Faces

Sometimes, she collects nights
and hangs them by her bedside.
Some days
she wakes up without a face.

He lives on her streets
reads Murakami under her window.
Sometimes he sketches on a corner of the evening
the outline of her shame
reflected onto the blinds of her bedroom
window.

My Unfair Lady

How can Audrey Hepburn
look beautiful after 17 takes,
while all I can do
is keep my teeth clean?

Complexity

Alas,

that a good life

is NP-complete.

...

That which seem like patterns, in retrospect

are tendrils of chaos 

under the microscope of  the everyday.

Russell

I'm a subset of this
universal inky infinite set.
An infinite set myself, I thus
contain myself.

C'est la vie

Let us go then, you and I.
Sigh, and say 'lah we', and whisper, that
we don't add up, and don't love enough
to change the numbers we are.

Mutter in mature moments
that it's nobody's fault, as we
relax friendship into
muffled memories.

Gift each other in parting:
a pair of matching saccharine smiles;
one for you, and one for me.
To wear on familiar nights.

Idea

I fall in love
with ideas
all the time:
quantum mechanics, you, communism.

You're just a figure
of my speech.

...

Darling,
this poem is not for you. It's
for the idea of the idea of you.

Autumn

Whiff of your evening
dress; reminder of that which
is fresh in its death.