Tracks.

Blue midnight train ride, just for the sake of the line. You ask me where I’ve come from, I ask you where you’re going. The concession stand is empty, it’s been dried out three years. But we still keep on checking it, abandoning our abandoned hope. The world is waking up, sun rising beneath the bridge. It’s dark yellow and crimson, until our windows are under water. My eyes are closed by now. I always sink into myself as we sink down. Trying to remember the last time something happened that I didn’t expect.

Blue midnight train ride, and all the hours that follow. Not a soul on this cart, with all the seats taken. The only ghost I truly know is still standing at the station. Have I gone mad, talking to strangers, when the only stranger here is me? Guessing where everyone is going based on their ticket fee. Looking for signs in this anonymous crowd, one going East, one going South. If life were just a compass, my arrow would finally stop spinning. The only ghost I truly know is still haunting my vacation.

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Silent lips.

Disappearing is an exquisite feeling,
drawing atom from atom,
the sky filling with parts that are no longer

Eyes peeking past,
I turn to look,
eyes peeking past

Asking into the room,
is this what ghosts feel like?
But even ghosts get noticed, dragging their sheets

Even undisciplined children get noticed,
dragging their feet,
the ground transforming misbehaviour into noise

But I wear silent lips,
speaking up for nothing,
only savouring your kiss

I wear silent lips,
as I disappear again,
my arms clutching the memory too tight

Many years ago now.

Drums leak down the walls
into our apartment, the white
noise interrupted with each

thump, thump, thump of the
pedal upstairs, following a
rhythm inside someone’s head.

I add the sound of a keyboard
in my own head, looking at
you with intent, trying my best

to transfer the sound through
the molecules between us
and into your mind. But you’re

not paying attention today,
either. Your eyes swimming
three feet safely around me

any time I’m in the way when
you move your head from
right to left, leaving me

looking desperately for you,
in all the parts that are you
inside our white apartment,

as the drums keep dripping
down the walls, thumping
me into no one’s song.

November rain.

My candles are still unlit
sitting in the windowsill
a summer gone by
half a life gone by
reckless smiles painted on the walls
of every room in this room
and your hair is still on my floor
your hand still on my door
pulling it closed behind your tiny frame
hiding a world of heartbreak
obstructed from view
all I see is you

Infinity cheeze.

There’s no shape,
no color, no texture,
to describe infinity.
There’s no warmth
or cold. No end and
no beginning. Even
ideas of time running
out run aground in
the face of infinity.
There’s no telling
what infinity is like
and what it is un-
like. There’s no
telling how it came
into existence. Yet
I never doubt,
staring infinity
right into the eyes,
when I catch you
looking back.