A kiss on the cheek,

You didn't feel.

A second kiss trying harder,

You didn't feel.

What is this beauty that I'm spiraling into?

And is it beauty at all?

Letting the sun and ferns take us higher and higher,

Gliding on warm updrafts,

Promised to lovers.

When we land,

I know we'll land in the grass.

I know we'll miss the trees.

I don't want it to stop,

This deep sun,

The potential of an open universe,

And the chieftains of Gamla Uppsala,

Telling me that I can do anything.

Where they were buried,

I'll return.

An open palm reaching upward to the light.

BPM: 130

4/4

Christ

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Look at this letter:

DEAR ALEX

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Look at this letter:

DEAR NATE

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Look at this letter:

DEAR LUKE

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Look at this letter:

DEAR COLE

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Look at this letter:

DEAR XINYUAN

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Look at this letter:

DEAR AMY

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Look at this letter:

DEAR CYNTHIA

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Look at this letter:

DEAR FATHER

DEAR FATHER

DEAR FATHER

DEAR FATHER

Kyoto balcony half-day-half-night.

Sleep into the future

and let it wash over me.

Doze doze doze.

When something washes over me,

where does it wash over?

Usually the goal is to achieve elevation,

Up is better than down.

I climbed up the train station

and climbed down through the department store.

She sat across the room,

and each black strand I imagined I would pull

as she taught me to write.

At day's end I sit on balcony if I can.

What does an apple look like?

Does it inhale with romance,

Exhale with death?

When I use it,

An apple stops being round.

When I use it,

An apple doesn't make much sound.

What do you look like?

Like the apple in my hand.

Do you inhale with romance,

and exhale with death?

When I use you,

You don't make a sound.

When you use me,

You scream and I can't respond,

almost calling the wrong name.

I've spent my time building

a construction of great finesse,

but illusory and translucent

not even weak just untouchable

Imagine real stones

climbing a tower,

that you build

and it means to be alive

An undiscovered mind

asleep right now,

breath warming her pillow

and her laughter in the morning over breakfast

I will find her

in a small room,

a clock lies on the table

and our life begins.

I cast aside the useless habits of my orange past,

It’s glow fading like the afternoon:

An improbable shard that I hold in my hand,

Grains fused together inside the sun,

Periphery blackened,

the clock hanging frozen and limp from the wall.

Holding a rag over my mouth,

Stepping inside this hollow chamber,

Arranged carefully,

Fragments of blood on a pedestal.

And I grasp my head,

knowing this legacy will always persevere,

TRINITY GLASS.