Local Native.

"Oh, some evil spirit, oh, some evil this way comes
They told me how they fear it —"
I'm pouring water into a travel container
I see the frantic lights
Can't stop him pointing to his eyes
The bottle slips and I've spilled

Another day in the life of a novelist,
Another symbolic stomachache to write down;

Convergence.

Artists.
Building self-portraits from trash
Typing without looking at the keys
Staring past my eyes

Don't you forget this, love.
He's never held your hand tighter
The blood's stopped flowing
And even if the line is dead
Keep on writing your letters
He presses them to his heart
And he waits —

He waits —

There will be those flickers of the eyes
You'll never know how much he's holding back
A love you've never touched
A flood
He thinks of you and
Those smiles and sighs

There will be those rendezvouses
Meet his ghost this time tomorrow

There will be those messages in code
Your breath in the cold
Those birds flying north

Hold onto hope, lovely soul —

And in the night we'll wish this never ends
(I miss you, I miss you)

Tessellate.

this life of mine is a violent art
raw and
shivering
i've listened to too much music today
it's on my hands
i wonder who reads this
professors say things
i don't care about
the people around me are
the real doctors
rain does things
i think
i sit before a man in a suit and tie
he knows too much
you can see it in his startled eyes
i see faces that aren't here
a different kind of art
adding pictures to sounds
i'm denying the advance
of winter
are you still real?
because you're here but am i there
and as for you
please stop reading this.
i guess i understand now
if you love
me
let me go