Song at the institution

Small plastic chair in the middle
of the room. Fluorescent lights,
and a brief discussion
with the manager.

Okay, so enlighten me.
Is it that I can't bring myself to
touch you, or
are you just untouchable?

To Catch a Star

The stars are falling.
They hiss through the stratosphere,
more like hellfire than starlight,
but the myth holds me there.

The stars are falling.
They burn my palms
when I stretch out my hands
to catch them.
"What have you done?"
they whisper, a million angry voices
digging into my skin.

The stars are falling.
I close my fists
against the rain that
burns my flesh
my arms, legs
neck
face.

Dust and Tungsten

Magic turns to rainwater turns to a river turns to vapour
mixes with air turns to a conversation
turns to a phone call that was never made, and not forgotten

turns to dust and burnt-out tungsten

a melodrama for melodramatics
and those romantics who objectify romance
and say
"You've lost it"
because you have
and you won't admit it.

Something We Lost

If you
blink and something goes missing,
go looking for it.
If there's something wrong,
try to fix it, damn it.
Tell me, how do you account
for the disappearance of too many million-
just one moment please while I
count on my fingers again.

Don't.

Are you
missing out on something?
Think quickly.
Are you
willing to work for those bruises,
and put those magic kisses on hold?
I can't say you deserve either.
You can't possibly be going too fast
in such a pretty new car, baby.
Look at me when you flirt,
I want to stare you down.

Rusty Metal Structures

The clack of metal rings.
Creaking, swaying, child-ghosts.
It's been so long.
The hot yellow polka-dot shining
Through crossed metal rings.
Clack. Only a moment.
I grip with ease what I once struggled to reach. I grew bigger and my world grew smaller.
Hot sand, cool sand. Soccer fields.
I never liked soccer.
Only now do I remember the way I always banged my head on that one wooden railing.
Footsteps on the long ramp.
It was old then, too.
I jumped, I swung, and- Clack.
Metal rings.
I used to love swinging like Tarzan.
Heat and light and nostalgia.
Old, old children.

Our Games

More than horseplay
On a tightrope
Hate knows no bounds
Blinding house lights
Nothing seen of the crowd.

Breathing deeply
The affliction of heart
Mingles with air
And so breathed, exchanged
A kind of wicked fuel.

Sustained,
Momentum burns rubber
Evil gests gain pressure
So it comes that the janitor
found our bodies yesterday.

Sorry if it's a lot- I have a lot of poems stored away. Constructive criticism is especially encouraged, though I love comments too. Thanks for reading these!