(A/N: This is basically a collection of all my poetry thatÕs any good. I thought it would be silly to put them each as seperate stories. Most of them have something to do with stars. I guess I must have a thing for stars. Reviews are always appreciated.)

These stairs

Go up

In the warm dawn

Of a daydream

And alluring light.


In a cloud of Stars

To cool Earthwater

That swirls and stirs

Like a rose-scented wind.

I want

the stars in heaven to fall

and burn out my eyes

with white heat


until my eye sockets

are stars

so bright

that no one can look at me.

Tell Your story to the winds

Eternity dwells on in small silences

Ashes cry Your name, again, again

Reply with a stolen whisper

Rend the sky with a scattering of pebbled Lights

The stars


in a sigh

and a promise


like globes of condensation

on a glass

of pink lemonade

left out on the counter

by the sink.

I like the wind tonight-

earthy and strong,

it screams

but shake it cannot

the house

whose windows open like flowers

whose windows shut like hearts.

can you fix the broken hearts

of all the hurting people

metaphore trembles in its gilded cage

and you stay by to watch

can you love me

i Ôm still here

can you see me


donÕt turn on the light

Neon lights

on cobblestone

glaring in the puddles.


the seven-eleven is


smelling of disinfectant.

Rows of

dust-carpeted candy bars

and clean, greying, floortiles.

The woman,

almost a girl,

locks the door

with a comforting


and jangle of keys.

Safe now.

She sits on the counter,

hard on her bony backside,

tucks her knees

under her chin.

The lights hum.

She sleeps.

The lies

fall from my tongue

in drops

and hang

heavily in the air

with the rest of the

poison-smog veil

that smothers this city

drowns the sky.

The people

catch stardrops

on their tongues;

they burn

like whispers.

They look to me,

stardust in their eyes

kill in their teeth.

I clutch at my umbrella

but it will not fly-

the last star has fallen

and landed

in my palm.