Nero’s Candle

I couldn’t be


if Nero dipped

me in wax

and lit me

in the green

of his garden,

a human torch


hair and skin

and heart

melting and sparking

meant to snuff

me out,

but only

steering eyes

to the force

of my


The Night Man

I had a dream

about the other


the good one,

the one that loves

to hear me breathe

and asks me how my day


I can’t help it, though,

to think

of the half-shadow

of the sometimes man,

of his arms wrapping

me up into himself

until everything stings

of midnight.

It’s the darkness

that comes calling,

that will devour us all,

but in the other side of


the not so bright one,

I hold my breath

as if drowning

because it sometimes

feels like I am.

But when my eyes open,

that’s the best part of it


To see the startburst surge

against black felt.

To desire utter nothingness

only to be introduced

to light.