through the silences love is
always heard.

He just sees her every day
But wouldn't pay a cent to chase her
Knowing she's not worth his tears

He doesn't know
If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back, it was, and always
will be yours. If it never returns,
it was never yours to begin with.

She can say all she wants about

The guys she's with. A never ending chain

of "this one's different". A repeated story.

When she's missing all she needs

Because actions have two meanings

So do words. Who can be sure about

what they even mean?

Even though her guy is one in a million

He wouldn't pay a cent to chase her
Because who still believes in love?
When the seasons of emotion rise and fall
Whose there for you?

She's just the coldness of winter
The haunted trees
The bitterest winds on the beach
The abyss in his soul


He can give up on love
Love gave up on him
He can give her the ability to
destroy him But he can't trust
her not to.


For her eyes used to be so passionate
For everything that seemed so normal
Now full with the reflection of another's
Broken forever like glass

She had him with a smile
He's given her everything
She can't talk to him
He can't afford her love

If the best pain came from the heart

We'd all be eternally happy.

If true love was really true,

Everything else would have to make sense

The angel in his dreams

His Heaven on Earth
The deepest part of her mind
He would have taken her hand
But the fall would hurt less

She's a scream he hears in the night

She's the stain on his heart

The tear in his eye

The blade through his chest

Maybe it's not him at all?

Is it purely her ignorance of the world?

Her judgmental personality?

No. Never.


The embrace the ultimately broke them the farthest apart anyone can imagine
The flowers that burned no colder than his love for her.
Her name burns a meaningful path in him

Deathly sick out of deprivation

But when he's close to her

She's still not there

Is it possible that the mind

can overcome reality?

She thinks dreams come true
He knows there's no more roads to walk on
She thinks of silver linings
He wonders how much she's worth knowing


He'll just fall out of love
Chasing another feather in the wind
Believing in how much there's to know
He wouldn't pay a cent to chase her

Please just understand

He's at the edge of a street

A stranger on the wrong block

Waiting for you.

The only thing he wishes

For you not to leave
The ashes will be scattered
Into the cold air which he breathes

You make him everything he is

He dies without you

The only thing that can make him breathe

Now it's all in vain.

He never knew however that

She wasn't in love with him

Just another typical destroying

romance ending with never healing wounds

He should have paid a cent to chase her

Because he doesn't believe in true love never dying

If they were really meant to be, why is he dead?

He wouldn't pay a cent to chase her.



[Close]

Let's lie in the field of feline flowers
where the blades pierce and the whiskers tickle—

There, can you be free?

where the air is too thick to breathe?
Your lungs will suck dry
and your tortured tongue will swell thousandfold,
but with no gasp to scrape your vocal chords
you can’t scream I’m fine!

The Doctors use your choking face
as a gingham bullseye and claim death,
though you haven’t even died.
Can’t they see your fingers
fishing for mine in the sea of festering stress?
It’s just natural.
But I can’t convince you to take that breath
for the doctors’ gloves are the same ones
that suffocate your speech.

How I’d love your lips to split apart—
for me to kiss and you to speak:
It’s just natural.

[Close]

“Good airs for the masses
and Atacama Sundae for the soul.”
A South American – Continental –
private joke. With bacon on the side.
We shared it with intent-full eye chat
when we arrived at the yellow-brown town
of the northern desert.

There was something in the air that night,
and it wasn’t only the cheerful Abba tune, playing
from a soft lit window, in an alley not even
important enough to be named.

I asked my host how people knew
where to send their letters to,
if they did not know what address to put down.
He just smiled and replied: “Solo el cartero
necesita saber a donde un carta llege. Y no soy un cartero.”

The skies were full of stars, so much that
they took the form of clusters of light.
Sitting on the back porch of the small guest house
I was compelled to put down, both to words and paper,
how magical this place was.

In the heart of the city, people do still feel lonely.
I still felt alone.
But here, loneliness was not a burden; it was freedom.
Freedom from feeling inadequate
for the company of others.
Here there are no others.

I spent the rest of the night
writing a letter to myself,
and just as the sun rose above the flattened horizon –
I put the pages gently into an empty envelope,
took a pen and marked it with my name, and also:
“Buenos Aires”. I didn’t add another word.

A few hours into the morning and we left,
only stopping for a moment at the local post office.

I hoped I’d find this letter again,
when I arrived at good airs.

[Close]

This is your name in lights,
a display of your new-found fame.
The neon seems to scream,
Cliche.

There's a headhunt for this feeling,
A loathing, a love, a lust.
To be consumed and remade.
Become an idol.

To tear knives from your back,
And use them to cut down,
everyone in your way,
Thats what determination is.

What goes around comes around,
and this time there will be no mercy.
Your fame wont help you,
come judgment time.

Even now when I tell you,
The best things in life are free,
You laugh and take it light.
But baby, thats where my heart is.

Your on your own now,
I've been cut down enough.
You won't find support in these scars.
Ill wish you well,
And leave you to ponder this,

They say the sky's the limit,
But your shooting for the stars,
You weren't one to be held back,
Not even by the one ones you loved.


[Close]

Leaving Santiago on the night bus;
it’s past ten, but the sun hasn’t set yet.
Some night bus this is.
Sleep is renounced altogether
when we watch a herd of Chilean moms
carrying loud, quick-to-cry infants
being helped on board by the driver.

But sleep is not for us anyway.
Only a few hours from now we’ll be on a new road,
a new adventure to call ours.
There are trails waiting out there just for us to tread on
and excitement is mounting, as the large vehicle
slowly makes its way out and away from the city,
into the open spaces of the countryside.

I am awake.

Not sure how long I was out, if at all.

Through the blur of newly regained consciousness
I can tell that we’ve stopped and you
are not next to me where you should be.
To panic or not, that is the question, that is
a question, but not for now.
I get off the bus and you’re there,
unloading our backpacks from the belly
of our trusted, rusty carrier.
With the black fumes turning lucid
as the driver pulls away,
I stretch and you wave him goodbye.
We’re on our own in the middle of nowhere
and I look at you differently in the light
of the sunset. No -
sunrise.
It’s been a whole night.

There’s a house across from the bus stop.
Perhaps not a house, but a shed -
a small, blue and wood colored structure.
But then, perhaps this is not a bus stop either.
there's a tree, a large rock, and then us;
no mention of a stop or a bus anymore,
as if it had never been.

But we have, and we are.
And as the sun begins tickling the mountain top,
we start climbing the trail leading up
to another cloudy summit.

[Close]

I did not write this sentence;
there is no evidence to prove
this line to be anything
but a mere slip of the pen.

[Close]

In a furnished concrete box of indulgence,
number seven (side entrance), anonymous square;
sitting down in the darkness of unpaid bills,
watching the veins of the walls, revealed
by old, peeling paint and a streetlight
that shines on them through the window.
I am suddenly independent
from whatever it was I used to be.
I am no longer me.

I am electricity,
running through the walls,
I’m the blood of the pipelines.
I am the water down the gutters,
the waste of the sewers,
I am the city.
I’m the broken down playgrounds,
I’m the broken hearted kids that play in them,
the billboard advertising holidays
and the cardboard sign that tells you that the world is going to end.
I am the streets.
I am the city.
I’m the bane in the eyes of the bum,
I’m the bane in the eyes that look down on him.

I am the streetlight that allows him to write these lines.

[Close]

That night,
there was a storm outside;
blankets of black clouds
were making love
while bolts of lightening were shimmering between them,
as if two flints were being struck together.
And you held me tight, mumbling
into my skin,
that storms are distracting and nature was being selfish,
claiming attention while we are making love.
And I said, jokingly,
something always steals my thunder.
The bedroom flashed with yet
another bolt of bright orgasm, and you asked
if I’ve ever heard a thunder without lightening.
I replied:
Yes, of course.
Just now, in a poorly put
metaphor.

[Close]

Let a lesson be learned
by every child on their fours,
that we all come from dirt –
no history to the earth.
Dead fingers clench
what used to be grass,
seen through innocent eyes,
as all comes to pass.
And tomorrow shall rise,
when seasons are at pause;
springtime will flourish
and all will be as it was.
But the cause - the cause
of all this was born years before,
by a mere look from you
that had healed a heart at war.
As the falling angel I was,
the falling child, tumbling down,
down the slopes to adulthood –
to unearth a worn crown.
Carry me on, on to my end –
with a smile, with a sigh;
it’s the memory of my time
that has told you this lie.
Cry dearest creature,
be sad for the seasons that fail;
the land – unforgiving terrain,
as the sun left your skin colored pale.
Lead this journey, or leave
me behind to watch you be gone;
what a cold summer waits
for those who will walk it alone.

[Close]

I once saw a couple kiss,
one like no other;
their sentiments exchanged without the need
to spoil the moment,
or by breaking a centimeters breadth.
Not a word was whispered to stoke
their flame,
nor should a word be written to capture
their fire -
but as one does when stirred
by impulse, an antilogy
was born -

They held the durable hands of clocks
steady for just a second,
so much so that no one would ever know.
They ignored their need to breathe
for twice as long,
leaving no gape to let the passion
they shared to pass
between their lips and back.
Their intentions sheltered behind fastened lids,
damp with expression,
not needing to peek to witness
one another picturing each other.
With expectations met,
he rose, and together
defined the extent of their separation,
by remaining hand in hand
for a moment more.

They - not wishing upon them death,
just as one might when scarred
by vivacity -
ceased to exist in my eyes;
captured by my imagination.
Because we are all blind, you
just see what you want to see.

[Close]

I have heard the creaking of necks straining to spy
the gallows fall in an inquisition of eyes,
baiting the lips of man with a needle and thread -
biting their tongues, sitting shyly inside their head.
Whispers wander amongst the crowd, some adorned in white,
the majority robed in black – seeking respite
from the idle chatter they spark with hidden pretense;
their distance insidious, their wish verbatim -
we have all felt the burn at the gallows suspense,
tested the tepid wood with feet suitably numb,
we have reserved our plots to see the next in line;
perching on tip-toe, knowingly creaking our spine.

From behind chattering teeth I whisper the terms –
“shhh, for we are trepidation and we’ve felt the burns.”

[Close]

Why won't you pick up the phone?
Is it off or something?
I guess I should have known
About that whole accident scene

Why won't you hang with me tonight?
Are you mad at me for something?
I guess things just aren't right
Since that whole accident scene

Why wont you go to Outback?
Are you tired or something?
I guess I forgot all the facts
About that whole accident scene

Why wont you call me anymore?
Did use up your minutes or something?
I guess we still mourn
About that whole accident scene

Why wont you play Guitar Hero?
Did you lose the game or something?
I guess the volume of your TV has been at zero
Since that whole accident scene

Why wont you stay with us here and have some fun?
Are you in a rush or something?
I guess only the good die young
Just look back at the whole accident scene

Why wont you stop by?
Are you busy or something?
Because all I do is cry
Since that whole accident scene

Why wont you? I cried
Are you sad or something?
I guess you must have died
During that whole accident scene

[Close]

Hold on to memories of the one we lost
Forgive the sins
and keep the good

He held us close
with a loving hand
and laughed a thousand smiles

He lingers in our hearts
Bodies and minds
Reminding us of a happy time

Twenty more steps
He’s through the door
Visit us in glory
not in loss

Yesterdays gone,
today is now
But forever he’ll stay
Our little piece of heaven
Resting with each of us
bringing tears
but bring not tears of grief
but of joy
For he was an angel
before he left

Love and respect is all we have
Bless his name
Cross your heart
and say your last goodbye


[Close]

When I look down upon my wrist
There is a lime green braclet there
And it is impossible to resist
The memories that come rushing back, and sometimes it's hard to bare

Memories of the good and bad
Rememberance of all the smiles
But how sometimes it makes me sad
But I know, he would want me to smile

And through the darkest parts of my life
When it seems I have lost my way
I see on my wrists, a lime green light
That helps me to get through the day

That light reminds me of one I held dear
And how he left us, to go to a happier place
I cant help but shed a tear
When I close my eyes and see his face

But when I open my eyes and see that light
I know he is looking down upon me
That light is shining ever so bright
That is a fact, that fills me with glee

So even though he left this world
I know he still walks beside us
So ever tightly he will hold
Us, and help us to go on, that's what an angel does

Even though we miss him so much
We can never bring him back
But the reason we miss him so much
Is because there will be no one else like him, yet another fact

And never forget the color lime green
Wear it proudly, I know you can resist
But smile, since people everywhere can be seen
Wearing that lime green light on their wrists

[Close]