his notes throw my brain
back to winter, cold and ice
he’s so good at that
everything freezing, everything leaving
rushing past me
going to places — I want to go
his keys spark my sleepy memories
my eyes explode with
those open fields and dying trees
my heart melts with burnt clouds
and those magical fading leaves
must have been a thousand years old,
those scars on her hand
when she forgot her looks and
her dreams ran out the door
that yellow still makes her dizzy
and her tongue still prefers what’s fizzy
maybe her soul hasn’t lost its spark
maybe she hasn’t lost her life
it appeared that there were
dead cranes on the side of the road
their graceful necks draped over the curb,
beautiful yet useless
much like our forgotten conversations
it all makes sense now, since I no
longer recognize my
laugh from the photographs
thrown all over the floor
tiptoe around them like a
doomed choreographed ballet,
beautiful yet useless
I wonder if the freaks of the shattered
doors will get lost
now that the holes are fixed
I doubt they’ll cheer and clap
as we rid them of their destruction
I like the way the bright color
adorns the walls in this space
as I wonder how long your peaceful
calm will stay in this place
this beauty gots to even out the ugly
the motion gots to keep you steady
yet every day is just the same
left is right, this way is that way
the sun is square, the sky is brown
your sad is mad, your up is down
the beauty gots to even out this ugly
this hope gots to get you ready
how i found myself walking through the
forest of leaning trees is beyond me
but i like the landscape, the view
my eyeballs soaked it all up to
fill the void of missing you
I hope to see the blue deep
before I leave this world
have it be real
not a dream
have my ears echo from
all the calls of the sea
feel content when I taste
the foam like cream
I wonder if the Hulk ever hit his mother.
Did he ever graze her cheek
with his massive green fist so fast,
so hard, she couldn’t speak?
Throw her out of his room,
out the window, out of the house?
And I wonder if when he returned to normal,
did he recognize her scars, her hurt.
I bet he couldn’t remember–like him.
Darts his eyes from the display of pain.
Doesn’t move when she flinches away.
Doesn’t recognize the tears
because he can’t remain.
And I wonder if Stan Lee understands
what it really means to love the Hulk?
To stand in his way regardless.
The supernatural drive to help him stay calm,
despite the horror, despite the harm.
The relentless love at stake…
all the tender, godforsaken love it takes.
they were running wild near the edge of a cliff
and they asked you to rip your heart out
which you gladly did but then they told you
to push one of them off the brink
push, you weakling, push
would it be your young blonde with the lovely smile
or your red-headed child with eyes of light?
you put your heart back in and begged them to
take it again
they looked at you like those hollow
beings that haunt you during the day
without saying a word, without a second glance
cause you’d had enough of their nonsense
said a silent prayer and took flight
like falling snow
leaving whispers of forgiveness
that your children would never know