Varsa-svasa

you have thirty-seven scratches from the rocks bruises on your toes where you almost broke them lungs that know the taste of air & hold onto it longer each time you dive for rocks you float in water that is familiar

Ever notice what poets write? About dust and stellar matter The color of a lover's eyes or a unique adjective with skin About the trees and their army of leaves Birds, tinkling breezes, and soft, lullaby waves Then, BAM! Salt water in your eyes A burning depression A muse that sinks into poets' souls The darker words are more abundant Eyes closed, they walk down that road with images of the dead from times gone by dancing in their eyes Elliott and Poe walk side by side, laughing at the stumbling amateurs in the moonlight For a lack of originality, poets spew phrases Overused and bone-dry The sentence meant to be a strip of color in a mono

This strange way of dying, air beating through kite runner veins- Running from lions never felt like such a mistake.

We're meeting dead dreams those shed like unwanted skin who weren't meant to be

001. morals Liar, liar, you broke 10,000 promises and blamed the carnage on someone else. 002. parade 003. prayers 004. clear skies 005. happy birthday 006. apples She fell off the tree in august, and sat there, her sunburned cheeks covered in bruises. 007. letters 008. full moon 009. first breath after coma Loneliness sits at the edges of chemical-laced air. 010. sunflowers I measured myself by the height of the sun, counting the clouds as inches. 011. inchworms 012. yonder I asked you to explain the wind to me, but you can't seem to describe something you can't see. 013. introduction The pavement greeted hello, as did the fender, and the pa