runaway my phantom bride
and take your bouquet of poisonous flowers
float away specter
and take the rest of my desire

This turned out to be a story that didn't even have enough traction to compete with the runaway bride, which blew Michael Jackson off the screen for a week and a half.

I cry often.
I cry and cleanse my
face with my tears and
swim to the center
of it all.
A center that
I have written about a
thousand times, forever etched
into the porcelain.

I cry as the laughter inside me drowns
and descends
into the water
with the ghosts of our union.

awake, then die
in the arms of a modified lover
sleep, then dream
in the absence of a tangible lover
envision, then sing
in the thralls of a hungry lover

I spread my fingers outward,
letting the knife tip of my
middle finger rip the sky as
it tares a rift in the moon.