Fragments & Notes / 2012-2016

by Jordan Sullivan ­

north henry street greenpoint brooklyn south 11th and wyeth the always empty bar on the east river the nights we shouldve went home alone the outlaw the one with the bad acid the girls and boys who  would never be healed our ghosts on west 12th nothing much else the house we were supposed to build everything else that collapsed all the good and bad things that never happened i made a vow im sorry black jack pine burning sage abandonded trucks on fire in the middle of the desert midnite on broadway in the coldest rain seventh avenue more busted hearts the famous singer  who promised you everything and youre still waiting for him on the same corner  kansas city five thousand miles of nothing highway twenty nine following the strangest light no rest the fathers that fucked up the mothers that watched i loved you another dead end night another bird dropped dead in paradise you sang about war and the argentinians with the hash and the border cop  and we were always fighting then we made more plans all the alcohol never helped monitor street north eighth lets leave that city for dead someone died in that place youre sitting someone shot him now he's long gone like all the rest of those days    


We came out of the bar all fucked-off and lonesome, sat down on the stoop trying to make it last, because 4am’s not as bad as 5am, and it sure beats 6am when the sun starts coming out and everything gets really hopeless.


The city has a memory buried in concrete and ash, a memory of two cities cracked and forged into one. We searched the new city, stumbling over tripwires onto remnants of the old, a jigsaw of rubble underneath polished glass and steel. We walked over and under bridges, along cobblestones fading into blacktop, paving the way toward new ends. The streets echoed long-gone-ghost-calls from the great war, the cold war, the old days of desperate freedom-longing. And all the along the canals the birch trees, wild reeds, and willows dug their roots into underground caverns where the dead whispered of what was, of what will never be and should never be again. 

Cities bury their dead, their secrets, their crimes, their triumphs, and hopes. Cities bury themselves, level their land and make way for new cities, new dreams, new ways, new hopes, and new fears.


somewhere in the heart of a city that should have never become a city, a desert rose, a sun that rises at night


on a beach
where broken waves
don’t rush back
into the sea


we built a memorial for ourselves - for the nobodies, the lowlives and the down and out. it says we were born to lose. it's made of ash and it crumbles every night, and every morning we rebuild it. it stands next to the statues of heroes, but you already know they were all villains. all the dimented, the perverted, the ruined, the insane we have canonized as saints, baptised in rain water. we've given up so we can finally carry on. and the memorial says we are the holy ones, we are history, and we are time, and we will be forgotten.


fragments of an apocalypse

the last good years


still living in hope


To the angel of west twelfth, the devil hides your blues, buried in the hulls of sunken ships, in unmarked, east river tombs. We spent our only night on the corner where you first saw your father cry, then on the west side highway, watching cars in the pouring rain. Across the Hudson, in a Jersey city, you pointed to your childhood home. You wouldn’t talk about it expect to say your family lived like ghosts. We stayed till the last lights in the city burned out, and, before the rain washed us away, you carved our names into the pier and promised me we’d never die.


this is the burning season, where you go to remember to forget, where there’s no past and no future, where every tree knows your name. out here in the wild you just laugh thinking of all the danger, thinking of all the things that can rip you to shreds. your body ties itself in knots around the trees. every drop of rain reflects all the life that ever was, and the river echoes an old song and the song was always you - the song was always her. it won’t get better and it won’t get worse. it will just pass. over and over the song plays and over and over these things will pass.


the world was soaked in heavens tears and there was no one to guide them, no roads to follow, just the sound of the wind and the rain. back home they’d won and lost so much, but once they’d escaped and they were rolling nowhere and they were really gone then there was nothing to win or lose. only the wounded make it that far, the goners, the light-keepers, the ones who carry re and let their hearts break every night - those are the ones who make it to other side, to the wilder shores. and way out there on the edge everything screams their name, out there in the wild where all things live forever.


we had no days and no nights. we couldn’t see time at all. all we saw was one another. and we were fading as fast as the autumn but we were too young to know, too in love to care, too high to worry what the world was doing to us. we scratched out the lines on our palms until we had no future. after all we were finished looking for paradise because we had already found it.


in another life you would build your house in a field of four leaf clovers, none of the dark clouds would and you, and your brother would still be here. he’d be out in the driveway under his car and there’d be no girls or beer or trouble - just him and the smoke curling from his lips, the smoke he was sculpting into halo’s. and your mother’s bags wouldn’t be packed for the wild unknown. she’d be in her chair and your father in his and they’d be looking out at the land, at this place they called home, like it was el dorado. and they’d still be looking out for you too. they’d still be worried and stay up late some nights waiting for you and your brother to come stumbling home. those would be the days. now the best times just haunt you. in another life things wouldn’t be how they were but how they were supposed to be.


you came to forget. you came to remember. you came to see your face inside the trees and to hide from the sun and rain. you came to die but you were born to live forever.


lost on Highway 64. on a sundown path 3000 miles from home. there's a song on the radio reminding us of when we were younger. back then I was always homesick, then you came along, and you had your mother's eyes and your father’s blues. you showed me pictures of all the ones who broke your heart. you said everybody leaves, nothing hangs around but broken dreams. and i promised i wasn’t like those kids downtown, the ones with all the money and nothing but time. you took me down avenues i'd never seen, and i took you out of that city, to this desert highway where we can bury all your burdens. 


paradise is a dead man's town


ghosts howl from the bellies of comanche canyons while we sleep like fugitives under black jack pine out on the horizon there's a black and blue midnight and a storm that'll wash away all our sins and in our dreams it's always great highways and seven's but it never seems to matter what we roll cause we never got anything to lose


somewhere on route 66 we’re driving backwards through our- selves, salvaging shattered memories as we cut through stolen Indian landscapes, past abandoned blocks of old motels. dead and crippled diners. an open grave. the forgotten angels hide in the back alleys and along the midnight avenues, praying over trashcan fires. this great highway that once connected America now runs like a fault line through another vanished empire. And the road runs through us too, through all the mistakes and memories that divide us.


I’m writing to erase all the old versions of us, the people we never meant to be, the reverse alchemists waking up in the strangest bedrooms. we were the kid's out every night, playing bloody knuckles, ghost writing our own obituaries. we were shades of nothing, the deadbeat angels in the darkest corners of every 4am bar room, always convincing ourselves we were right, when we were all wrong, all the time.


I saw something today that should have reminded me of you, but it's been so long, i hardly remember any of it - how we were, who said what, and where our luck ran out. but i'm sure it was your face carved into the side of that mountain, and It was you sleeping on the side of every dead end road. And i'm sure that i loved you.


out on that long distance highway some old stadium lights were calling our names, reminding us of all our old glory, all our friends, dead and gone.

way out there in no-man's land the lesser birds still sing for us


I picked up your ghost hitchhiking down that nowhere highway. we drove around all night and it told me secrets you never could. we were always strangers in the dark, in the wild, in the places where we were supposed to be so free.


i remember when we more than a ghost town, abandoned and cold. your hand in mine that day at the reservoir. and the soldier's singing high lonesome songs
on your father's radio. one war ends as another begins. we were always at each other's throats then. and back there in the devil's town we were goners. bad luck had its way of finding us. we could’ve been so much more. i made so many promises. i wish i would’ve kept just one. but you were born under the dark of the moon. and you warned me that nothing ever comes around that doesn't fade away.


the last night I knew you I dreamt we could see the grace shining from all things


a myth

each word brings you closer

each word may only be said once before it is gone forever

a myth written in a language that sounds like car crashes and

reads like smoke rising from wars unreported

only the ghosts of broken promises understand it

but maybe we can still feel it

what’s better than feeling


what’s worse


you float closer

my fear reflecting in you


real love

a dead end.


crossing no man’s land

the smell of history sprouting from muddy fields

the dead war birds rising up from your footprints

they carry all the lives you have lead

some perch on your shoulders

you feed them memories of a dead summer

one june to september is all you remember


you lie to Heaven and tell the angels they are free

you lie to yourself too

you are good at it

bad at everything else


your skin remembers nights you have forgotten

you wonder just how broken you are

the sun lengthens your shadow

your breath spells the names of forgotten ancestors

I know because we were brothers

and if you are only a mirage I will follow this light disguised as you

if only to get closer to myself


The exploding star that remembers a time before sadness. Your life and all the life that almost never was. The blinding sea pouring from you and onto me. A world is possible.


Berlin, 2014

With your solitude, drunk on haunted summer light. Wonder fills the passing city. Is a descendant of the man who shot your grandfather in Normandy on this train? This is the foreign city you are in love with like a person, the city you listen to like a ghost story and wander like a fugitive. You get off the train at Alexanderplatz and begin an aimless walk. You have never known north from south, and neither has anyone. You smoke a cigarette to forget. You sweat in the unforgiving heat to remember. You make eye contact with everyone wondering if you will ever find something that isn’t still becoming something else.


the sight of you leaning into the wind

bruised skin

sky pierced by bullets

where stars used to shine

time passes over nothing new

this will be a memory one day

the dark sweeping over white seas


can I capture your silence?

can I capture you or only my version of you?


I cast out a line woven of our secret history

I cast it off into the burning lake behind my childhood home where no children ever lived. We grew up so fast. I am hoping to catch you or another one of my demons. The sunlight sings as it moves across the water, and I feel a tug on the line and I wrestle with it and the memory of you walking down sunset that night in Los Angeles. That city is not a city of angels, and that’s why we were there. I pull at the line and more memories collide in boundless, blooming lights, breaking the stillness inside me. I feel so young again wrestling with time and you. I don’t remember being with you, but at least I remember the feeling. I tug at the line one last time before it snaps sending you back into the deep with all the lights and songs sung in soft strange languages. 


Drifting the length of your silence and back to the old hotel in the paradise after heaven where no angels are allowed. We meet there every other eternity to remind one another that we were once young on a beach, and when you buried your feet in the sand, when I took your hand, when the sky turned into a shimmering gray possibility, then I knew forever was you, and your shadow would lay across me for all time.


Life after memory in a city without borders, I watch her who I can never know in our blue room, after all the wars we forgot, blinding the clocks with sun-colored paint. She uses the second, minute, and hour hands as appendages for the wounded who still haunt her. Life was a nightmare until history was erased, now it’s a refugee roaming ghostly mountain roads looking for lands that are not there.


Remember those mornings watching the drunken birds crashing into the waves? Dad sat on the shore feeding them wonder bread soaked in gin. The beach was a galaxy then, a billion diamond suns burning under our feet.  My brothers would chase me in and out of the sea, and we were all just kids, growing up quick as rainbows. Every night one of them would ask me, “Who will care for us when we’re gone?” Every night I’d lie awake fearful of the day I might know the answer.


A century circling the borders of a life but never crossing over. A century of waiting games, days too long to measure.

Sometimes in the dead light I still think of Anna, a memory rare as August snow, and our life that was almost.

Are we writing to erase our history before we get to Heaven or Hell? Will we grow wings and fly over all the old streets - the ones we no longer know by name but by the mistakes we made on them.

Look at the century of us, the borders of you. Our treaty is buried in burnt grass. The blue songs of our youth written in a key no singer can find, and the country inside you is bound by a wall no one dares to cross.


I ride off the highway, cruising the backroads of the void. Me and the ghost of me weaving in and out of the blue dark. Everything suddenly unfamiliar, and the unknown always reminds me of Rachel and our dreamlife.

The old truck grinds along the gravel spitting fragments and dust back at the horizon, and I remember Rachel looking at me for the second to last time.

“Are we there yet,” she asked.  “Is this that dark country called Fate?”

The moon falls behind the sun like her hand slipping from mine. There was a tremble in her voice when she said losing a lover can be like losing a life. She looked like Venus as the sunlight stole her shadow from under me.

I drive past a field of wet Novembers. I can see the dead tree where we went to give in or give up. She was a bright white August bird buried in that starving grass, and I was a long gone year of perfect storms. How could we have ever survived us?

The road disappears into a burning season of first loves and last thoughts. There are no stars in this place, just a vague black and blue. There is no me just the things that made me, and the long dark distance. Is that distance her? Is this the country called Everywhere?

I scream for the last time, “Are we there yet,” but my ghost echoes back reminding me that we never left.


In the photograph you are smiling, but I know you are sad. You’ve been gone longer than I knew you, and the way you looked in your old Honda, in that parking lot, as I walked to your car after another graveyard shift, reminded me of home. It hurts like everything to still love like this, to still love until I can’t breathe. I miss you Rachel, and the smell of the backseat of your older brother’s car. I miss you, and that one and only thing as real as Heaven. If time is a river, then let it drown me. If time is a river, then I was all wrong about everything. You’ve been gone longer than I knew you. Time is nothing. Time is you. It was you. Time was a stillborn child. There was you and there was us. There was no me just a silence painted black. There was our year and every other year. Now the days move too fast to see. Where are you now? Where is right now?


the brave world

the lost world

the next world


lost you in a field of novembers


just below heaven

the blindlight


lost on highway 64. on a sundown path 3000 miles from home. there's a song on the radio reminding us of when we were younger. back then i was always homesick. then you came along, and you had your mother's eyes and your father's blues. you showed me pictures of all the ones who broke your heart. you said everybody leaves, nothing hangs around but broken dreams. and i promised i wasn't like those kids downtown, the ones with all the money and nothing but time. you took me down avenues i'd never seen, and i you out of that city, this desert where we can bury all your burdens



we were never free on the road. we never found the california everyone had been talking about. we never found gold or your mothers ghost, just illusions and mirages and stolen landscapes. we couldn’t go back home and we couldn’t disappear. what we were left with was a dream that could never come true and the memory of you telling me we could live forever.



somewhere on route 66 we're driving backwards through ourselves, salvaging shattered memories as we cut through stolen Indian landscapes, past abandoned blocks of dead and crippled diners, an open grave. the forgotten angels hide in back alleys and along the midnight avenues, praying over trashcan fires. this great highway that once connected America now runs like a faultline through another vanished empire. and the road runs through us too, through all the mistakes and memories that divide us.



i remember when we were more than a ghost town, abandoned and cold. your hand in mine that day at the reservoir and the soldier's singing high lonesome songs on your father's radio. one war ends as another begins. we were always at each other's throats then. And back there in the devil's town we were goner's. bad luck had its way of finding us. we could've been so much more. i made so many promises. i wish i could have kept just one. but you were born under the dark of the moon, and you warned me that nothing ever comes around that doesn't fade




too drunk to dream of tomorrow. the sun chases all our yesterdays. every ghost in this place knows our name. they follow us over the burnt trails, on the the empty highways, and through the abandoned lots. in this dead country we've seen that old dream of America. we've seen landscapes with no horizon, towns with no names - their histories all erased. we've seen the earth's memory. we drew maps to heaven.



friday night, another midnight in the same parking lot, behind the same roadside motel, with the all-night radio and your brothers pot. you turn the radio down to hear the cars and trucks disappearing down the only road in and out of town. another one leaving, another one passing through, another pair of runaways looking for the future. "maybe one day we'll follow the road right out of here," you tell me, and you got that dream of the whole wide world in your eyes, and this godless town in our rearview. But i just smile along, cause you and i both know we're never goin anywhere. we were born in this town and we were gonna die here. every friday night of our youth has been spent in this backseat with the smell of highway dust and stolen gin. I'm drinking till i smell like my old man, with no thought of yesterday, no dream of tomorrow. we grew up to sound of factory whistles and trainsongs, backstreets, and roads leading nowhere. i'll work where my daddy worked and you'll cry the tears you're momma cried and we'll swim in the lake that stole you're brother. because we didn't choose this town. and you didn't choose to be you, and i didn't chose to be me, and have no choice but to love one another.




last night i dreamt we were back in texas, and you were alive and well. we got high in your father’s car and went driving and ended up lost again on highway 29. we pulled over as the sun was setting and walked off into one of the long fields. when we were kids your dad told us there fields out there that stretched all the way back to heaven, but you and i never found them. in the middle of the field was an old tree, maybe the oldest in texas, maybe the oldest in the world, and it was just sitting there, forgotten by time. under the tree were all are friends and family, the ones i used to know, the ones i lost touch with, the ones who have lost touch with me. they were all there, everyone, my entire life. you walked off ahead of me and sat down in the shade with them. i tried to follow you but i couldn't move. as the sun fell lower and the branches of the tree began to grow outward and then curl downward, digging into the earth, and swallowing all of you. all i could do was watch. and before you were all gone i started to shout, i love you and i want us to grow as old this tree together. i love you. i really loved all of you.


the first dream of life
the course of us
in the course of history
are we weightless or lead-heavy
we will cease to dream of the past
and erase the now
forget the future
that river of panic and pleasure
the innocence that was me

lost in the world


There was one sea, one island, before everything, the oldest bones are found there, and you were born there, with a soul reaching back into infinity, and maybe that’s where we met.


only the blind see, the tongueless speak, and the shattered windows overlooking the river let the wind roam freely through the bedroom where we slept before the war that you said was not a war at all but a bad storm. was i dreaming then? did the wind taste cold blue, metallic, empty, like a vision or a ghost? did you voice smell like rain? your skin like polished glass. did we ever think of time or the end? we don’t remember our beginnings you told me. we can’t imagine the end. the bombed out skyscrapers have become greenhouses for wild trees and vines, their branches breaking through the windows. the future of everywhere is this


dragging a winter sun

painting with long dashes of pain 

dreaming your dreams

collecting your memories

since you have forgotten


drawing the eclipse for no one

so they might know that darkness and light once met


did you decipher the wind when you went wandering after it? are you foolish enough to think you can catch it? clear the flowers from your heart and remember there is no youth and there is no age. the truth is not true; you are not you. you are everything but you, a fragment in time, a figment, a place for possible light to flow in and out.


i remember the bronzed evening in rheims and the virgin mary on the hill and you were not a memory yet. i walked into the night that smelled of sulphur and dead springs. i walked with the dream of you that i was not aware i was dreaming. and all over the world fires were burning and fires were smoldering.

in the cathedral we saw the bones of Lazarus and you spoke to me from a chamber in my heart.

your words echoed: "the earth is an ember."


what does my mind recall? what does my heart recall? what will the world recall of this day or that night, of us? which recollection is the truth?



from the death of us came new life and new moons and only here there does the wind still taste of blood.


the sunflowers grew with their backs to the sun - an invention of spring that felt like fear but tasted like courage. that was the year April wouldn't end and neither would we. 


There was the kingdom of youth and the wrecked room inside you. The borders of a life laid bare. Our skeletons under the floorboards. There was the desperate search for love and the desperate search for anything but love.

Remember the disguises we wore from the ages of 18 to 25?

We lived a million lives a day, wore countless masks, but somehow I could always recognize you. Romance isn’t real, but we were. Real life was better than the films they made us watch.

I remember your reflection in the rain puddled up on Broadway. Now you are the rain, making the pool that shows me my face, reminding me that I am still down here without you.

elena at the salton sea

elena on salvation mountain

elena at bar 142

elena asking if i want another drink

elena telling me not to fall asleep

elena under me

elena ahead of me

elena in the sun

elena on a beach of bones

elena pretending 

elena not pretending

elena forgetting

elena in love


alvarado street

please please please please please 

the spanish beggar sings

or screams

or maybe it’s not him but the street

maybe he is the street

or his voice is the street

am i part of him

a virus or a white blood cell

in search of nothing


i am approaching a beginning

i am approaching an ending

i am ending an approach

i am beginning



do you still love me


is there sadness up ahead?

which way is despair?


the officials have decided the roads and paths that will lead you home.

they were built with your money.

do you want to cross through that building

you can’t

do you want to scale that wall

you will fall

do you want to go between the apartment complex

there is no room

do you want to cross the river

there is no bridge

how will

you get home




remember me as someone else


the darkest part of you is me i said as we fell asleep

fingers still locked for these last three years

a promise i won’t keep

leading you through tunnels to hell and heaven and nowhere else



when i see andrew i think of you

the blood in that tree fort

meals uneaten

burnt grass in summer

there’s a way back and its through me

there’s a way back but we are too blind to see

a sentimental ocean of rust tells the universe where to turn

cause she has nowhere left to go

what’s it like to be everything

what’s it like to hide all time

what’s it like to replace god



we stayed in the hotel older than memory to try and forget the past, to imagine the future of places that will never exist. this was during one of those brief moments in history, the calm between wars, when we had time, but we hardly recognized it – it’s face was so bruised and ravaged. we asked her for forgiveness, but she could not forgive us after all these years of having to live with us.

life beyond memory in a city without borders. i watch her who i can never know in the blue room painting the clocks white and using the second, minute, and hour hands as appendages for the wounded that haunt her dreams. life was a nightmare until history was erased, now it's a refugee roaming misty highways looking for lands that aren’t there.


am i writing to erase all the old memories

will i grow wings and fly over all these streets

i no longer know by name but by the mistakes I made on them

we killed off that old life

buried it in the plot reserved for us

now its ghost can haunt us

but it will never hurt us

because it was never real 

to begin with

our new memories will 

grow from its grave

we will stand naked in the cold air

because finally we can feel again

finally we are flesh and blood

washed clean

finally we are real


the strange sense of self

the uselessness of the familiar.

the truth of you



vaguely felt 

like the wind 

reminding you of all the voices

you've ever known

walk through the fire

be brave

they will laugh at you

because they are always laughing

but you see beyond the flames

into the heart of a world 

this world is too blind to see

walk through the fire

be brave

show the world what only

you can see

and they might hate you

for showing them the truth

its ok

show them anyway

even if they don’t want to see it

show them anyway

raise your voice

sing until the your lungs collapse

until your time is up

and know you walked through the fire

strong and full of life

and in the end the facts are always

the same

you were here

and you were brave

and no one who ever lived or will live 

will ever be you


i really believed you loved me

but what is love 

is love a place

is love a mountain

do you believe that love is the wrong word for love


i don’t remember you

he said he loved me but i don’t remember him

it was so long ago

look at his eyelashes you can tell he’s old


Your room and the locked room inside you

the sound of summer falling off the cliffs where your sister died

crying as a way to escape yourself


silence like fur

the eye

the blue-grey cold

floating like a planet

the body a solar system

what if the oceans fall asleep and the sun meets the moon? what if time isn’t time at all but the person you meant to be?



in winter these impossible dreams come true. snow makes you believe the world is something and somewhere else. and the way the grey weather of your childhood never leaves you makes you believe that universe might stay too, or at least reveal itself, like a lost leopard that suddenly appears, adrift in the middle of a sea.


fear of loneliness

not death

fear of hearts exploding

eyes blooming

boring spring

the forest of your feet wandering

you were there with me

this life was not yours

keeping the sea on your tongue

wild fires cooling

because your first love was the sun

and i will stay in hell with you

we will go till time stops

till colors stop

till the form of the void swallows us

air-conditioned winds

our nature is sold in dollar stores

for less than you know

this artificial nightmares

is all that is real




I remember a time before time when all the monsters came out to hide, surrounding us in their spiraling inferno. We walked through life's hell, into into the fire we pretended was only light. The light that cannot burn. The last light in the universe. The beginning of a nightmare ending.




this is already a memory. will it move with or without you, into an unknown. into paradise. into the divine nothing




No traces of the home they came to find, no landscape undamaged. The broken country inside for the lost and the wicked who have forgotten memory and are left wandering the dry riverbeds



he tried to measure eternity. he drew borders around it. he imagined an island where all the souls of his friends and family would eat and drink and party forever. then he looked down at his leftover takeout, his sad living room, the blue glow of his tv, and he realized he better find some family and friends.




and all of a sudden there was nothing



dragging a winter sun across the avenues of her a calypso moonlight falling on strange fires. dull as eternity. wild as life. a body as frail as a line if smoke. That’s how we drift in and out of love. 




we will all be gone and it won’t matter. but we are still here so it all matters.




millions of years of dust and all the love and death that went through these rooms. millions of years of hate and revolt and progress and regression. forever ending and beginning.




goodbye. the heart of loves the last day and the lights last universal blink. the hand is the sun and sometimes the moon, falling mostly. now the end of clocks and movement forward and backward. time told by reds and yellows and blues. the sky language. the waves memorizing you. the body is a sea and the sea is a body made from the sound of light sinking




looking for the way back to you through burned nights, through blind silence. you are more than the dream of you, more than the war for the moon and the conquest of the stars. the endless. the uncharted.




the language of silence sent across an invisible ocean. the enigma of god. a digital view of jerusalem. street lights melting like candles. green, red, and saffron flames. and you, darker now, your lips red like a flower in full bloom, and the silence between us looks like heaven. god or no god, this life is suddenly so beautiful




we forgot the words and erased the ones we remembered, and then we went as silent as gods - with no language to describe what had always been indescribable



it looked like a movie or dream somethjng unreal




all the light between us. drifting through phantom memories. looking for the all places that didn't want us, the people we were, the ones who let us go... all the long gone dreams between wars. like waves we have been waiting to crash.




the light we invented

light only we can see

time only we can tell

the real name of the world

is the same color as silence

it smells like the sun

and only we can pronounce it




night is someone looking for a home on the last day of summer




the dead spring




i forgot the name of the world

i only remember recipes for dinners i will never cook

and a few names of the dead

but they don’t remember me

the recipes or the dead




a world where no objects exist




the heart, the last place. the strange country road, the bluest cold, the clock - the only time we have. and like time the heart needs us but it doesn’t care about us.




another mirage. a world without objects. a dream or a nightmare? a window for decoration. outside are holograms of impossible beauty.




we are locked in our room. we have been in here for days, maybe years. time is a memory, talked about like an old world myth. another war is ending so another can begin. but we are safe in our room. freedom, like heaven, has always been inside.




we no longer own things. all we have is a strange form of love that most have forgotten, and the dreams we weave in and out of - they take us to the places where we still exist.




memories like sad letters drifting through the places you were and we were though i hardly remember myself then, and i sometimes can’t believe i was there at all. it doesn’t mayter - all that is worth believing is unbelievable anyway.  i was there, watching you in our room, in the kitchen, by the window. like a mirage you asked me how much more time we had. we were meeting friends at a bar down the street but out of context the question seemed like hard rain and lightning, and nothing was the same after that storm. how much time did we have? it’s hard to measure because so often with you time was standing still. so many moments lingering like small eternities, like empires on the brink of collapse.




nothing will go away but everything feels gone.




i’ve forgotten the days before us

everything else feels distant

and unapproachable

and sad

like everyone

like the world that doesn’t want us

that locked us up together




like a wave, we rise, bend, fall, to crash, and retreat. we sink back to into the sea. we search for a world that doesn’t know it’s a world. we search for the divine nothing but there is only time and silence and colors and noise to paint over the sounds that would otherwise tell us where to go. what would it be like if the water needed us, if the earth and the trees needed us. what’s it like not to feel, to

move so gracefully from here to heaven




you were as brief as a wave. a world rising, then crashing. a lost bird over burning cities. a song never heard. a song unwritten. a voice escaped, an insignificance disguised as history




darkness disguised as light. light drifting like a lost memory light forgetting the day, looking elsewhere.




nights without darkness. nights that don’t remember us. nights we don’t remember. dark that remembers us. dark that finds us. the light doesn’t save us. the light burns, blinds, erases.




the human. unknowable. unnamable.




perfection as imperfection. i only want to see the mistakes, the irreparable moments, maybe forgiveness from time to time. we travel back and forth from the sun, , from you to me, two lights, two darkness’s searching, lost then found, over and over.




blind colors seeing you.

the sun echoing through.

her light searching for a better paradise in heaven. the incomplete eternity. was living better than forever? bring me into right now, into the spirit of all things.




the blind man remembering the sound of home, sinking ships and lost geometry.




Am I a tree.

Am I a bird.

Am I a mouse.

Am I a rat.

Am I a shark.

Am I a thief.

Am I a murderer.

Am I a father.

Am I a mother.

Am I a son.

Am I a daughter.

Am I a priest.

Am I a poet.

Am I a doctor.

Am i a king.

Am I a queen.

Am I a ship.

Am I a sea.

Am I a school.

Am I a thought.

Am I dead.

Am I alive.

Am I love.

Am I hate.

Am I a burden.

Am I a friend.

Am I an enemy.

Am I a war.

Am I a drug.

Am I a lie.

Am I a truth.

Am I a destiny.

Am I a seed.

Am I soil.

Am I sunlight.

Am I wind.

Am I lost.

Am I found.

Am I nature.

Am I grace.

Am I blind.

Am I a map.

Am I a river.

Am I road.

Am I a sign.

Am I a sin.

Am I a church.

Am I a curse.

Am I bread.

Am I wine.

Am I a prayer.

Am I a bride.

Am I a groom.

Am I empty.

Am I here.

Am I a room.

Am I a floor.

Am I a bed.

Am I a field.

Am I water.

Am I land.

Am I eternity.

Am I Heaven.

Am I Hell.

Am I dirt.

Am I dust.

Am I ash.

Am I burned.

Am I grass.

Am I green.

Am I blue.

Am I finished.

Am I first.

Am I last.

Am I yours.

Am I his.

Am I her.

Am I him.

Am I you.

Am I me.

Am I a plane.

Am I a past.

Am I a future.

Am I drunk.

Am I a dream.

Am I a nightmare.

Am I near.

Am I far.

Am I a planet

Am I a plane.

Am I an alien.

Am I giant.

Am I a whale.

Am I a needle.

Am I thread

Am I a memory.

Am I forgotten.

Am I a person.

Am I a place.

Am I a costume.

Am I consumed.

Am I an addiction.

Am I coke.

Am I heroin.

Am I money.

Am I a street.

Am I a president.

Am I a senator.

Am I a bill.

Am I a debt.

Am I a collection.

Am I a vessel.

Am I venom.

Am I a vehicle.

Am I a version

Am I a professor.

Am I a prophet.

Am I a saint.

Am I a hat.

Am I a glove.

Am I chains.

Am I a cell.

Am I a prison.

Am I a prisoner.

Am I a cop.

Am I a pig.

Am I a weapon.

Am I a knife.

Am I dull.

Am I dark.

Am I light.

Am I a reason.

Am I a cause.

Am I cancer.

Am I a country.

Am I a border.

Am I a state.

Am I a line.

Am I a parachute.

Am I bond.

Am I bail.

Am I within.

Am I without.

Am I right.

Am I a capitol.

Am I corrosion.

Am I conformed.

Am I comfort.

Am I cut-off.

Am I coming.

Am I gone.

Am I fire.

Am I flame.

Am I a match.

Am I book.

Am I American.

Am I German.

Am I Irish.

Am I Norwegian.

Am I African.

Am I blood.

Am I flesh.

Am I bones.

Am I a practice.

Am I a petition.

Am I protection.

Am I a porcupine.

Am I a meal.

Am I a healer.

Am I a mortician.

Am I buried.

Am I returning.

Am I leaving.

Am I a relic.

Am I ruin.

Am I survivor.

Am I guard.

Am I captured.

Am I purpose.

Am I a proposition.

Am I midnight.

Am I a city.

Am I a town.

Am I forgiven.

Am I fate.

Am I fallen.

Am I falling.

Am I paralyzed.

Am I afraid.

Am I a fear.

Am I a habit.

Am I a name.

Am I a world.

Am I a star.

Am I a hole.

Am I a race.

Am I a prize.

Am I a record.

Am I a singer.

Am I a song.

Am I broken.

Am I a girl.

Am I a boy.

Am I a favorite.

Am I a rock.

Am I a plant.

Am I jail.

Am I a battle.

Am I a condition.

Am I her.

Am I him.

Am I all of them.

Am I mom.

Am I dad.

Am I a yard.

Am I a phone.

Am I a quarter.

Am I a nickel.

Am I lead.

Am I a bullet.

Am I brain.

Am I starving.

Am I a fossil.

Am I a site.

Am I a play.

Am I poem.

Am I salt.

Am I sun.

Am I a lamb.

Am I slaughtered.

Am I a fish.

Am I a boat.

Am I Paris.

Am I Berlin.

Am I Madagascar.

Am I Tunisia.

Am Vietnam

Am I Cambodia.

Am I Communism.

Am I Democracy.

Am I a patient.

Am I wall.

Am I keepsake.

Am I fork.

Am I a spoon.

Am I an athlete.

Am I old.

Am I young.

Am I a knee.

Am I an arm.

Am I perfect.

Am I rotten.

Am I leg.

Am a runner.

Am I a kite.

Am I concrete.

Am I pavement.

Am I tar.

Am I torture.

Am I a musician.

Am I an actor.

Am I an engineer.

Am I a lawyer.

Am I paper.

Am I a word.

Am I a feather.

Am I frozen.

Am I freezing.

Am I fur.

Am I a riot.

Am I a storm.

Am I Spring.

Am I Summer.

Am I snow.

Am I Winter.

Am I Fall.

Am I a leaf .

Am I a rose.

Am I a thorn.

Am I a garden.

Am I a fist.

Am I a heart.

Am I a tear.

Am I rain.

Am I a window.

Am I a soul

Am I a sacrement.

Am I wedding.

Am I break-up.

Am I a cross.

Am I a crucifix.

Am I necklace.

Am I bracelet.

Am I a face.

Am I a phony.

Am I a building.

Am I burning.

Am I Russia.

Am I Cuba.

Am I spaceship.

Am I rocket.

Am I a missile.

Am I grenade.

Am I a hand.

Am I a muscle.

Am I a derelict.

Am I deceit.

Am I forever.

Am I today.

Am I tomorrow.

Am I a month.

Am I a year.

Am I October.

Am I January.

Am I June.

Am I a moon.

Am I a martian.

Am I a goblin.

Am I wicked.

Am I rich.

Am I poor.

Am I a man.

Am I a chief.

Am I a carrier.

Am I a dove.

Am I a woman.

Am I a beach.

Am I a blessing.

Am I a baptism.

Am I a birth.

Am I a witch.

Am I a servant.

Am I a slave.

Am I an agent.

Am I a savior.

Am I a rite.

Am I a wall.

Am I a tower.

Am I steeple.

Am I statue.

Am I a monument.

Am I a moment.

Am I a radio.

Am I a pilot.

Am I a nurse.

Am I alchol.

Am I rum.

Am I whiskey.

Am I spent.

Am I a hero.

Am I together.

Am I sewn.

Am I a train.

Am I a teacher.

Am I a student.

Am I a hall.

Am I a film.

Am I a crowd.

Am I one.

Am I a figurene.

Am I an eye.

Am I an ear.

Am I a car.

Am I a lesson.

Am I lecture.

Am I a bastard.

Am I a vile.

Am I a cage.

Am I an event.

Am I yesterday.

Am I a period.

Am I a question.

Am I an answer.

Am I science.

Am I music.

Am I a museum.

Am I a class.

Am I culture.

Am I a swimmer.

Am I a dancer.

Am I a vampire.

Am I a vulture.

Am I a story.

Am I Ohio.

Am I Virginia.

Am I Texas.

Am I Mexico.

Am I an island.

Am I a joke.

Am I uncertain.

Am I wrong.

Am I wrath.

Am I make-up.

Am I a disguise.

Am I a preacher.

Am I a Catholic.

Am I a Christian.

Am I converted.

Am I a Jew.

Am I sorrow.

Am I saved.

Am I a  wing.

Am I a foot.

Am I a wave.

Am I sand.

Am I wheat.

Am I flour.

Am I heat.

Am I cold.

Am I a convent.

Am I a congregation.

Am I a superstition.

Am I an archive.

Am I a vault.

Am I a bank.

Am I an office.

Am I a term.

Am I a text.

Am I written.

Am I this.

Am I that.

Am I there.

Am I it.

Am I god.

Am I a sacrament.

Am I color.

Am I grey.

Am I blue.

Am I red.

Am I yellow.

Am I green.

Am I anything.

Am I everything.

Am I alone.

Am I frozen.

Am I freezing.

Am I ice.

Am I leaves.

Am I independence.

Am I freedom.

Am I forgiven.

Am I free.




i’m not quite sure what to do with my days

what to feel about yesterday and you and her and everything

so i stay in bed some days and some days i get out of bed and walk across the street

and some nights i go to the bar

and some nights i drink too much and then do drugs

and then things start to make sense

then in the morning things don’t make any sense

and i regret everything and i’m not quite sure what to do

so i stay in bed and some days i get out of bed




a sun-colored clock counted the days until the apocalypse.

the window washer of my soul said it’s too filthy in there so he quit

i wasn’t paying him enough anyway

and god quit too

he said he prefers the world as it is now...





the last eternity

the gods have forgotten they are gods

the dream that cannot escape the body

every soul falling like rain

a place to perfect

to redefine paradise

and rename heaven




the autumns of spring
when the roads go missing
and the clocks go mute

i hear you whisper
but i cannot understand
if the light reaches beyond infinity
or if infinity ends

in a garden
a day between two wars
the year without
a life after

in the depths of silence
drowning is a form of swimming
where we search for angels without wings
the birds who live in the sea

here there is the possibility of life

and love

always in the end
the love and life that were and were not




the divine nothing
mountains move slow as eternity
circling the borders of an age before language
drifting silence filling a heart as full as a universe
visions of lost time
wandering light
there and not there
a shadow memory of past lives
uncertain fragments
the beauty of nowhere and nothing
so close to real absence
and wind
lost in the mirage of a void
no ghosts of anything here
no death
only disappearance



Blinding the clocks. Painting over our mistakes with future failures. Pretending we can hide from time. We see her ghost moving through these fields, creating light in the darkness. A voice of silence tells us we were here before, as drifters and dreams. We are crying like a new day. We grow Heaven in scorched earth. We harvest memories of lost years. We move through blind color. The sound of the sun echoes through all things. Your last breath is your first.




One hundred years of dawn. A twilight storm of unnamable colors. A flood of yesterday's light. We are back where we began, looking into the horizon like a mirror. After all these years. Fading into right now. We came back to to disappear, to remember what it was like to lose the light of our youth. All thoughts of Paradise forgotten. Only this moment will last... until it doesn't. Then we will reach out for the next, and we will hold onto it with all the life we have left.




You said, Paradise is a country inside, and eternity is not infinite. Who would want to live forever? Perfection is not perfect after all. We watched another night float off with the soul of everything. Another moment gone, then another, and another. Spirits echoing from the wrong side of Heaven. Another haunted summer. A place where time and color move together, a place where they go their separate ways, a place where they disappear, and we disappear. I hope I'm alive when I die.




how did i find myself in texas? a million miles from brooklyn and light years from you. there's a river here carved by time and every night in my dreams it flows from me to you.




if you are out there i hope that dream came true. i hope you found the road home. i hope life was everything you thought it would be. i hope it wasn't like it was but how it was supposed to be. if you're out there i hope this prayer finds you. if you can hear me know that i always thought of you. all of it was just dust between. you were always on my mind




there's a road out west that leads to her, that leads to all the places we'd dreamt of. wherever you are i hope you have a good life, and i hope you grow as old as the world. know that i always thought of you.




are our angels with us? are we writing to erase? is it better to forgive, forget, or to have never lived at all?




there was our room after the war where you dreamt of places we'd never seen, where we could be free. it's over now and the darker days are behind us, and we can whatever we want all the time.




this won't stop, all of them dead or dying. maybe nothing will ever make it home again. i wish i could give my hand to god. how will anyone live with this, with what we've done to ourselves and everything? how will any of us do anything but forget all of this, forget what we've done forever.




the world was soaked in heavens tears and there was no one to guide them, no roads to follow, just the sound of the wind and the rain. back home they’d won and lost so much, but once they’d escaped and they were rolling nowhere and they were really gone then there was nothing to win or lose. only the wounded make it that far, the goners, the light-keepers, the ones who carry fire and let their hearts break every night - those are the ones who make it to other side, to the wilder shores. and out there on the edge everything screams their name, out in the wild where all things live forever.




Some nights move like the ocean, pulling everything in deeper, and all the drugs and all the drinking never saved anyone. But the ones who make it till morning - the ones washed up on shore with the whole world in front of them and the ocean behind - they are the ones who finally see the light.

where did they go? where did the world go? am i my father's son? was my father god? we were always the same him and i, and before i left home and before i forgot all of them he told me, "love everything and hold on to nothing."


we ran that road till we were ghosts of ourselves, memories and memorials for nothing. that's what a country does to a you, that's a world does to you - it dries you up, it ends you. it ended us. all our buildings are ruins, all our memories are in museums that don't exist, and so are we.


those weren't the good days or the old days or the best nights - they were just days and nights. they were just the hours that held us while we were rolling nowhere.


heartbreak & avalanche


We were the ones you could never trust. But we still had angels on our side. And we’re gonna burn every bridge we cross until we’re finally trapped on our island.



empty eden




20 days on wilder shores

too many nights of not being together

no country

the dreams of the dead


on the other side of the world there was nothing but what used to be. everything burned or disappearing. every scar on the face of the earth told the same story and we'd heard it a thousand times before, but it still begged us to listen. and you begged me to hold your hand as wandered through the wasteland.


by sunrise his heart had broken. on the other side of the world the sun was setting on a girl he would never meet. she watched it with a broken heart and thought of running away. on a mountain faraway from both of them - a mountain neither of them would ever climb - there was an avalanche.


no my days are all nights. i lie alone with the shadow of my old life and thoughts of her.


views from heaven of the earth's broken heart.


you told me your name was nobody and i was nowhere and we were gone. have those cities forgotten us? we knew every street by the mistakes we made on them. do those streets remember us? will this world remember us? will we remember the world.


no light


they planted trees of ash that reached up to heaven. but heaven was empty. even god had grown lonesome and tired of the place, and tires of us and tired of forgiving.


You had a dream of what the other side of the world looked like, of what Heaven and Hell sounded like and smelled like and we laughed about which one of us would end up where. We flew over an ocean looking for something we’d never seen before. You looked out at the sun and said, “Heaven never looked like this.”




We never went home again. We stayed away till everything we knew faded and fell with the light, and so did our lives, all the days of being young and wild and old - they disappeared as quick as the dusk.




the last night i knew you i dreamt we could see the grace shining from all things.




paradise is a dead man's town




patterns of survival




blood water sunlight




can plants grow in people




this is where the light gets in, where the image becomes a picture, where i become you, and our dreams become nightmares. this where life grows. this is eden. this hell. is there a heaven in hell? is there hell where heaven used to be? will life ever feel like it did? will it ever look as beautiful? will the past always seem better than it was? were we ever young? were we ever teenagers? i hope you live the life you want. i hope you find paradise, and i hope it's more than a dead man's town. i hope you do all the good and bad things you've dreamt of. and when you have to run i hope you run, just don't runaway. don't disappear. don't hide from the world. go looking for the light, for the dreams you lost, for the girl you lost, for the boy who broke your heart. tell him thank you. pick up every missing page of your life. find some quiet, then make some noise. make a life. make it as good as it can be. live up the hill. run till your heart explodes.




you can see heaven from your window.




i always loved you and you should remember that. it seems now that my entire life has been lived in the last three months. i don't know when this war will end. you will no doubt find the money i left you. use it as you wish or on your future family. you will no doubt find a good man to take care of you if i don't return. you have my blessing to find such a man and to give him children. please carry on and be happy. all my love. till we meet again in heaven.




no where

no home




sun tunnels

tunnels of moonlight




i'll remember this forever




see what the world does to you




if they could understand this much death




i don't remember where the light went, where the days and nights went, everything between here and eternity is faded cadillac black, bruised and broken on the side of another dirty highway. all those high lonesome songs won't save you now. so long, days. so long, night. good morning, eternity.




what happened in the years between them and us. have we wasted our youth? did they waste theirs? did they have choice? do we have a choice? nothing will ever be the same, and nothing will ever change. nothing will ever be the same, and nothing will ever change.




i remember night. i don't remember nights.




Back then we were always chasing the wind. There was something out there on the road that reminded us of everything we were and everything we could never be. And In the mid-day light all those broken towns, invisible from the highway, seemed to be dying so slow, sitting like orphans in the September heat - their histories all buried and forgotten. And there was nothing we could do for them, for all those lonesome places, but pass on by.




a lifetime of december's




the world from heaven soaked in the tears of the dead.




the world once looked organized from faraway

if they can see us now from heaven they must be crying



keep forgetting to forget you




when i die i don't want to go to heaven cause if god made this world how could heaven be any good.




all those things we've forgotten.




i've marked off all the old days and nights looking for the ones where we knew each other, the days in-between all the wars between all those countries, and all the wars between us. i loved you as much as i could.




If we wrote everything we knew the page would be empty but still soaked in blood and tears. all we've ever known are mistakes and a few flashes of light between wars. all we've known are days and nights full of trouble.




peace war




violent sundays

the first day of never

we sleep on a cold wind

as if you never went out

believe in something




to be a ghost you have to die. to die you have to be alive, but you were never born, and sometimes it feels like i might have dreamt you, and i still haven't woken up from that blue dream. if living is being something then you were something to me. can you remember without a memory? can you see without eyes and feel without a heart. you still beat inside me, you run like blood through me. our world was on west street, and in the yard i whispered the names i might call you to the Indian summer rain. now where am i if i'm not anywhere? the only place i would go tonight is you.




the end of another false season.

the beginning of another storm.

where were the rooms we abandoned?

the rooms we moved through?

the rooms with mirrored walls?

the rooms with glass walls?

do we know this place?

do we know who we were?

what we were?

do we remember our time spent together?




when you were born the whole world was foreign. the only familiar home was inside your mother, and now that home was gone. your first loss.




you wandered the after-dark streets, running every mile by night. nothing reminds you of home because home never existed.




the anchor.


the hope.


the light burned out.




you find a place. you sit. you look in her eyes but you only see your own reflection. so you wander again. you're looking for the outside world. but it all reflects you. it's all a part of you. but the city isn't home.



drunken dreams


the body is temporary


death is home.


you dream of flying.


you dream of a city at night.


you dream of flowing through it's streets, flying over it's lights.




the end of that time

vanishing braids of black smoke

a mountain never seen.




Do I move to remember?

Do I move to forget? Do I move to condemn?

Do I move to confess?

Do I move to reveal?

Do I move to redeem?

Do I move to forgive?

Do I move to sin?

Do I move to succumb?

Do I move to silence?

Do I move to speak?

Do I move to separate?

Do I move to see?

Do I move to hear?

Do I move to feel?

Do I move to frighten?

Do I move to kill?

Do I move to free?

Do the waves retreat?

Does the wind find me?

Do I move to blue?

Do I move to red?

Do I move to light?

Do I move to shadow?

Do I move to collect?

Do I move to harbor?

Do I move to heal?

Do I move to hide?

Do I move to find?

Do I move to cry?

Do I move away?

Do I move to you?

Do I move to surrender?

Do I move to the end?

Do I move to rise?

Do I move to retreat?

Do I move to relive?

Do I move to ruin?

Do I move to regret?

Do I move inside?

Do I move to tell?

Do I move to show?

Do I move without?

Do I move within?

Do I move to rain?

Do I move to fall?

Do I move to escape?

Do I move to return?

Do I move to behave?

Do I move to rebel?

Do I move to cross?

Do I move to stay?

Do I move to eternity?

Do I move to irritate?

Do I move to hope?

Do I move to fire?

Do I move to stillness?

Do I move to survive?

Do I move to love?

Do I move to hate?

Do I move closer?



you never sleep

the street was home.


now the dead lights

the wild lights

everything calling

but nothing calling your name

so you carry on




Nights under the butcher moon. Days torn apart by sunstorms. Crossing the valley of him, the riv- ers of her. We’re swimming oceans of re.

I’m looking for the world...

Dreaming of a world far off - an endless coast guarding this golden age of regret. I think of Jake and Audrey - the wild and the innocent. The nights with and without them. We spoke languages unwritten - blurred whispers, vague as night noise. For a time there were no rules to break because there were no laws to govern.

We were deserts.
We were volcanic. We were always animals. We were always nature.

The earth quaked. The ground spoke to us. The trees and the wind sung their life. Once we thought we heard God, but you said it was the Devil.

Here’s where the first animal dreamt of you and I. Here’s the first dream of life.

Now the world is disappearing down that road with the dust of all our wasted years. And was life ever more than war and the brief moments between wars?

With everything coming and going you told me we could live forever.

Where are you now? Who are you? Who were you? Where have you been? And what have you become? What will you be? Is there a future in Eternity?

Think of the ones who miss you. The whole world misses you. And I remember all our mistakes. If I could go back I would make more.

There’s always a tomorrow sitting lonesome out there on the horizon, but it doesn’t need you today. Don’t mourn for yesterday. Love everything. You were born into this. This is Heaven and this is Hell. We made them together. You are here. This is Eternity.

And you are free...



We were lost in bright fields. Silent light glinted off the early weeds. Glacial diamonds streamed from howling water falls, crystallizing the air. Water older than time, water that gave birth to the land. We were lifting up our worn out hearts, drifting across lonesome miles, forgetting all the lost hours. Almost free.



I was a drifter. I crossed glaciers, slept in wild gardens planted by time. The roads weren’t paths, they were scars on the face of the earth - directionless and stunning, aged and gorgeous, like you, after all the troubled years. We survived that long night of youth, and we prayed for no more darkness and no more days, no more time, just long dreams of running away. We were from nothing, going nowhere, stranded on a black rock island. The whole world was foreign, and we were forgiven, shining forever. We were strangers everywhere. Everything was new and beautiful, and we could see it all as it was, without longing for elsewhere. Nothing familiar, nothing ordinary, nothing broken, rusted, or fading. The days were bright and mute, over owing, like cups full of rising light. And home was the foreign moon, impossibly far. Home was the country inside you, the grass that would one day grow from you. Home was everywhere, nowhere, an incomplete picture, a poem, half-erased, woven into the palms of our hands.



Tossed from the re. Black and blue as we rose from the dirt and took off into the abyss. Exiles from the country we built inside. No home, no place, just the sound of the waves moving between the island of him and the island of me. We were Nowhere, and it was the only place we felt safe.


Where is your world, your kingdom? Take me to the paradise of you. Take me into your love. Show me your river, your ocean, your Eternity.


I dreamt of the days and nights with and without you. I dreamt of all the roads that brought us here and there, and the wind that held us. Where did you go, and where did I go? I dreamt of a world where nothing ever dies, where everything stays safe, forever.


I saw the secret history of the world written across the stones, scattered across the earth. Their blood and dreams spilled out, crystallized, fossilized, and forgotten. Where will my blood go? Where will my memory be?

Memory, don’t leave me. Memory, don’t forget me.


I promised you that by the time that summer had ended, and you were gone, that I would forget you, and never cry again. I’d erase the old days, the ones that used to oat by like some drifter fading off down the highway with no cares, no thoughts of time. The days went on so long when we were young. Windburned scars on our cheeks and gold- en bruises across our eyes. I remember when to- morrow wasn’t just a secondhand yesterday, and I still remember you, and I know I promised, but even after they put you in the ground, I couldn’t forget any of it.


I remember the dark rooms where my mother wept. I was scared to touch her in those sick days. And we were sure she was going. Her skin shined like glass, pale as ice. She was so sick, and we were so sick of goodbyes. Then she got better. She survived, and we were sure she’d stay, but she needed a cure for her unhappiness. So she left us, without a word. Off to a new life, another man, another child. My father said she was never sick with any disease, just sick of him. And now all I can do is remember how scared I was to touch her.

Where are you now?


I used to bleed wild honey and cut my cheeks on the razor edges of shattered clouds. I won wars in my sleep. I climbed the Devil Tree and touched Heaven. Then the purity of my love bled out, black and blue moonglow, shipwrecked in rainwater backstreet pools, the violent years of dead ends and disgust. Night riots of smoke and pills that gave me hallucinations of a life that was never mine, dark as blackberry wine that got us drunk, and cheap as the years that we gave away, the days we wasted. No sun for months, just midnight miles. Permanent eclipse. Love, where did I go? Trust, where did you go? What happened to the young parts of the day and all our faraway dreams? I would’ve scratched out the lines on our palms until we had no future, nowhere to go. Then maybe we could have es- caped age, escaped death.


I remember you and I and our last day together in your bedroom a million years ago. Now there’s just a memory of what we were. But we were safe then. I held your hand and with the other I dug our grave. I said I love you, and you told me I was always too late.


You and I were born to lose, but how can I ever forget you? You planted your world inside me, and now wild flowers grow where my heart used to beat. I remember the dreams you sang in your sleep. I recite them to this never-ending night. I dream them for you now that you are gone.

The world might forget you, but I won’t. I can’t. Sometime, somewhere I still believe I might nd you.


Here is another broken prayer sent off to Nowhere. Sometimes I can see you in the light surrounding the moon. I want to believe in Heaven so I might see you again. Why was I left here without you? Can you hear me from the spirit level? Are we alone? We had three days together. Three days to eclipse my entire life. Where are those days now? How long is your hair now, Audrey? I’ve dreamt it was hanging like a vine from Eternity, and I climbed it till I was higher than the sun, and I kissed you on your throne. Why am I alive? Why did Jake and I come to that strange island? To bury our youth? To hang on to the last days of it? To pretend we wouldn’t die? To pretend Jake could live forever? To pretend the world could live forever? Where are you now, Audrey? Where’s the ground that we skinned our knees on? Where are the elds we slept in, and the planets we dreamt under? Where’s the earth that we knew best? Where’s the road that brought me to you and the one that took you away?


I was yours.
I crossed the world of you. I lived in your climate.


The world we had dreamt of would not begin, and the world we were given would not end. Our skin was yellow from the cold. We were young, but our hair was gray. The world was gray, but we wouldn’t have it any other way. That was the world. This is the world...and you told me the world will not end.


America was gone. New York was gone. All the old memories and mirages blown to dust. Was there ever an old world? Was there a young world? Was there a home for anyone? And was there ever a country, ever a man, not made of guilt and secrets?

A thousand monsoons couldn’t wash off what we had done to one another, time and again.


We should’ve buried ourselves in those weeping fields, died watching the cold sea fading out into forever. Always wanting and waiting, looking for signs like a priest, but we had no purity, and nothing to sacriifce because we had nothing to offer. How had we come so far from the waste of New York, come to get tangled in unfamiliar wind, in that crystal world? Herds of blue clouds faded to red, rain turned to snow that turned to visions of paradise. We followed dazed light, chased the shadows across the road and across ourselves. We searched for languages destroyed by time, dug for fossils, but it was all just broken creation. And the whole time I missed my mother just like I’d miss you, and the whole world we invented. Who hasn’t felt that loss? Who’s heart never broke?


I saw your light...shining at the end of world. Time, don’t leave us. Time, don’t forget us. Sunlight, cover us. Sunlight, watch us. Sunlight, destroy us...If we could shine like you, now and for all time.


I remember you and I in the wild unknown. We’d escaped everything, forgot the worst of it. We drowned the weight of the world. We weren’t sorry. We didn’t want forgiveness. We slept on a beach for days with nothing but each other, and we took comfort knowing all the wildlife surrounding us could take us at any moment. The ocean didn’t care, the wind didn’t care, and time never cared who we were, only who we were going to be. And you were supposed to be greater than your father could have dreamed, and more beautiful than your mother could have imagined. Maybe your wandering days were over or maybe death was your beginning.


There were things you carried, things you collected, things you left behind, and things you lost and buried. You gave your life to the wind. We put you in the earth, but I still carry you inside me, like a flame. Will all those broken pieces remember us? Will the ground remember you? Will the world miss you like I do?


What is courage? Had I ever held anything higher than fear? I was scared to death of losing Jake like I lost Audrey and my mother, like I was losing New York, and the familiar world. The future would be a self-imposed exile. But from what home? Where would I run? There was no place, just this world, and the world was nothing and nowhere. So I’d live out my time in the wind, owing, rootless, falling through it. Why couldn’t you take me where you were going? Do you re- member me? Do angels remember this world? And do you still exist if you are only a memory? Can I follow you into the dirt and into the re? If I was brave the world would’ve taken me too, but Eternity is no place for cowards.


We couldn’t remember whether we came to live or die. We forgot what was behind us, and we couldn’t imagine what was ahead. Maybe we found paradise. Maybe we finally saw the world, and she didn’t need us, but we needed her. And she was as young and beautiful as you once were, as reckless and free as we always wished we could be.


We lost the light only so we could go chasing it again.


All I ever wanted was to drift through every lonesome landscape with you. No direction, no ambition, no- where to call home. I wanted to sink into those twilight kingdoms, feel the Devil’s desperation, and see those last moonrise hours. I wanted to drift with you through the midnight blue, through the weeping valleys, and up and down the speaking hills. We’d drink the Earth’s memory from those ancient springs and touch death in the blazing dust. We’d disappear down haunted highways, cutting through ghost towns where the dreams of what we could’ve been once lived. And you would sing your broken blues. All I ever wanted was to follow sundown roads to a place we’d pretend was Heaven, and we’d sleep in the rooms where only your light could get in. We’d run through the floods and res, but they wouldn’t destroy us, they would create us anew. I wanted to drift through this world and into the next where all of us might be together again.


black and blue memories on suicide hill. You were too old to die young. Now the rain from heartbroken clouds have flooded the dead meadows of our youth.


maybe it’s cause we were always down on our luck, looking off in every direction, waiting for the world to nd us. But maybe we were never lost. We spent so much time looking for the very place we were standing. But that’s what you do at the bottom, and no one can say we hadn’t sunk that low. Down there is where you nd out what you are really made of. What measures a man isn’t anything but what he does when he has nothing and everything to lose.


My days were all nights, and I lied alone with the shadows of my old life, and thoughts of him...and thoughts of her.

We were wild as the dreams we chased. We let the sunlight split us in two. We saw heartbroken hills, lonesome as you and I, and now those memories are unravelling. They escape me, and have you escaped me too? These are the fragments of the gone days. These are the things inside us, the places inside us where everything someday goes.


I had to see the Devil before I could believe in God. I had to survive the night to see this day. And it’s been so long, and I miss you. I can’t say it enough. Life was always a long goodbye. I’ve written you letters on the wind. I hope you are in a new life, a new world, and I hope they love you. You could show even God the light. You showed me everything, the whole world. I’m still down here, and I’m singing your life to anyone listening.


One night I dreamt you were alive and well, and you told me there’s no world, only the wild streams of love we’ve buried inside ourselves.


there were young days and ancient nights, moments without time, without light and shadow. Now they’re washed out,fl ickering in the dust. I remember that faded dream of life, and all the time spent and gone. I held those hours as I held you, and you begged me to never let you go.


Millions of years of miracles and survivals had to happen for you and I to exist. And now I can only remember, and I remember those days on the road - the long and short of it. We had scars from running through Heaven’s debris, through rain and fog, and through snow crystals sharp as diamond blades. I remember that bitter taste of black sand, and the crowberry wind that burnt our tongues and left us mute. It all went the way it did, and we never had control over any of it. I wash my hands now, and I think of Audrey and Jake. I remember the poem Audrey wrote on my hand, on my birthday, a million years ago. I recite it now like a prayer:

We are young and we live in a young world and the world will not end
and neither will we

I could see and hear the Earth so clearly then. The mountains howled like drunken opera singers. Every tree, every cave, every ocean spoke to us. We were too young to know any different. It was our life, the best life, the impossible dream of wild and innocent free- dom. Winters in bed, long gone dreams, summers spent climbing ash trees to the moon. We tied our blood in knots. And when we were together, when I was lying in the grass with Audrey, when I was out there in the wild with Jake, I got a feeling that brought me closer to everything, because she was God, and he was God, and they were my home. So I’ll send my broken prayers to them now. I’ll remember it all forever. And when you put me in the dirt please don’t bury me without those memories, without that rst kiss and that last breath, and don’t let me leave this world without that feeling, because that feeling was God.


I would like to speak another language

Without voices or words

One that tells the real names of God and all the other lost spirits

Spinning around in divine blindness

Showing u everything

We carved from nothing


all dreams forgotten

everything real forgiven

blind hours

after years without

drunken birds

the lost

spiraling down

moving at night

a street with no memories

souls with and without light

but still souls

no matter what

a hope unending


last light

for a hope unending

there is a chance for everything

time passing

berlin after the rain

the shadow of a memory

time is not everywhere

is it better to forget


or to have never lived at all


i remember the sound of waves

and night streets in Lisbon

one april w a n d e r i n g

most of life is lived beyond the clouds


are we writing to erase


I thought I heard the sun

This is already a memory

We were there

We walked on a beach

I saw something

Like a light


your reflection soul blue in a mirror

forgotten days

light on water


the name of everything

last day in heaven


a few days in lisbon dreaming of los angeles the old nights ancient fires burning out the longest goodbye the world before and after spirits and other divine nothings longer than heaven


lighting fires underwater

casting shadows of yesterday’s mistakes

the world will never know you

insignificant dramas brief as waves




had I said I love you I would’ve meant it

but instead I forgot you

and you still forgave me

only the ocean knows when to invade and when to retreat


She, our new Venus, lost, drained of love, awakes in the void, screaming like a world at its beginning, and her screams cycle into songs. She sings her pain, fragments of notes fly out like broken shards of glass, that are actually starts, that are actually melodies slipping into a blackhole where time spins backwards.

She is no longer the goddess of love but the goddess of fear.

She is falling like Icarus into a deep Rothko blue - the infinite blue that only myth and fiction can create, because fiction is real, and fact is false. The impossible blue. She is twisting and turning, a violent improvisation, wild like fire, slow and brief like smoke.

She is survivor but she doesn’t know that yet. She has survived a violent attack by predators disguised as drunks. They feasted on her flesh and stole innocence gifted her at birth. She feels her skin, but it doesn’t feel like skin, more like fire.

She’s falling, but not fallen. She twists, and curls and tangles her limbs into fishing knots as she reaches for the sea, for the spots of light disappearing quick as days across the rippling tide.

She emerges gasping for air in the grey blue unknown. The night. The sea. The tide cloaking and uncloaking the shore.

Is this the kingdom of hell? she asks herself, but she knows now and she is no longer afraid she died but afraid she has lived.

She crawls through the sand, spitting up salt water and an eternity of bad dreams.  She remembers how to count to infinity. She remembers the smell of gasoline on her fathers mouth as he soaked scraps of wonder bread in gin and fed them to the seabirds like they were parasites. She remembers the stale smoke staining the walls of her mother’s bedroom at dawn.

When I die then I will live.
When I die then I will see what this was for.
Are these answers or questions?

She bites her lips till they bleed. She throws her clothes into the ocean. She holds her violated flesh. She waits. She wants to leave, but she doesn’t want to leave. She doesn’t want to carry this into the future. She will forget. She will forget. I will forget


trying to remember

trying to forget

trying forgive

trying to forgive

trying to forget

trying to remember

trying to see

What did it feel like?

Was there life after Eden or was it just a bad dream, all a reflection in Adams mirrored skin? Was there Eden? Was I ever Venus? Was I innocent? Was I beautiful? Or was I just young and dumb?