[Originally Published — October 2009]

I’m in love
with a certain ideal
melting my memories in a spoon

leaving me eroded with coded words
as empty and as sparse
as peach fuzz,

as the light following an intermittent doom.

I’m in love with an idol,
and I carry it around like an outlaw’s bible

with a constellation’s smile
yet it bitterly balds and defiantly scalds
removing any competition from denial.

I’ve idealized
and built stages of trivial idols
who, like snow falling
so peaceful
cover up the garbage
bitten off of street corners and needles.

And it’s only a funny thing
when you pace your cloudy bedroom while silver moons drink to your
buoyant optimism cheering on its imminent gloom
singing a toast:” to hope, which is not at competition with reality.”

I wont compromise my hope for false ideals
I’d drown gladly in these memories,

before the melody of reality sets before me,

falling to my knees in tune with my universe,

remembering why I commit to this verse.

I’m in love with a certain ideal,
but before you judge me, I promise, it’s real
and I’m not talking religion, or any other word you may feed to the birds-

those we recover from the ash it seems

will reappear in another night of our dreams

and for this, I live, for them.