Macbeth Ditty

Macbeth fell in love with the wrong girl
A whole forest ran at him

Spooky homicidal love sonnets
Out, out brief candles

Cursed love, throwing away forests
Being laughed at by witches

Cursed forest, secrets hidden in bark
Murder only exists if someone else knows

In a cottage covered in rain

A river that lasts one hundred years
is filled with memories from children
Loud and quiet ones, caught and scaled

A bloodless Birch in skeleton costume
reaches for new reasons
It grins and grasps beautiful colored glass

Endless earth that speaks to no one
decides sometimes to sleep
Song reaches the greyest dreams

In a cottage covered in rain
there is an ancient peace
Sunlight and silence stay dry

And somewhere

And to lay at least once
in the arms of a beautiful woman

And Neruda’s Saddest lines
are the ladders to the root of every soul

And all hearts can connect in song
Lungs open, burnt by Sun

And diseased love stays inside cells
atrophied by memory

And sometimes time trips over itself
forcing fates to renegotiate

And then once in a while
there must be Fight

And somewhere, at least once a day
there is utter joy

Double-dutch

Sometimes I think about the Apocalypse
Knowing I’d want to get a hold of you
Knowing I wouldn’t be able to
It’s enough to drain all the air out
All the poetry I read now reminds me of
double-dutch
A Cyclical Generational Worry
sociologically speaking
We've always known the World was going to end

Love/War

Before love was written down for the first time
Was there war
Or was it all secret

No one lost in lovesick gazes
There are so many battles now
Memories, wicked shrapnel, permanent

Before love was asked to exist
Was there collateral damage
Or just quiet elements spilling over themselves

An ocean of loss and broken chances
Our own mythic follies
There are too many battles now

Before love sought to fix us all
Had anyone bothered to pause
Had anyone ever lied

All the wounds and grudges not kept
Sit inside the earth, stitched and amputated
Now we can gaze at one another

Now, after love
There are secrets
Even after there are no secrets

The reasons we don't want to be left with ourselves

Resigned confessions made in the witching hours
Or else
a typhoon of punched apologies

The heart breaks at the beginning
not at the end of a love
Sometimes all of poetry is wrong

From old regrets
new disappointments
glistening on beaches, broken stars

Memories of past truths
fight with present senses
forever