(handed chemistry)

My brain is the well-fared smile (in time) marking the day to fallen graces.


(spectre folds)

My brain is the volume crashing when the lights call down inside the old, familiar pieces we've been holding onto years.


(fires over the lost skyline)

My brain is one last minute on the mouth before i realize...


(bask in red lanterns)

My brain is the gun in the hand of the man stealing madness, happy (again) to face an evening.


(off coughing black)

My brain is skin cadet running back to the place where he once found a chance to make a difference in this mess we call a stab in the back of convential wisdom when faced with the much more pressing need of standing up as human beings even as our voices fade from the count and the parties we touted as the best of our lives end the same every time.


(and her place in the sun)

My brain is the fortune of loneliness.


(holden glances)

My brain's a manhattan heart attack before the glow of unlikely transplants.


(at the crest)

My brain is the quivering night's prayer for a sunrise.


(when sweet)

My brain is a photobooth romance carried, still, in folded tin.

(growing match)

My brain is the triumph in winter whims, the feats of familiar daring.


(tame attest)

My brain is the angle of night's crooked arm on the heart of our sheltering city.