It was a nice crisp summer afternoon.
Snow will come and go in a heavy swarm.
Soon we will see the big round shiny moon.
The summer was plentiful, nice, and warm.

Since forever, time will always pass by.
For as long as we’ve known, it comes and goes.
Although some live, many will also die.
Throughout life we make enemies and foes.

But now the hour-glass of time is up.
It has finally come to a big end.
You now have a very large empty cup.
I’m sorry to tell you this, my dear friend.

It may see as if time is everywhere,
Even if it is very hard to bear.

She doesn’t feel at home in her own home
because she’s not home grown.
Artificial
as a plastic flower that you buy in a store,
instead of taking the time to plant it your self.

She conceals herself in a white room,
with depression and a razor.
Because the somatic pain
ceases the pain her mind endures.
A need to bleed,
just to know she’s alive.

There was a hunter one autumn,
who ordered four hunting dogs and bought 'em,
he came back later for more
when asked about the other four,
he said, "I already shot 'em."

I was in love with anatomy
the symmetry of my body
poised for flight,
the heights it would take
over parents, lovers, a keen
riding over truth and detail.
I thought growing up would be
this rising from everything
old and earthly,
not these faltering steps out the door
every day, then back again.