the heavens

what was beautiful in the sunshine
turns cruel at night
what dies in the west
on the last day of spring
will be reborn in the east
on the first day of fall

time continually eviscerates itself
and thus we feed
love is nothing more than ruse
a desperation to reproduce
but why survive
it is so we can betray
so we can slaughter
the skies are full of these
the archer and the scorpion
the hunters and the prey
we are the ones
who carved these myths
across the cold vast void
and call it heaven

dusk

i have not sodden my body with you
you have not earned that destruction
the taste of your sundering
long ago shaped in the back of my throat
it is only our bodies that long to exist
what we have been does not need to endure
take this day for instance
how the sun has been given back
to the wool of grey sky
that circle of wind that plumments a bough
your arms are also limbs
if i can’t gather them unto myself
(i have not claimed them)
whose are they
what we lay claim to destroys us
the day is at its end
that gatherer of light
the moon
is already dragging our shadows
across a field