Tree Songs

Branches before a sunrise in winter are old things taken for granted. Sometimes it takes a breaking to turn a head, and even then, and even then. Honey you know the trees don't have no song to sing, and even if, who the fuck would listen to an old man cry. Branches before sunrise are things unseen. Like the rising tide or a slowing heartbeat. Like a wrinkle on the skyline. If you sang to the trees they wouldn't understand the words. It would be like singing to no one. Maybe that's what songs are for, you'll say. And goddamn if you aren't right about one thing. Maybe.

The future must die

Honey he says, I would be with you like we were everything that could burn, a world glowing red on our cheeks, he says I would be with you and I would see nothing beyond our brightness, but chasing fire are ashes and breathlessness, like your eyes reflecting the moment I am capable of hurting you permanently, the moment we look past each other, the moment you can't remember how quickly a world may melt, the moment a wisp of cool smoke takes what we were and leaves the dark in its place so suddenly that we're unsure what we'd been, the moment our touch is not familiar but foreign again, the way heat is foreign to coolness, the way fire is foreign to nothing, time foreign to love.

A Sense of Urgency

We're going to die why and why oh why are we going to die I need us not to die, I and I oh I need us. Can we stay beneath the blanket away from all of everything and god damn everyone to obliterated shards because I just want to break it all and it would be such a beautiful thing to cut our feet on or could we stay, could we just stay would it be okay to stop just for now just tonight just us just what we expected when I said I love you like the words would never rise like a wreck a skeleton in seaweed ribbons and we look so pretty wrapped around each other in a motion of sinking.