Monday, December 15, 2014

it’s nice that you do the things you do for me 
it’s nice that you listen to what I say 

when tomorrow breaks I’ll be true to you 
when it’s broken I’m gonna stay 

I had the dream again I failed the test 
the one where I lose all my teeth 

all my fears they are so circular 
if it’s bad it’ll happen to me 

it’ll happen to me 

when we’re done with school will we build a home? 
in Wyoming or in the sun 

made of windows so we can see the light 
it’s been so long I thought it gone 

if you’ll have me can I stay the night? 
if you’d have me I’d be fine 

I’ve lost my words to condemn this life 
in you I’ve found something that is mine 

Monday, December 1, 2014

  pretty woman walking down the street
pretty woman the kind I'd like to meet 

oh pretty woman, pretty woman 

you were born when I learned to drive 
now you're naked and I've taught you to writhe 

pretty woman, no you're just a girl 
little baby, I like your short skirt 

pretty woman 
oh pretty woman  oh pretty thing 

your legs are lightning splitting side the tide
please don't spite me, I just wanna get you high, pretty woman 
pretty woman 
I don't believe you, you aren't the truth 
nothing could look as good as you

do you like it, when I say 17? 
your bed's like fire so i couldn't help but sleep

pick me up, outside my parent's house 
don't come inside, my street is quiet now 

you'll touch my knee because we're nowhere here 
I'll close my eyes just to make it clear 

there's no one home because the light is gone 
Im empty here, a place to be unknown 

I'm wide awake, you'll have to sleep alone 
such hollow faith (but) I'm too young to grow 

pretty woman, breathless and drowned
for a moment, but now more lost than found (stay on f) 

pretty woman, let me comb your hair 
stand before me, in nothin but your underwear 

take a picture, one where you touch yourself 
I'll know you're mine not for anyone else 

oh pretty woman, pretty woman, pretty girl 
pretty woman, pretty woman 

you look lovely as can be
Are you lonely just like me

he speaks like words are  a foreign tongue 
as if he made up his mind too young 
and when he’s dancing he’s also gone 
to fetch what’s missing in the song 

oh anxious dreamer what did I say 
to keep your sullen eyes at bay?
your buoy set above the storm 
what tempest rose to leave you torn? 

and had I the heart to say, 
as wishes wander I’ll start to pray, 
for the thing that’s raging in your bones 
a collapsing cage for your small town throne 

here’s ridicule with her soiled robes 
lively burden at a sold out show 
where you stand on stage and recite the lines 
nothing’s changing but everything’s fine 

like idle hands which begin to fray 
you’re always leaving in the same way 
how high above me can you stand?
before you reach the promise land 

we were there when they let it fall
over the speakers at the shopping mall 
brought it down so you could go
the only place you’ve ever known 
where we try and make it right 
but we vacation here just for the night 

maybe baby you’ll make it work

we don’t trap what makes us home 
just a garbage can we caught on loan
at a lonely museum in a shopping mall
we were there when they let it fall
brought it down so you could go
the only place you’ve ever known 
where we try and make it right 
but we vacation here just for the night

A Woman Is A Woman
And A Man Is A Man
But We Both Have Hands 
To Hold And To Choke
What Will Not Love Us Back
Well That Was The Plan 
A Woman Is A Woman
But She Was Once Made From Him
A Little Bone He Could Do Without
Carved With The Precision Of A Voodoo Limb 
With A Nose And Eyes And Breasts
To Love And To Do Without.
To Do Without
A Woman Is A Woman
And A Man Is A Man
And They Dream Of Similar Things 
Of Houses And Cigarettes,
Of Sex And Blank-Faced Babies
Of Cars And Wedding Rings
A Man Is A Man
Who Dreads The Morning Crust
In The Corners Of Her Eyes
Who Greets The Morning Carelessly 
And Starts To Rearrange 
All Her Things He’d Come To Despise 
And Her Hollow Breath Caressing "Good Morning"
Like A Bellow From Her Thighs 
A Woman Is A Woman
And A Man Is A Man
Who Knows He’s Never Wrong 
And A Woman Is A Woman
Who Knows She’s Without Hope
Woe For A Place That She Might Long 
And If There Were A Savior 
Some Humbled In Between 
Then I Might Get Away 
From The Places I Have Rotted 
By Trying To Stay Clean 
Unsex Me I Might Pray 
I’m Just Waiting For The Day,
For Heartache Is My Terror 
And Lonesome Is My Plan 
Where We Will Share This Cigarette 
And Struggle To Be Brave
Knowing A Man Is A Man
Is A Man

I often feel grief      Like an eighth and final continent    An island set to tropical time.
It is a place held away from self,    With short and brittle correspondence    Of letters in jars    on another man’s dime 
 they speak another language here    and unfamiliar farce of words      soft like (my) beds     it’s a bitter dance of syllables      spoken slow and steady like a dirge is read 

My Idling archipelago    Rambles like a train of mismatched Thoughts,    Only ever in halves     for wholes this place      has only lost 
I feel it like a dragging and a pulling     farther and farther down      and when I lie awake at night        sometimes I think that I’ll never come round 

and when it’s grief surrounding me it’s oh so faint     like god twiddling his thumbs      the witching hour supposedly has come too late           for any damage to be done 

and though I have loved you as a thief          I’ll tell you love like this is only sold        and you cannot fend off the grief          it’s drained me of my grace and made me full

somewhere between dim witted and sleeping 
I have lain awake for days 
to counter missing hours
so vacant and often crazed 
the whole seemed to distance at first
I aligned myself with the sun 
the path altered by consequence like bullets change a gun 
so half life, spirit blithe, valued like a hunting knife
so I get gone, the feelings wrong, here’s my letter to the world for whom I only long

I see you read by the light of stained glass
weighed down by words a cry for help 
which man brought you to your knees 
and you laughed so hard he wouldn’t let you out 
he who reigns among us will keep us idle thoughts at bay 
let this serve as a reminder, do not kid yourself and never pray 

here’s my letter to the world to which I don’t belong

statue of my adherence won’t you love me like you will
monument the things inside me that I’ll never kill
take me with you to bed like you might do a sleeping pill 
use me for my words and then dispose of me until
but take me back 
object of my grace rearranging where I go 
rid me of my barriers for what you’ll tell I’ll show
be careful with my vices, I’m pretty sure they’re all I know
harbinger of sameness I’m waiting for a change in tone 

piece me back together so you can render me innate 
and with that declaration for personhood I’ll wait 
you’ll grieve me into being, right on time i’m never late
and I’ll take all this back before you’re forced to grab the bait

I can only feel it like a chemical imbalance in my head, in my head 
I can only touch it if it’s sad or if it’s lustrous dragging me to sleep with eyes like lead 
and when I dream I think that I’m with you, and when I sleep I am love’s lucky fool 
and here I am repeating what I’ve said before 
he is just a ghost and nothing more
I have no excuses but my lack of talent tries me to obey, what you say 
and if I flinch surrounding you it’s not because I want to go away, I’d rather stay
when I dream id rather be awake 
to hear the awful noises morning’s make 
and if I am repeating what I’ve done before 
I hope this time it stick before you’re out the door 

if I close my eyes too much it’s just the weight that tethers me to fear yes to fear 

I’ve been lonely way too much to hope that you might be staying here, please stay here

she knows not what she asks of me 
when I get down on bended knee 
to please the thing I cannot change 
ive pleaded god to rearrange 
the want for all that I despise 
petty relief to counter lies 
and here’s my head to know what’s right 
and here’s my heart all full of spite 
how can I save this life? (repeat 4) 
she’s peering now with wanton eyes 
a crowded room full of her spies 
from the bar she draws a wave 
casts me to bed where I’ll behave
to linger without action makes
for slow disguise to disguise to mask mistakes 
I’d stop to cry if I were wise 
if this was me you’d recognize 
how can I save this life? (x4) 
 believers have forgotten me 
patron saint of apathy
the demon that I’ve come to host 
is my best friend, my holy ghost 
how I could have come to be 
so absent when I meant to be free 
If I could sleep I’d dream of her
all black and white is what we were 

how can I save this life (x4) 

Sunday, June 15, 2014

there is a chance we might find a place
somewhere in between like and crazy about
where new friends are old rivals
thousands of miles apart
and homesick each for the other

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

I want to write a story, so tragically obsessed with the loss of his teeth that he makes them into denchers and kills himself

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

I miss you already
i miss your knocks on my door and the way you speak
i'm stoned
and all i wish is that you were here with me

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

and we all lived together 
in a wee little house,
touched by God. 
and we were all happy 
but more than any other thing
we were 

Sunday, March 24, 2013

all the people I love are either dead or dying

Thursday, March 14, 2013

a woman is a woman
and a man is a man
but we both have hands to hold and to choke
and wring what will not love us back.

a woman is a woman
but she was once made from man
a little bone he could do without
carved with the precision of a voodoo doll
with a nose and eyes and breasts
to love and to do without.

a woman is a woman
and a man is a man
and they dream of houses and cigarettes,
of sex and blank-faced babies.

a man is a man
who dreads the morning crust
in the corners of her eyes
and the hollow breath caressing "good morning"
like she's never said it before.

a woman is a woman
and a man is a man
and a woman is a woman
who knows she is without hope
and a man is a man.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

al gore

How do you feel
I for one
For two
For three
Would like to harm you so gross
Make love to morose
And privy my thoughts to a ghost.

I purged the blood from my throat
And prayed not to choke
But the thought rang out like a toast

High and mighty my dear,
Assert to my fear
And vile so vile my truth

They think I’m sad
But I pray I’m just mad
Oh wouldn’t that be so uncouth?

My head is the maker,
lungs surely the breaker,
of what I can hear but not see

if I let it prolong, 
or end it so wrong,
then all of you voices be free 

Thursday, February 28, 2013

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

i keep dreaming of drowning
and drowning with a single thought all those whom I know as ghosts

Thursday, February 21, 2013


it's like losing ur virginity

to the lady dressed in white

things spring,
not hope--hope is no thing I know
beds spring, when voices rise
you to the door now to half light the hall
doors spring
and hold in place the small crack
you've framed
to muffle the giggles
lifting the bed.
sounds spill,
like achey cups in jittery hands.
you with your cocaine eyes
and sweaty pause
and me,
drunk on valentine wine, sizing up the hallway
alone in ambition.
but there's no fixing it,
the thing itself.
the thing that makes me safe,
fort made of rabbits' feet and graying pillows,
thing that makes me less only,
but ever more lonely.
Thing springing
and hoping to god I'll hear.
Sober sounds for drowning ears

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

a week ago today I cried myself to sleep

my optometrist told me my tear ducts have nearly dried up

a week from a week ago today I'll probably drink myself to sleep

Thursday, December 13, 2012


awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake awake

Sunday, November 11, 2012

love necessity,

love peace, love beauty
hate the word
for it is merely an utterance,
an unthing.
and who are we to create in way of words with intangible lines?
If I made a likeness of your face with
"oh"s and "ehem"s and "erm"s
would you hear the same face I see?
and if you were to coat my face in words,
same as phlegm or saliva,
could you cast a mask
to marry my countenance to this book?
could you
would you
surprise me?

I have scoured my thesaurus a hundred times
in search of you
so faint, like god twiddling his thumbs.
I have, so many a time,
brazenly plunged to the depths of my alphabet soup
only to find a crumb of you
canoodling in deep sea caverns with spoonerisms,
and mainstream mediators of mental masturbation.

But if you were there
when my voice ran out,
I did not hear you calling.

I did not print commitment,
i signed it with a dizzying script,
an illeggibile roundabout of little nooses.

But if you were there,
I didn't see you speak
I only watched you walk away

Sunday, November 4, 2012

lights lights lights

a little horrible
a little vacuous
a little and enough
of the stuff

Thursday, October 4, 2012


miss you 
like a child misses 
their blanket 

Sunday, September 30, 2012

dear love

my body's punishing me for a scurried resurgence
my mind's the breaker of my my head,
spewing sacrements,
like heady wine,
to a stoic barrage
of homeless heathens,
queued for soup
and soapy conversation.

And there I am a ladle
to plunge and draw,
plunge and draw.
And there I am a hot syringe
to draw and plunge,
draw and plunge.

and here's the doctor again.
he's come to generalize
the contents of my stomach
he's come to call sorrow
a cure for early-onset alcoholism.

dear love,
the heart within my thigh
has a circular pulse,
fighting last night like a tantrum,
and waking to a flatline.

dear love, Oh love,
how will you wake me once you know me?

Monday, September 17, 2012


I will paint the nails of your right hand and
always hold your ankles and promise that you're okay
we can forget to take our medication together
and shoplift trinkets and pine for bamboo rugs and that is what growing up is--
growing up is to catch a predator, and midnight ice cream runs,
and complaining about addiction,
and shrinking clothes, and figuring out
for the first time I don't feel always lonely,
only sometimes lonely,
but it helps to know that you're in reach
it helps to know that when I wake up in the middle of the night,
I can sometimes hear you breathing and know that you're ok.

I believe in you, go get 'em tiger.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Monday, May 7, 2012

”I detest my own past and that of others. I detest resignation, patience, professional heroism and all those nice, obligatory sentiments. I also detest the decorative arts, folklore, publicity, the voice of speakers, aerodynamics, boy scouts, the smell of gasoline, topical matters and drunkards. I love subversive humour, freckles, knees, the long hair of women, the laugh of young children at liberty, a young girl running in the street. I wish for real love, the impossible and the utopian. I fear knowledge of my exact limits.” René Magritte

Sunday, May 6, 2012

I often feel grief
Like an eighth and final continent
An island set to tropical time.
It is a place held away from self,
With short and brittle correspondence
Of letters in jars
From a faraway place.

They speak another language there,
An unfamiliar farce of words
And swirling tongues.
It’s a bitter dance of seething syllables,
Spoken like a slow and steady breath.

My Idling archipelago
Rambles like a train of mismatched
Only ever in halves.

I feel my grief like
A plentiful drought
And as searing eyes,
Caught on my neck.
I feel it like a dragging and pulling
Farther and farther down.
Like a dapper fool or a loathsome clown;
A starcrossed parade
Of players and heathens.

I have kept my grief apart from my heart
Made it a faint, and witching voice.
It welcomes the hour’s thud,
And relieves my daily dose.
A gesture of hope,
Hid from the start.

soul soul

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

he tells his friends
she's got a voice
like if the Godfather
had been a bacchante

Sunday, April 8, 2012

And a cross-eyed Buddha
to mark my dissent
from the righteous path
weening its way
to enlightenment.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

there is so much to do to keep from dying

I have always loved you as a thief
To sing my head and to drown my grief.
It was no love song
That fought its Saturn strung hands
To ring my heart.

It wasn’t a melancholy melody,
Nor was it the dashing and
That ran us home to safety.

It wasn’t your breath or
Your bitter taste
That kept the tune
So fervent in my mind
Nor the grassy eyed complexion
Of a halfwit seduction.

It was,
The words you chose
And those you stole,
From another man’s head.
But I have always loved you as a thief,
To sing my head and to drown my grief.

I should have hungered longer
And kept the sham alive.
I should have lit the flame
And danced myself to ashes.
But mourners weep for lost loves only
And ache for the lonely still.
But they will never know a love like mine
Or the stars of your face
Or the enchanted sun
That seared my heart.

I should have loved you with more hope
But it was the holes that halved my heart
But I have always loved you as a thief,
To sing my head and to drown my grief.

Sunday, February 5, 2012


what we would be like if we weren't who we were
in that coffee shop
where our problems mattered
and Monica was fat
and Rachel got married.

Monday, January 9, 2012

Thursday, December 8, 2011

you are my hungry ghost
and I wish
I could fill your belly up
with earthly delights.

please oh please

write poetry for me
call me your muse
me .

Love me like I love you, for then it would truly be glory.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

light it up

death of a friend

You are my mourning music
My dirge
My sad melody.
Can you keep speaking, so I can cry some more?
These are complicated times
I need something to happen. 

Sunday, November 27, 2011


Now available in your language of choice

Sunday, November 20, 2011


Before I was a girl, I was an aged crone.
A wise and withered ghost;
exhaling all my years,
deflating at the front.

Before I was a girl, I was a man.
I was with power and esteem
and honor.
I spoke and planted thoughts
for bloom.

Before I was a girl I was an afterthought.
A consequence of pleasure
and an object,
weighted by sin.

Before I was a girl
I was black and blue,
a baby soft with hot, hot irons.
A fire breathing, slow witted
pillowcase strewn with
last night’s face.

Before I was your girl I was your mother.
I hung like bells calling you to tea.
I hung like heads,
leadened with shame.
And I gazed at you with hate
like love,
and tucked you into sleep.

When I was no longer a phantom,
I was a form.
Moving fast as light,
a rhythm in your chest,
the spindle pulsing to 2,2 time
plucking and pulling the thread
to harden the heart.

Before I was a girl,
I was aged by my heart.
But now I am a child,
born from a jealous mouth
nothing ever more.

a less than three day grace

you've given me your words
to shape in my mind
and form themselves
into arms, against you.
And though they are only products,
of hackneyed thought
and ridiculed hands,
they mark your memory
a nameless epithet
for an empty grave.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Autun Cathedral (St. Lazare), west tympanum, Last Judgment. c. 1130-1135. Autun, France

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

recreational trips to the airport

I always feel okay in airports. Everyone there is a traveler, no one is rooted in some airport culture. It's personally isolating, collaboratively nomadic. It's easier to define one's character in a suspended state. Routine and culture are too often confused. In the class I visited today, they were talking about character without context; how people separate themselves from a collective past to become individuals. I understand that. If we live too devoutly in tune with our history, we are simply living the past, reaffirming a point we already know

Thursday, October 13, 2011

I will never trust my hands

For once,
In a dream,
They became so searing hot
That they burned straight through my self.

I will never trust my mouth
For the words that flower from
this kettle, piping hot
float like steam, up, up, up.

I will never trust my nose
For each time
I smell peppermint
I think of needle and syringe.

I will never trust my eyes
For each sight
Is just a thought
Plucked from another man’s head.

I will never trust my feet
For they have led me
To heights where fear has leapt.

I will never trust my heart
For I have known it as a man.

I will never trust my mind
For once,
in a dream of fever,
it dreamt my death by mine own hand
and as I wept, rising to the sky,
I felt my body leave me.
And I could never trust a man,
Who left so slyly in the night
And I could never trust my form
That rose so quick from mine own sight.

Sunday, September 18, 2011

having family trouble?

this is not ink,

this is blood.
these are not tears,
I promise you,
they were not drawn from me, but of me
with a needle's precision ,
a blind woman weaving hands from words.
This is not warmth,
but a brutal,
unflinching chill
to fester in you bones
and exhale all the cracks.
I was not born whole
but built broken,
I was not reared with jubilation
but with soars for eyes
and a chain link mouth.
I tasted copper against my tongue
and swallowed all my teeth
and rinsed my face clear of grime.
For once I was a beauty,
once I had a pulse and a rhythm all my own
but now
I am but a head to hold your thoughts.
I am weary and drawn
and held taut against
the searing stars. I am a man's cold reflection
to gaze upon
and to see nothing.
I am blood
and ink
and bone
and sweat
and fear
and grime
and warmth
and I am the voice to sing them back to the sky.
up, up,
float up and be free.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

I fear more the illusion of aging than anything else; the prospect of knowing I am no longer sprightly, nor remotely fluid in my steps. Not that I ever was, but was I close?

Friday, August 19, 2011

"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion" -Albert Camus

Sunday, August 14, 2011

sometimes, I write you letters, or even the more trivial email, and simply keep them. I want some miniscule reminder that we once communicated, that we were once so fond of each other. I never address them, as one would in the fashion of a dear friend, for the epithet reads like a poem of mourning. I like you more than I mourn you, I miss your companionship more than I miss your memory. I write memories, so that when the day has passed, I can remember them in concrete syllables. I write direct, conscious memoirs so that I will know them when I know nothing.
When I am gone, I will my words to remain.
it's the chance to take a million hearts,
and hold them close
to feel them beat
to feel them yearn
to feel the lights go out,
like the hiss of midday prayers.

you are a fool

but so am I.

and the numbers keep swirling in my head
like waves
like waves
like churning and turning and writhing and squealing
and all I want is for you
to want me.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

there reaches a point
in which you realize that you don't matter enough
to sweat the small things

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

Friday, July 8, 2011

it was like watching someone else drown
like breaking someone else's hands with steal rods
but waking up with splintered fingers

Thursday, July 7, 2011

I feel you climbing up,

clambering through the dampened tunnel

rooted in purgatory.
I feel you reaching out,
like some willful militia
born from my veins.
I hear you retching
and choking in your own,
liquid form.
and I see you gasping,
at the still born plasma
come to drown you.

And still you come,
in rain, in sleet, in shine,
you come to fill my sweet bowl
up with a melancholy surprise.
you come to clean me out
and fester for a while.

I can't tie you down
I can't bring you with me
you were never mine to keep.

Sunday, July 3, 2011

all day long,
I have been making lists. Lists of loves, hates, like, dislikes, sadness, happiness, so on and so forth.
I've been doing this in preparation of evening, so that tonight may be the night I finally sleep.
I need to rid my mind of thought, and plunge deep into this emptiness.

Monday, June 27, 2011

I hate when the night's on fire,
when flames rise and light the day
and the sun unlit serves as but a reminder

Sunday, June 26, 2011

this was supposed to be cathartic

but it's something of a mess
I only write when I'm sad
but poetry flows from my sadness
like ink from my veins.
It permeates the water like broken capillaries,
a blackened concoction of blessings and faith
a blackened conflagration of greeting cards and soiled linen.

I only write when I'm sad
and when I'm happy, I live
free of paper and ink and pen
free of paradox and hyperbole
of  sentence structure and rhyme scheme
when I write,
I give my life to the paper.
draining my veins of all their beauty,
and watch as the living slowly become the dead.
please don't try to be my mentor,
all my idols are dead.

give me two hands to rub for warmth

and one heart to keep me chilled
forgive me
forgive me
forgive me
my feet ache from walking on these bones
and kneading knives with my knuckles.

And I've grown bitter with this cold
and dumb with discontent.

I've never known a winter more frozen than this

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Sometimes I think they only pretend to believe in god

Sunday, June 19, 2011

they flicker for a moment
then illuminate the galaxy as though they were false stars,
fit for no greater purpose than that of a court jester

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

sometimes I wish in poetry

and other times I write melodies in my head.

sometimes I kiss my sister goodbye
and other times I simply walk out the door.

I regret each action

mere moments after they unleashed unto the world.
and I cry most frequently in the afternoon,
usually to the tune of midday soaps.

sometimes I sleep with all my makeup on,
so when morning comes,
my colors have all run together
like the constant drip of some rust-ridden faucet.
other times,
I stain my skin with shades of soap
and bleach the day away. 

Monday, June 13, 2011

I've got one hand on the gas
and another in the burner
let's go bake a cake

Monday, June 6, 2011

summer, you are the sweetest

array of syllables to ever be uttered
you retrieve the dead from their bones,
and cut into being 7 new men
holding hands like identical little strangers.

I thank you for your kindness

I thank you for your poetry

I thank you for your freedom, as clear as cantaloupe.
This burden has been lifted
and I intern have floated up to heaven
rid of my earthly form,
to find solace in solitude.
and sweet, sweet surrender 

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I like you just as much if not more

A name means nothing. Your form is constantly at the tip of my tongue. It may actually BE the tip of my tongue.

and every other part of me

into the depths

There was a time I thought I could swim
I'd float to the center
and stay there awhiles
I would close my eyes and do backstrokes for miles
until the waves illuminated the moon
and the surface felt cool as stone.
I'd skip all the way home,
stoned by the mercy of the tide.

But really I've been drowning
drowning, drowning down.
I've been here so long,
inches beneath the surface,
watching as cracks form in my memory.
I've been here so long,
lips parted,
drawn to the finesse of that last breath.

I want to let my lungs fill with salt
and watch as
The colors of my skin all run together.
I want to lay my body down
and rid my bones of heavy burdens.
I want to know you
and I want you to know me,
inside and out.
I don't think I could ever love you as much as you want me to.
you're a hypocrite
you're a liar
you treat me like a child
you don't seem to care
you laugh at everything
you act like this is temporary
you never mean it.
any of it.

Friday, May 27, 2011

death mask

my neighbors scream

like gun fire.

And here I am. Alone on a Friday night. Drinking diet coke and just wishing this year would end.

                BUT THE END IS SOON TO COME. 
and not even in the frightening May 21st apocalyptic way either.

for that thing growing in your heart

If you walk away,
I will trail in your wake,
warmed by the presence of your mere memory.
And I will love you more
And I will love you more
than that first moment of kindergarten affection,
enlightened and devoid of my humanity.
for I am a purist at heart.

I will hold your hands
and kiss your knees when you weep
but never your cheek,
for grief is a horrid contagion.

And I too will weep
for that thing growing so close to your heart
for that thing trapped inside your stomach
for that thing that feels so much like love.

If I could,
I'd unhinge your upbring
and piece back together each shattered reflection.
and when the ground shakes,
I'll paint your bruises over with shades of
and green
and fuchsia.
and when the time comes,
we'll paint them black with nostalgia.

and I'll kiss your knees
and sing a song to your belly
and watch as dirty rivers form across your face
and I'll  close my eyes, because the hurt's too much.

I want to pull out your grief,
like a cancer from your lungs,
and watch as it pulsates
and writhes with the fervor of a mournful heart.

I want to write your name across the skyline
and whisper it in melodies to the airwaves.

But in truth,

I fear that my love will fall to the scope of man's achievements

in truth,

I fear my love will fester like a sore, a reminder of soured camaraderie.

let the scabs ripen,
rip them open and start anew.
I want a reason to love your pain away.

hey gal pal

sittin on my left

you are a favorite of mine
I hope you have an amazing last photo class
everything you do makes me smile

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

help me to pull thin air from thin air
and meaning from concrete syllables.

help me to unwind
like spools of thread
and skins from apples

love me like leather,
be my pillared feet to hold and my patron saint to have

It's sad when you miss something that was never yours


Monday, May 23, 2011

I can't I can't I can't I can't
do anything productive
pretend to care about you
continue to be so fucking ambivalent to everything
I hope with summer comes the ability to once again make decisions and form coherent sentences.
    admittedly I'm not even that excited about the prospect of summer
it just feels like this portent of aging.
I hate it.

Friday, May 20, 2011

I cut my lip

I'm sorry that I cried in front of you. I didn't mean to put you in that position. it's just sometimes difficult to regulate my vulnerability.

I can feel all my wisdom teeth coming in. They're puncturing the exterior without a single care.

I wish you were here to hold my hand.  

Thursday, May 19, 2011

A thought.

A single though to plague my mind.
It devastates and rages within, confined to ideal circumstance.
It lends space for bloom,
But all that grow are wicked and deranged.
Mangled with the sounds of crying eyes.
Gouged by the meaningless monologues of some horrifying necrosis.
The thought but festered before I reached the shore.
And I felt a burning in mine mind.
Plunder fast and rid me of this curse
Or leave it to hover in disguise.
Let each to affect the other
And in conflict, resolution will form.
And if collapse I before solution’s sound,
Place bars around my bones
And weights upon my breast.
Let me to be a barnacle
And without air, the thought shall die
And we again be free.

sbiblical sallusions



Tuesday, May 17, 2011

I have found you
you were stuck between the cushions
between bits of lint and chewed up gum. 
You let out a scream
when I grabbed to free your form.
And I screamed too,
for I know no other command. 
I looked for god in heaps of scrap metal 
and in bowls of soup. 
I focused on the emptiness of the thing. 
He told me to breathe,
and inside I turned blue. 
Stuffed within a thoughtless form,
 how might he ponder of the alms and aves
of the wearied, skyless prophet?
How might he free himself from ease?
Throw himself to folly?
On the day of our baptism,
We will pour iodine to clean our wounds
and rid our tormenters of sleep.
We will bury our dead amid soiled salutations
And borrowed surrenders. 
I have found god amongst the dregs 
of soured milk
and in the listless elastic
of second hand gym shorts.
I have found God,
But he

has turned