When the cock crows once,
know to
(ever-so-gently)
disarm me.
Reaching to greater lengths you will find
the heart of my medusa– strange and
unpulsing.
quivertick

Jazzy fingers, cease your snapping and show
Respect
(or some form thereof)
for the void he has left in my life.
It is big. Bigger than you think.
And possibly it will never go away.

Oh, but try not to
chohke
on the over-used cliches,
the sweetly swindling cigarette smoke
(which)
are the ungodly infinitives of polar transitions.
Our blood does not sing in the moonlight because
we are to forget we have blood in the first place.
They do not understand.
(Idon’tblamethem.)

quivertick
Will you remember?
With the second crow comes forgiveness
-with the third-
a sneaking suspicion that
suicide
is the most beautiful thing in the world.