i’m at local beach somewhere off the coast of california looking out at the waves fading in and rolling out, pushing and pulling. as i walk from the wooden stairs to my spot of sand i think, i’ve been reading too much folklore. i’ve been equating the birds and the bees to the bloods and the bones.

but i’m not getting anywhere with my metaphors. i’ve been living with voices in my head who only speak in dark whispers. i’ve been hearing you in the peripherals of my mind’s eye and yet you were nowhere to be found. in hushed tones screaming obscenities with cursive writing on the wall. 

it’s the summer of 2012 and i’m rocking the boat on cobblestone streets in a town called charleston off the coast of south carolina. i’m walking and i’m dazzled, glowing against the dark night above us. i’m studying art and psychology at the college of charleston and i’m in love with the world again.

now i’m sitting on patience at the edge of the water, awaiting my turn to christen my hair with the wild waters of the west world’s left-sided ocean line. i’m walking through water and as my hands touch mother’s glass cup of tea, i’m thinking about how i was born for the shores of sicilian isles. i remember i’m here because of my bloodline’s resiliency. the strength of my grandfather dying so that i could build the american dream from the ground up. 


i had been reading too much folklore that much i’ll admit. but you can’t sue someone for dreaming about love. plus, i think myths are cute and magicians are brave. the creatures made on whims of angel’s wings and the devil’s dice. poetical injustices - the rhyming and the rhythms just to soothe one’s own heart and bruise another’s.


i didn’t mean what i said when i was in love with the idea of you. i had been making love out of a roman mans romantic knowings. i knew you knew what i meant but even you couldn’t tell - a desperate man’s whispers bubbling to the surface in a poor man’s glass heart. it was october and you couldn’t help but to be in love with the world again. 


beating the drum to your heart in the winds off the coast of california. i gave it all up to have art to call my own. i had been alive but i hadn’t lived until the day i knew you. it wasn’t about who you were or what you did, it was the knowing that you could exist. you were the vision i had been imagining and i gave it all up to have art to call my own. 


i didn’t know what would happen but i guess i knew what was happening. i didn’t know what a few words could do to a man of your likeness. i didn’t know my power until i put you on your knees. i saw what i wanted and i stole your image for a work of art to call my own. it was never my intention and yet it came from my body. 


an ending soaked in devastation. when two meet as one and both die. an alliance that could’ve saved the world from the ugly ways of heartbreak’s past. we could’ve had it all. we could’ve been the one to have everything we’ve ever wanted. seamlessly stitched, split hearts burning as bright as one flame only. 


the lining of flesh and the deep red of bottom dwellers. a rose grown in between my world view and you. one drop of rain and my world was a puddle. you came into me like an ocean wave. a romantic gesture given by the gods, delivered in a feather’s flocking. i had been reading too much folklore and my metaphors weren’t adding up.  


as i’m gliding through clear blue tears - specs of herculian tales fallen from the sky above and i’m thinking - it’s all the same to end up here with all of you. basking in mediterranean rays on an island of faith. i grew from the bottom of italy to the heights of Hollywood. i’m deceiving as much as i’m lying. i’m disguising my vices like cookies in a church pue. without a sound leaving my mouth - i am writing about love again. 


i’ve been reading too much folkore and i wonder if the masquerade would’ve been better without the masks and the axe. i wonder if my metaphors make you trip and if my poetry is the silver shield that protects or the golden sword of glory. the birth of christianity, an ocean away from the place that grew me. i was raised roman. the angel fell from the cloud once the empire’s dust settled. i’m a spec of the church on a map next to 90210. 


i’m on the right side of your chest standing on california soil. i’m thinking - to hold the beauty of the world again would be to do anything at all. clay shapes hardening, a test of time and our mind’s greatest will. we beg for brilliance in the white house of man’s only soul. heart of gold, where are you? 

we know need anymore advice we need writers that know the most romantic movies ever made, never have a fucking scene and the best to ever be, didn’t even have a sex scene. hitchcock made love out of words. an idea about love that had to be seen. we need to yearn for a love like no other again.

we need the light of a globe restored after the war on breath extinguished our lives in a moment’s notice. we need voices who still have faith in the world to be speaking. we need the freedom to dream as a nation under one sun.  


noah stepping off the ark and nicholas coming down the chimney. i told you, i had been reading too much folklore. i was detaching from everything i knew and obsessing over my self image. dark magic, liquid potion of earthly depths - carefully stirring the wonders that live beneath the surface and finding a song of righteousness in the bubbles glowing reflection. a sword rising from the stone, rainbow gloom on the horizon. i was dreaming so hard i flew against black space and golden glows. on orbs of yellow hues, i circled the sun. with a symbol for the syllables to true love’s gaping mouth - i tricked the disciples pretty little heads and ran ahead.









i had been reading too much folklore.


but it’s october and i’m in love again. i’m on a cobbledstoned road and it’s the final year before the world outside myself gets me in its clutches and i fall from graces. in the salty air off the coast, i fell in love with the world again. even the ones who lurk amongst the crowds, translating love into lights, stars, camera, action, swing, sizzle and a pop of color for the divine. a cautionary percussion of ideas singing amongst friends. tales passing along and all sorts of magic. we were the art kids, not living a lie. sinners, saints, the bad, the sad, the madness of expression, daring to die and willing to be broken for the sake of an honest heart. bodies swung in the air, blood ripping hearts painted in the sky and drawn on secret canvas. tree stump carvings, it was october and we were in love with each other.

widening and unwinding, summer’s sweet exploration of the dark son’s shine. windows opened before the curtains drawn, a peculiar bending of time. the stories that bled through your eyes and onto you white t-shirts, denim pockets. 

drawn out like needles piercing the skin. i was thinking there was too much love in the air. newly inked tattoos, flying like doves in the sky.  the darkness closed in, a bodily branding of stories collected. sifting shifting, tiltillating tilts, the hole of earth, the whole wide world, a projection of curiosities - distilled into one night star. our rising reasoning, you. the kingly kind of majestical magic sprinkled only once in any given lifetime. oh you can hear it in the writing, i’m in love again and i wouldn’t dare tell a soul. it must be october because my mind’s unravelin and my heart’s undoing have made a mountain out of my deadly consequences. 

with the knife against my collar, i’m thinking - can two people ever really be in love? the answers on my ceiling, a haunting past takes shape, new forms blending old tales about clocks ticking, i’m swimming in the hope of a body. i’m drowning in a body of water as alive as my insides. if i had just gotten on thing right, would everything have been okay?

the light of love birthed at the kiss of the moon’s dark mind. the woes of wooing, making love just to have something to art about. a language i don’t know the words for. a baby born on the tides of the rowboat you strangled me on.  a sinking ship at the first sound of true love’s word. a dark gloom warms your bones, skeletons kiss cheek to cheek. two sides, one stone. two sticks and one on the lips. a blossoming of land and sky, you and i. the me’s with we. the me, the we, yes, we to be and we to be wed. 


gibberish. nonsense coming from a cave woman’s lonely heart. sitting between the equinox of your soul and madison avenue - you stood on cobblestones like a vision of holy water, with nothing but a cigarette in your hand and the look of death in your eyes. breathing the breath of earth’s salt air as you suck the darkness from your  paper lit, white lantern. the smoke of grey haze and island blue days, billows from your spirits inner brewings. it was under a lamp post that i saw my eye’s one true love. it was august and i was in love in plain sight.

the world of my existence crumbled at the first touch of your minds religion. faith flew from my chest like black birds along a gloomy day’s horizon line. all that i knew - vanished with an eleven second meeting of the birds. melting in place, deafening decay, the silence of night skys where everyone dies. like falling to your death in an atmosphere birthed for floating. a sword’s golden glory, a heart’s landing. my guts sliced open, bleeding on the pavement with just one glance. 

at the horse’s footsteps, tunes of a cowboy rumbling from the clanks of metal on cobblestone. the clear blue sky part ways, a field of roses rises. all the surroundings i could sing in, blurred lines exposed. birds of prey shot to the ground. you glowed before me and i wept on my knees.  a spider’s catch, webs of silk waving in the wind, my wooden corner cast against the void, you were the orderly white night light, glowing in a haze of sight and sound.