words are valueless until you inject them with meaning


she told me about connotations, the rim of her face,
the tickles of her fingers on my back, late night,
drinking vodka drinks of mostly vodka, cursing
each other to sleep.

We woke up to a honey dome,
an unreal outside window showing us things
separate from connotation, separate from boredom.

And we wept like melting glaciers into the cup,
and you shot me into your nostrils with vigor
until the battlegrounds dissolved. I love you for it.



I plummet
terminal descent
a free-falling
hot-air balloon

your smile
will be the death of me

"There is a car in the driveway.
Just drive.” she said.
"There is a train

We could hop
right on and
get out of here.”

We’ve been running
away from things we can’t control.
We can never settle down.
We’re always scared.
Our hearts won’t stop

But we’ve just got
to sit this out
until we hit
level ground
until the terrain
gets easier.

And then
only there
can we rest our lonely hearts.

Lonely Hearts Club - The Hotel Year (From “It Never Goes Out”)

“you can have anything
you want. even
or millions”
— T.R. Icarus (via thedrowningseaoflove)

waiting for last summer

you walk only on footsteps
previously tread,
we clear no paths
towards your promised land.

here there is
no higher being, for since
you forsake the new
you forsake the old:
and thus you forsake
the pioneers of revelation
and your future
in its
darkest hours.

through the scope
of all your rehabilitation
there is nothing
to be seen.

the well

At times you sink, you fall
into your hole of silence,
into your abyss of proud anger,and you can scarcely
return, still bearing remnants
of what you found
in the depth of your existence.

My love, what do you find
in your closed well?
Seaweed, swamps, rocks?
What do you see with blind eyes,
bitter and wounded?

Darling, you will not find
in the well into which you fall
what I keep for you on the heights:
a bouquet of dewy jasmines,
a kiss deeper than your abyss.

Do not fear me, do not fall
into your rancor again.
Shake off my word that came to wound you
and let it fly through the open window.
It will return to wound me
without your guiding it
since it was laden with a harsh instant
and that instant will be disarmed in my breast.

Smile at me radiant
if my mouth wounds you.
I am not a gentle shepherd
like the ones in fairy tales,
but a good woodsman who shares with you
earth, wind and mountain thorns.

Love me, you, smile at me,
help me to be good.
Do not wound yourself in me, for it will be useless,
do not wound me because you wound yourself.

The Well - Pablo Neruda
(no copyright infringement intended)


always in a tailspin
always standing striaight;

must cherish the time
when we are born

the dark and when
walk back in.

is when everything
be anything and

can ever be nothing.

and in this time
we must be better men than our forefathers
and stand as tall as our
for only then
can we laugh forever

as they did
at the silly question

'why can't we just all be

whether we must be
or contain only

or remain
in silence,

we will send love
letters inspired
by our lack of belief.


meet me at midnight
for an exchange of static
between bitter eyes

a shiver of clasped hands,
each thrumming to
the beat of our fantasies

where i may call off these
hellhounds, else they will
follow me into the casket.

meet me at midnight
even if your back must be 
turned, or your face contorted
in disgust

it is the only way
i can possibly sleep.

times are less than before

recently i have found
a carnival of fools
is a mirror for the rest of
the world;

and somebody once
told me,
"far too much of everything
resides everywhere”.

with that,
i took their riposte
to the heart,

after which everything became
illuminated, and
the sky became awake
over our heads,

but we had no wings
to tear heaven down with.

so on one particularly
tranquil night,
i trudged towards
the center of the earth

and sat on a sheer
crevice made from
molten souls,

and realized:

we spend longer waiting
for the end of times

then we bother
to look outside,
and see the
looming sunrise.

they left the cold in
you try to figure it out

your heart’s a strong thing
that you’ve learned nothing about

you struggle with a name
you’ve given up with your own

but you’ve adapted to it
you’ve seen a suffering home

"A Fog", by Arrange

(from Their Bodies In a Fog)

It’s not about being there for me,
it’s about respecting me enough
to tell me why you’re not.
So I’ll just slip back into
my sleep,
There’s a demon in my
casket and
I think that we’ve fallen in love,
and most nights,
I wish it was you.

"lose one friend" by Hotel Books, from I’m Almost Happy Here (2013)


i watch
in awe, but
only seeing black;

i am
walled off from
my own eyes
sitting in not the trap
of poverty,
but personal
and failure.

siphoning the voice from your eyes

there is no limit
to how
and empty
a person can be,
but there is always a
for redemption.

(but perhaps yours
has already