∅.                                              *
 

                                                                         .            ✧     .     

    *                                                       .

                                    .                                                 *        
                     

                                 *

nothing gold can stay; 

                   not even
       Dorian Grey– 

ain’t that odd, though? ⋱

                                                               

               .                      .

                              ∴                                      .                                                 

( it’s almost funny)

   how the beauty and the money.   °      ✧    . •
            ◦    seem to have initiated an inertial, maybe even
                 gravitational, pull around one another
                 like a chain reaction → a constellation of big.   
                dippers and little dippers           °              .       o        .  
      .          ✧     .     
s
p
o

o

*n

g
i

n

                 .

            .

              *     i loved *u dearly.    *         .               •

                         •                      . 

       *              tidally love locked forever in a memory  .               •

                      of a perfect autumn evening draping starshine

                 •.   sky high before midnight counting all the skyscrapers

                      or drinking in the day time along the High Line. .          ✧    

.                              *                           .

                                                We would’ve,

                                                                                       could’ve,

                                                                                                                            should’ve

                                                                                                                                      lived

                                                                                                                         together;

                                                                                                         love

                                                                                          locked

                                                                          s    .

                                                                           l               .

                                                                              o           .

                                                                                   w   *

                                                                                              dancing 

                                                                                                   .                in

                                                                                                        .                          s

                                                                                                              .                              l    

                                                                                                                      .                      o          

                                                                                                            .       w

. c

           s        .     *       i         
 *            ✧     . r
  e                .      c

  l





                            c

      t              d                      a

                   s         u            *and                        p

                                                         we                      s      

                                                               still    all

                                                                                  ↝   might,

                                                                                          we’re             if *u

                                                                                                       when                     want

                                                                                                              (day                         to,
                                                                                                                      some              *u)
                                                                                                                          know,   ◞

                                                                                                                                  (or whenever…)

.

   .   

◜   .      

 ↘    .       

*♡ 

         ↘

                         *six pm

*metaphysical merengue

all that’s necessary is a couple of crayons
if you’d like for me to color you a whole galaxy
a white milky pen for the pin pricks of stars
in the velvet mass of vanta empty
the space between all people can see
how we limit so much, and believe we know everything.

how arrogant we must be to say there is no creator.
all he needed was a couple of crayons, and a hand full of mud,
some thoughts in his head, and breath in his lungs. –six pm

first draft*

․ ◦◯

mine eyes traced
the lines of his body
each muscle like poetry
sculpted for me to read.

took my finger tips & followed
stubbled braille of his cheeks
mounted his lap & traced
the horizon of his smile
with my own lips.

*six pm

i am
but a
dearling,
a darling
Capricorn;
with his
tenderlings
not
yet
budding.
year
of the
yearling,
year-long
yearning for
space walks.
rendering
the DNA,
raveled
into ringlets
dangled
in frozen
fragility
of pearl
bracelets.
intertwined
like
a necklace;
the love
my parents
shared.
at least
one time.
destined
to be
well traveled;
nestled
in a
blanket of
pine needles
& honey
i reach
out from
earth’s cradle;
longing to
find a
super
nova
more
special
than any
we have
gleaned
before.
one
that will
last past
the
collapse
of our
æther.
chestnut
shell
rocking.
this station
of the universe
is too small now,
we must go,
now
.


Stephen Hawking
hypothesized
in
one of
his usual
bouts
of miraculous
syllabic
tongue
twisters
that
the universe
has an
end,
just
as all
living
creations
have a
beginning.
blazing
bravery
we are
living
beings.
we will
scoff
in the
face of
clocks &
hypothetical
hypochondriacs
will quiver.
photogenic
phylogenetics
captured
by the
lenses
of dying
Keppler,
zipping like
ice skates
past
Jupiter.
Dance
around
the rings
of Saturn,
& suicide
our weak
in honor
of Cassini


.
Or stay
day dreaming
here upon
the heavenly
rains that
rapture the
African
savannas.
But i,
i will
try to
forge
paths for
distances
as far
out as
forevers.
May the
future
generations
of humans
make
it farther…
. . .may they
be the
answer
to my
ever
burning
question:
Is

there

intelligent

life

here on Earth?
.
.
.
∗s⁞x pm

My hopes are as follows:

  • That you’ve achieved your goals.
    • (because then I’ll know it wasn’t all for nothing that we let it all go.)
  • That you never see this.
    • (because then I’ll know you still read my poems.)
  • That you’ve found someone who loves you.
    • (because you’ve chosen to travel a lonely road doesn’t mean you deserve to be alone.)
  • That if you do read these poems, that you’re happy for me.
    • (because moving on wasn’t easy, but that’s a fact that I never wanted you to know.)

Love,
*six pm

    ..           ..        ….             …               …          ….   …….        … ….

                ∘

          .

he smiled and assured me
i wouldn’t feel a thing…      ○
                                        •

                         °
                            .○
marines are the worst, 
they don’t get atta °ched. 
                                         °
                                     °.
they un-sentimentally.    ○ 
              °                pack
                   :     °     and are whisked  a w a y…

                       •          °
 °    will-o’-wisp.    ○
licking wounds w.
flash fire tongues…

sometimes i don’t follow . 
                                             .     
                                             .
       even my own wisdom.

sometimes i don’t 
even follow  .   ° 
                     my own.     .         °
                                                            •     d
                                                                •.    r 
                                                                            e
                                                                   ○
                                                                      a  °             •
                                                              m 
                                                        s        °    
                                                      .         ○
                                       °    
                                   ○
                                     °    
                             :

                                  ○    
                                      •

                   like  that   reoccurring  one 
                          when i chase a trail
                            of  meteorite dust
                                 directly to
                                     your
                                     door
                                       :
                                      .
                                    every
                                     time,
                                 i hold the
                             burning embers
                      in my palm. Sometimes,
                   a flicker of the flame  catches 
            and burns down everything i own.
                                  .  

                                         .

                                        d   u   s   k .  .  .          n

                                                                          ↟

                                     .
                    .

earth quakes
& i give way.

           °                                                    yesterday the sun set after
                                                                 the 7 o’clock hour
                                                                 for the last time this year.
                       •                                          7 is a lucky number.
                         ○
                                
                                                                                                                          e↠   (maybe i should call you later)
                                 

                                       °                         in about 3 hours the
                                 ○                              sun will set on your side.
(by your side) ↞w
                                                °
                                            : 
To be beside you again
sounds as distant
and above me                 . 
as a slice of heaven.          •

My cheek against                    °
the suede of              ○.
your soft stomach fuzz.   •
I want to place my head
on your shoulder again.
             ○
 

                                           •       i love you, more than friends.
                                                   (i couldn’t stop you if i wanted to)
                                                    i love you, *omitted.
                                        ○        (the walls shift in unnatural ways)
                                   .
                                   °•
                                                  i wanted you to stay.
                                           °      (every time i hear your name)
                                                   i love you so much
                                       • .       i will stand here
                                           ○      watch you shrink away.

because you deserve
sunsets in california.
you deserve
a stunning woman,
her perfect smile,
in a romantic place.             °

                                                ○
one who didn’t sell herself
short of her dreams.
you deserve to                  °
lose your breath,
youth, freedom,
and to exceed                    .
every expectation…             °

                                        ○
you deserve better than me.
no exceptions.  

 *six pm

O.

i had just read a brief history of time. remember that night? cosmic vertigo took hold of my insides, i quit cigarettes that instant, i crushed my last pack and i declared, to you, that death takes everything.
stephen hawking explained: the universe will have an end just as it has a beginning. so having no more time to waste i told you i loved your face more than any other faces and if there was to be even the tiniest trace of me left behind i wanted it to be the way i felt for you that night.

you blew smoke rings from stitched lips, and i talked in circles around you. bleary and bloodshot our eyes closed. you maybe never read stephen hawking but i know we both ran like bandits from sleep.

I.

earthy smell of marijuana permeated your beard and seasoned our tongues. *omitted, wasn’t it really something? being young and together the way we were. smoke stacked to the ceiling and the lamp glow casted halogen haloes around our heads. don’t you agree how.

ii.

*darling, i love you so desperately, when i gaze upon your full moon face i feel the spread of my pupils pulling wide, letting in too much of your angelic light. i embrace the pressure of your body’s presence compressing the very fabric of my marrow as you contort me to your will.

though i don’t dare profess that your tender love, the love only i know, the love that when lost inspired so many insipid diary notes, has ever mended a single bone, yet somehow with one kiss, your touch heals my entire soul; fills the emptiness that swells my chest as if my heart had never broke.

3.

though my brain wanders like tidal waves towards you and my limbs crash like the branches of trees, as today my fingers grasp the empty, missing your touch like the winter misses spring leaves. i know, we were a season, and there is a whole life left ahead for us to live alone.

still the movements of time and her changing seasons, this bitter wisdom that has come from age and grace, nor these emotions that crash like waves cannot keep me from reminiscing so sweetly how we spent entire days and nights: undressed, wearing only bedspreads, spread across one another; how the always sun came up too soon…

*darling, i want more time with you.
.

.
*six pm

Disney’s Aladdin circa 1992

When cast upon the barren terrain of loneliness I’ve crafted many castles and shrines to give shape to this flat land. Worshiping Him who merely crossed but did not root.


Every smirk; a sunrise scattering blue light and casting a golden warmth upon my empty sand. I was a sponge; I absorbed every ray of His light and when His star set, I began to pray facing West. I was left alone in the dark with shadows and shapes of the towers looming unoccupied.


To preoccupy myself from the daunting empty and the always alone I painted murals and gilded each shrine with gold. I went hungry to leave rice cakes and fruits at His altar— hoping to lure Him into the home I’d created and love me again for the art I’d devoted to His likenesses and name.


Each note upon which I’d wrote became a poem, became a notebook, became a grimoire full of morbid canticles. Much like space my loneliness spreads infinitely, as vibration and blue songs, as if willing its way towards forever seeking the edge and an end.


Every red candle burned brightly not to satiate the darkness; but as prayers to cast beacons across the liquid night and beckon back His ghostly glow.


If He’d rose again and become my sun, daring only I stare into His deadly radiation I’d have gladly looked boldly until falling blind; so blindly did I seek to feel the embrace of love when I was empty and there was none. –six pm

♡ = complete with handmade art

This collection is handmade from cover to cover. I hand-bind, pick the paper, and can even personailize the poetry.

         .•                           
  ✧   .
he-art (a broken heart) = just the words + text art only
.     ✦

   *     .  ● · ˚
             ⛈    .               

This collection will be a standard book, with text art that I am known for, and will be available at a set, affordable price. And available for immediate printing.

*Pre-order a fully painted poetry book by emailing me: Paige6@by6pm.art ♥︎

*Love,

the always imitated, never duplicated—

*♡Paige