Of sunsets and pain in paradise 

The sun is burning anyway;

it doesn’t need more pain.

Earthly love

is hardly ever a bargain.


Everything hurts but tomorrow

when you like glossy covers

with pictures that cause a slow gnawing 

from the heights of paradise complex.  


Life cuts

as often as it wets our hearts

with soft clouds

dipped in orange dyed lagoon sunsets.

And we are left beating

with the fish washed fresh

off the warm waters

at some faraway paradise bay.


Image by Andy Moine


Sound of glass breaking

The sound of glass breaking

is one of the most terribly sweet

things, like the laughter of thin-lipped,

bright-haired, born-beautiful girls

rippling in the air

through their cheekbones so high

and razor sharp

that they can go

cutting through hearts.

It’s like pixies giggling,



pinching on my skin

about how ugly I really am.

It’s painfully freeing

like finally dying

while a Tuesday morning

aches into light, not too far.


Untitled No. 8 (Shattered Glass) 1959 Nigel Henderson 1917-1985 Purchased 2007

Image by Nigel Henderson 1959