28/104: Poverty, who will survive?

Today, I said,
"things aren't always the way they should be."

I believe that, I mean, I must.
I said it.

The mere statement, spoken without a second thought,
took me aback.

I am living a fucking cliche,
in the worst way.

27/104: A dedication of sorts

Sometimes a girl might get lonely.
That girl, well, her bones just might break
because of grief;
brittle little sad bones
white with surrender.

Her nose might bleed.
The pain and the war,
it just gets to be too much.
And then, naturally,
there becomes no love left.

Harpsichords eat up the background
while the girl becomes magnolias.
No one listens.

26/104: Far from you.

You sat still.
(Except for your hands and feet.
They moved with intention, and more importantly,
grace.)

My heart blew down the walls as you sat there,
bathed in light,
singing.

You made me remember that I used to know you,
but somehow, this day, I don't.

25/104: No Hero Here

We have notes on yellow and
purple paper hanging around
this house -
on walls
ledges
computer screens
reminding us of appointments
and grammar rules
and outstanding bills that
somehow
have to get paid.

I wish these notes
could help me remember
that the wind still blows,
sometimes like running horses.

24/104: No one really wants that

I want to write you one thousand words
to let you know exactly.
But when I start, it seems all those words
that might be perfect
are all used up.

I need you to know somethings
and I need to know somethings,
but everything is clumsy.

23/104: Excerpts from a Letter to a Baby Who Won't Ever be Born

-I'm not even sure I could tell you about regret;
maybe in 20 years.

-Grief is okay; hurting down to your bones and
crying until your throat bleeds is quite alright.
Surround yourself with people who understand that.

-Love people hard.

-Expectations are rarely met.

- Human beings are mean, full of potential to
destroy everything, but so full of love it makes
me explode. It's difficult remembering both of those facts
at the same time. Practice.

-Laugh loudly.

22/104: Outskirts of Tbilisi

There's a long stretching rift in your perfect summer day.

Standing on the shore with tiny blue shorts
and a rib cage that's not ashamed to tell your age,
you chat with your friends.

Your wings are busting out of your back
and those nipples, jesus christ, they're so tiny.
And your floppy hair...
everything is so young to this earth.

Breathe in this warmth.
Soon Russia's shadow will blot out the sun
and you'll be blistering your hands
working for the rail way.