and the water drips from the ceiling in such a rush 

in such a rush 

its falling in such 

a rush 

nurturing those sharp and 

pointed 

stalactites 

feel that word on your tongue 

in the cavern of your mouth 

stalactites

think of vines 

dont think of vines

dont think about them strangling rocks 

and turning proud 

stalactites 

to dust 

watch hush watch and watch and hush and rush 

feel it in the cavern of your mouth 

that reckless explorer named JEALOUSY 

and curse him 

curse her 

curse them 

all of them 

curse you you wretched vines 

and leave my heart alone

and the water drips from the ceiling in such a rush 

in such a rush 

its falling in such 

a rush 

nurturing those sharp and 

pointed 

stalactites 

feel that word on your tongue 

in the cavern of your mouth 

stalactites

think of vines 

dont think of vines

dont think about them strangling rocks 

and turning proud 

stalactites 

to dust 

watch hush watch and watch and hush and rush 

feel it in the cavern of your mouth 

that reckless explorer named JEALOUSY 

and curse him 

curse her 

curse them 

all of them 

curse you you wretched vines 

and leave my heart alone

said one wing to another 

as the sun sang sonnets

and the clouds hummed folk 

and the ocean danced below 

a humble jig 

a taunting jig 

a devils jig 

because she knows knows knows 

that icarus is falling 

and he knows knows knows

i ate a pomegranate today 

which is not very big news 

if you are not a great lover of pomegranates 

but i am 

and so to me 

it is very very big news 

because today i ate jewels 

i ate rubies 

and i tasted their bittersweet life 

run down between the cracks of my teeth 

and i felt their brittle bones crack 

between my molars 

and i knew their cringing souls were mine 

in the hundreds 

i am a great lover of the pomegranate. 

because the pomegranate makes death difficult 

you cant just bite a pomegranate 

you must peel it apart

you must tear that luscious heart into two, maybe three

and then you must pick your treasure from its core 

with great care 

lest you crush them before they reach you

my gums move like a water wheel 

turning out teeth

that are now dull and edgeless

that are as smooth as soft as river stones

teeth unbefitting of a shark

they are good teeth 

strong teeth 

real teeth 

that have bitten and gnashed and gnawed

they roll to the rhythm of my heart

that pulsing surveyor 

which turns my eyes

and beats my gills 

it keeps me moving 

ever moving

pushing through the current 

and staving off the larger of my kind 

those cannibals

those damned cannibals 

i have lived years longer

than i was meant to.

and i will continue to do so 

as long as i have teeth and heart

4:00 am is a pretty important hour 

the hour i rise the hour i fall 

the pivotal point of all of our calls 

for it is either the beginning or the end 

of a chapter. 

i once was told that if 

two writers come together 

they'll be met with disaster

jealousy will crawl through their veins 

a needy green babe 

and the art of comparison 

will become their only concern 

but i have found

that when two writers come together 

such as, you and i 

things tend to work quite well 

between your eyes of blue 

and mine of brown 

there is sky and earth 

and common ground 

beneath your sea

and between my clouds

there is a creature called Love

we're not entirely sure what breed 

but there's definitely quite a bit of lizard

you can tell by his blue tongue 

and sorry eyes 

and the way he says hello 

now we agreed that if we ever tried to raise a child it would be a wreck

but we didn't discuss a creature

and i think we'd be quite good at it

in fact i could think of no other 

i would rather raise a creature with 

especially this particular 

and delightful mutt 

because i would hope that they would learn from you 

elegance and honesty 

and cleverness and poise

and how to sing real well 

i would hope that they would learn from you 

the intricacies of connotation 

and that they would ignore my thoughts on the matter 

that they would learn 

kindness and goodness and how to be true 

to your beliefs and what makes up you 

i would hope that they would adopt your venom 

and your detestation for not knowing 

things that you would very much like to know 

that they would learn saucy mercantilism 

and how to sing in cars 

and how to open one page at a time 

i would hope that he would learn from you 

as much as learn from me 

and i know that together we can grow 

this wonderful terrible 

thing. 

we followed the train for as long as we could 

until the tracks were long long gone 

we then wandered down a dusty road 

until that vanished too

i remember the whites and yellows and blue 

of wildflowers and the sky and you 

and how we stood in all our wonder

at the fact that we were lost 

but lost we weren't and lost we were

out in the meadow we found 

because you were home and i was home 

and we the only sounds

 Once upon a time, in a kingdom in the south, there was a prince. Now, the prince was due to be wed in a few short months, and if he did not find a maiden himself, his father would choose a bride for him. Thus, he held a a ball, a ball to which every maiden in their land was invited, the old, the young, the short, the tall, the fair, the unfair, and his future bride. She was tall, with the long limbs and legs of a dancer, her hair was the color of honey in summer and her eyes the blind pale of an empty honeycomb. She entered the hall in a gown of black, black as ink.

Prince Arnold saw her once, only once upon her entrance, and decided at that moment that this lady was to be his wife. He swept forwards, asking her hand for a dance, ignoring the other maidens. It seemed though, that as soon as they had begun to dance was as soon as the clock struck twelve. Overcome with his sudden love, Prince Arnold fell to his knee and begged her to marry him the following day.

"I should embrace you if you have a heart of brass." She said, and withdrew her hand from his, leaving him in the ballroom with no answer and an empty palm.

The next night, the Prince threw yet another party, and again invited all the maidens in the land, intent upon proving to her that he should be embraced, but he could find no such proof. But she came again, this time in a dress of gray, a beautiful thing that shone in the moonlight and drank in the night. Again, they danced, and again the Prince fell to a knee,

"I have not a heart of brass," he said, "but I ask not for your embrace, but your hand." She paused a moment, and then sighed, "No, but perhaps I may kiss you if you have a heart of a silver." And with that, she left him a second time.

The prince, bent upon having her hand, searched long and hard to find the evidence of a silver heart, but everytime he looked within his own, he found only flesh. Exasperated and desperate, he threw a third ball, where she came in a white gown, a wedding gown, expecting his silver heart, but no such heart would she find. Upon seeing him, she asked of his crown and where it was, but he pushed the question away. A third time, they danced, a third time, he fell to one knee, and a third time he said, "Will you marry me?"

"Have you a heart of silver?" She asked.

"Nay, only a heart of a gold." He said, withdrawing from a pouch in the breast of his coat a small golden heart, littered with jewels.

She smiled then, and placed her hand in his, "Give me your heart, and I shall marry you." And give his golden heart, he did. By the next night they were wed. Their marriage was prosperous, and the people grew to love their new queen and envy her scepter with the golden heart. A year passed, and their first child was born, a son, whom they named Elan. And the couple rejoiced at his healthy birth. That is, until the babe opened his eyes, he was born blind, cursed, and the prince was aghast, for as he looked upon his wife he saw her for what she truly was. He saw her long nails, her sharpened teeth, her own blind eyes and their magic and knew her to be a witch.

Outraged, he exiled her. He did not know that the fault lay upon him, for he had not truly given his heart, and thus could not truly love her, not as she was anyways. She begged and pleaded with him to let her stay, if she could not stay, then to at least allow their son to remain, but he would not. He would have no business of magic within his walls, and certainly none of witches. So she fled, taking Elan with her, and the prince told the land that she had passed with child. A great funeral was held for her, and many came, but the prince did not.

Meanwhile, she took shelter in her old home, now run down and overgrown. She came through the door and set Elan down on the bed, "You my child, will never have your heart as I have, and never will sting as mine does. For you will have a heart of hornets and no woman shall be able to escape them." She swore, and then set out, gathering for him a hornet queen, a handful of wood mulch, and at last a heart that would take to the hornets, for she knew even then he would have his father's golden heart. She passed first a lion, but sneered as she recalled how they would cannibalize their cubs. She then passed a young buck, but distasted his flight. It was at last that she came upon a wolf pup, and decided that this would be the heart of her son. So taking her dagger in her right hand, she knelt over the pup, her blind eyes looking towards his young blue ones, and she cut out his small heart, still beating, and brought the pup and these things to her cottage.

There, she cut out her first child's heart, giving him instead the one of the wolf, she stuffed it with the wood mulch and allowed the hornet queen to nest inside. It was only then that she sewed the wound closed, and did the same with the wolf, who now bore the heart of a golden prince.

Years passed and Elan grew into a strong, hard-working young man. His wolf grew with him, and soon the two were inseparable, they hunted together, worked together, and ate together, an unbreakable pair. 

let me begin by saying

it was not a coincidence 

that we came together 

blooming 

like warm roses in the fall

with our fingers curling 

around each other 

like old paper and peeling walls

like a map well used 

we came together 

accomplices in our ancience

a twin pair of star and sky 

with eyes of rust and tarnish 

perhaps it was fated 

or merely a spontaneous accident of history 

but we both wish it would rain

and rain and rain and rain 

until the windows are streaked 

and the wood will burn only smoke 

smoke that curls like our lips in the night 

as we whisper in that long lost tongue 

of wishes lost and wishes won 

we knew it once and now again 

it is a language that smells of campfires and sawdust 

seared steak and hot metal and welding fumes 

my dear we are guardians of this primordial wood

roots wound in branches and 

beauty so baffling that even 

the birds forget how to sing 

let me sing to you 

because this was not a coincidence.