Talk to Me

(Written 8 April 2026, 10:40 am, in Saint-Alban-Leysse)

Talk to me
As I stroll streets so silent, beautiful and alien
That I don’t know what to do with myself

Your voice may break the spell
Or enchant me more
But I think I want to find out which

Breathe next to me
So I can smell you
As I pollute the air
Will it forgive me?

The quiet is generous and looming

The sun warms my skin 

The way I want you to

I can feel the rays move on my face

Like I imagine your gaze or the merest brush of your fingertips

The rays burn different parts of my face as I turn: slow, labored, flighty

I am flushed

But today I can blame that on le soleil

These tulips seem happy

Or at least content

Maybe fingers will collide in accidental stride
Maybe they will recoil in forgetfulness or in fear
Maybe they will hook
A squirming worm not aware it’s about to be a fish’s lunch

 
Talk to me anyway
Perhaps silence is the way to be
But — except for all the other times —

I seem to always want to talk

Quiet World

  (Written 2 Sep 2025, at 1:10 am)

Give me the quiet world

This one

Where the silence opens like a door

To all the hidden things

Nothing special here

Just a breath,

The whole world inside me,

And the vague sense that I might actually exist

(What version of non-me do others get at other times?

What hollow comedy.)

Murder Whiskey

(Written 14 June 2025 at 4:00 am.)

Of all the things you subjected me to
Kindness was the worst

Not because it was foreign
But because it was familiar
And undeserving

And of all the things you offered
Understanding was the strangest

Not because it was weird
But because it was natural
And fluid

And of the things you gave with open arms
Demanding and asking were the cruelest

 
Because of the generosity 
Of vulnerability
You learned to show

To others, you may have hollered
To me, you yelled 
But also, you spoke 
For yourself

It feels like too much to hope
That you never stop expecting
A friend in me

Because I have failed so many times

But I hope you hope
Against hope
That I won’t be a dick

That I can take a breath
And touch fingertips
When words and ego disappoint 

Look at me
And pull me toward you
When the currents trend to madness 

I don’t know how long I’m meant for here
But as long as I am
I want to be more to you
Than I was to the others who chose to leave 

I want to be a prickly comfort 

You make me (you make me do nothing)
Care
And ache
And die
With gratitude and panic

The Ways

 (Written 14 April 2025 at 12:53 am)

The ways in which

The machines sound and the lights blink 

The electrons move

The conversation stagnates

And then maybe finds its groove

The smells permeate the toxic air

Before you barely notice it

Your lips begin to frame a thought

But your mind loses the important bit

My heart beats, all Okay

Until it starts to scream

The full moon shines confidently over

What turns out to be a dream

Are shards, and jagged at that, of

The incoherent flux

That too-loudly claims to be the tapestry

Explaining why it all sucks. 

Pieces

 (Written 20 March 2025, 11:27 pm ET)

All of the pieces of my soul,
Especially the ones shaped like people I know,
Ache terribly.

Is meaning buried in one of them?
Or has it seeped away through the gaps
When I let them drift too far apart?

Some of the pieces of my soul,
Probably the ones I never meant to silence,
Are too quiet.

We once conversed,
And I learned things
Until I started teaching.

None of the pieces of my soul
Feel whole.

Who reaches out to me?

todo (break) / jodo (fix)

(Written 23 January 2024, 1:33 am ET)

todo, todo, todo

tod marod ke tumne
sachhaayi phod ke tumne
tod ko jod kehlaaya hai

ek soch ko baant kar
praja ko daant kar
dar nafrat ko behlaaya hai

jiska raaj nirmaan
tha sabka kalyaan
uske naam ka ghamand dehlaaya hai

kar lo jo karna hai
satya dharma voh jharna hai
jisne andhvishvaas ko pighlaaya hai

na pradhaanta kabhi jeeti hai
na sachhi bhakti kabhi beeti hai
ekta ne hi unnati ko sehlaaya hai

jodo, jodo, jodo

It all

(Written 21 May 2023, at 12:25 am)

You broke a lot
Of what it meant
To be me 

Did you break it all?
I think yes sometimes 
Sometimes, I think no, though. 

You carved and shaved
And deeply engraved
Every curve and dent  
That I ever meant 

How could you know (or care)
What it did to me, and how it laid me bare 
Because you stopped to love 
Every robin and every dove?

(Did you watch the season finale of grey’s anatomy?)