Poetry

for the grass there is no companion 

for the blade is not my friend 

dripping, let’s 

go to them-

wait.

these rain boots miss the puddles

company

in the depth is there no remembering?

we let it take us 

down

numbers lost again

the outcome will be what we make of it

if we let the inside in

where the grass keeps souls company

and my soles out from under me

these solid words miss receiver’s mouths

but the blade is not my friend,

who listens where it comes from-

guitar speaks of a dying breed deep in the gums of the inside 

i like the way my teeth fit into each other

but these rain boots miss spring 

the sole is not my friend dripping from the temple

go

in.

When I was five the grasses

Brushed my legs

And we

Flew 

Down the hill.

I went sledding on sheets of ice and it

Didn't even hurt

When the snowballs hit

Too hard

At six the black cats

Fell asleep in 

door frames.

The cardboard box was never quite

Enough

To hold the rabbits,

Fruitless attempts to save a 

Life,

though the tears

Never came.

on the west coast of anything we can sit around a table eating grapes

what was that thing you said earlier?

we whisper through the lessening vine, eating into the night 

an act of giving from one loser to another

fifteen years ago

you have lived long enough to say that easily but I was barely alive

the sun dips down over the horizon

the only ones left are too soft

the table has strong legs

it can carry us

crying over mountains 

holding hands rolling down

spinning in unison, dancing in circles

singing sad songs with wide smiles

knowing you're more than halfway there

in the front seat looking west

driving along a forgotten coast to a nameless beach

laughing on a full stomach

i think i love you

what was that thing you said earlier?

if you never expect the unexpected-

signs passing by on the left

we are looking for something, somewhere

we are not only giving to get 

catching glimpses of family in new light

dancing in circles by the front door at night 

leaving everything unlocked

on the west coast of anything, we can expect the sunset 

we can whisper through the grate 

we can give and give and give

take i love you for instance, what a thing

i love you for reasons in everything 

we recall earlier 

eating our love

the table has strong legs

to carry us

36 white horses

my sister left me scribbled 

on the neon closing sign

don’t come in here

don’t come in here

on the neon warning sign

she sticks to me like chewing gum in all my weakest moments 

scratching at the door

let me in

let me in

she doesn’t answer anymore

don’t come in here

don’t come in here

she says, without having to

move lips

click teeth

swelling gums i hope don’t bleed

little castles to the hand, the weapon

we don’t fight 

we don’t fight

but we’re losing 

we let in

what used to be normal but shouldn’t be now

it shouldn’t be how

we work

will kill art for money

hung on the wall by the shoulders

i’ve been spraining my neck

i get lost in the patterns of strangers 

and inside of my head

there are walls in the far back that stay up

i keep curiosity there

i keep running for things that i wont miss

what makes me happy 

when am i happiest 

Sky Girl falls down on me sleeping

she looks like screaming 

she looks alive

i pull the covers over her

i let her stay

and i wonder why i feel lightheaded

there are real people too

who make me unhappy 

and still keep a space in my room

grabbed by the shoulders and hung up on something nobody will admit

there is no point in mouths 

there is no point in lips

there will be voice no matter what

there always is

there will be words whenever 

i let them stick

and still i let the unhappy people in 

the women of fast moving things will come to ail your splintered thoughts

as the frame you once fit sits stationary on your shoulders 

carry the weight as long as you can; for soon you will pray for wind

something to blow you off balance, something starts again

nature tries its best to force us to fit in

it sends the youngest up

pushing through the pavement until the tiniest blade of sunlight can cut through 

leaving cracks in the stability you were raised on

leaving no questions to be asked 

mother tries to paint me green and stick me to the walls

hoping the ivy will follow, but it never does

mother prays for wind to come and whip me off my feet

she prays for the house to fall and for only dirt to be left

standing amidst a very loud solitude 

face to face with all children 

but mother prays there will be none left

and the women of fast moving things will die out 

and the frame will crack and splinter 

I dream of her often. 

Always in a flurry of ribbons - greens and golds, blues and yellows. 

Like the majesty of sun-kissed rice terraces

Carved on the face of immense mountains. 

Her every step is the story in a rhythmic dance 

That never misses a beat, never faltering or falling.

And though we share the same face and fast beating heart,

There is a space between our margins,

A rift between our worlds.

That seems insurmountable.

The unparalleled beauty of these great green stairs

Is sacrosanct.

But not out of reach. 

With steadfast determination to ascend each terrace step,

The gulf between desire and reality narrows,

And the dream’s footfalls that were once the lightest of raindrops

Now thunder through the storm. 

Until one day, the distance from one mountaintop to the brink of sunrise,

Will be from my fingertip to the edge of her pulse

My dreams are the candles that illuminate the night,

Never wavering, always bright.

My dreams are flames that will never burn out,

No storms or winds can shake their strong flames

Their steady glow reminds me of the path I must take,

Leading me through shifting shadows that hope I will break

Through dreary darkness, their luminous light shows the way,

Guiding small steps each day

The light strengthens my soul

A quiet fire that keeps me whole.

In the short, dark days of December, 

a little pink flower watched the sun slip out of her reach. 

The clock hit 4:48 and the darkness swallowed the light. 

She realized the sun wasn't coming back any time soon,

Hopelessness fell deep into the flowers heart

The little pink flower felt alone in her thoughts. 

Until a bright star shined through the clouds, reminding her that the crowds of flowers will return in spring. 

Hope shined through like a star in the dark sky. 

  The house breathes when the night comes in,

The wall screamed with flowing wind. 

The clock chimes loudly like a rock drum.

With every tick, it says you’re the only one.

The fridge hums low, beat of a dreary, drum,

The moon peers through my window.

Silence sits with me, heavy as air

A shadow to ghost of a soul who’s not there, I am alone.

But Hope isn on feathered wings, sparks in the darkness where my heart never sings.

I sparked in a fire when I see my friends, it’s like seeing light at a long end.

My craft, my dance, is the only reason I print. I tell the walls that I will not fade away.

this morning was a very long day

sleeping angels subtly saunter over to the corner of the light room

where i tell a coal stricken collar dog how not to dream:

sally lives on a bridge between enemy and ocean; 

she lives for other people in slow motion; 

she only takes a step back when there’s room to fall; 

in case she does; 

on a bridge where girls go fast; 

without looking too far behind; 

on a bridge where either way it doesn’t last; 

i think i know a place;

sally strains to remember her middle name;

as city birds force pebbles past her teeth; laying in a patch of sunlight; 

sally shrieks something unright; 

the cobble gods cry pepper tears on her scraping knees; 

please she says please; 

i think i know a place;

as shadow words follow her to the bus stop; 

they bounce around her ears; 

adding salt to the pepper tears;

the busboy never gets there; 

but i think i know a place;

she claps for the applause;

as sally sharpens her claws; 

inhaling the morning; 

without warning she lies down; in a patch of sunlight

Standing in the doorway

I see a Papaya

I try to leave

But I'm beckoned as if a messiah

I step in the frame

I set down my things

And right beside me

A monkey with wings

I must write a poem

Hard like a spur

So much to happen

In the pcs amateur

The words “Shattered” and “Psyche” are paired so often it makes me sick

But this time I’m being honest1

It won’t change tomorrow 

It won’t change next week2

Please believe me

No more seconds of solace 

Where my brain can be at peace with itself

No

Now it’s a battleground 

More like a warzone 

More like a torture chamber

Abu Ghraib in my soul

How self important I am3

It’s almost funny

Just let it happen

My psyche is shattered

It makes me sickc [sic]

1-With myself

2-Or the week after, probably

3-Can you tell?

The air moves me like a warm syrup

Rousing circuitry

My drudging soul

Hears nothing but the surrounding

Wails- Droning succubus

Tube driven religion

Breathing through it

Loving through it

Won’t you stay? I ask the invisible dome

But it doesn’t even look back as it walks away

I miss the horns

The teeth

The noise

The Snake keeps it’s teeth latched onto 

The Stick

Tongue on bark

Sensing skin, tasting a flood

Reaching up, he tastes God in my blood

A pore; An opportunity 

The Snake wishes for his father tonight

And his thousands of large 

swathes of scales

Cerebral in their nature 

But bodily in their form

The contours 

They entice me

Sell my slick brain to his majesty

So when I walk I feel as concrete feels

Such a romantic style of travel

Cerebral wrinkles in time observe us

Thinking is feeling, whispers the crown

Upon his throne of radio transmitters 

It hertz when the sine wave opens my eyes 

Unblinking they examine her 

How I love a lack of words

Sine wave flattens

Steamroll our hearts together would you please

EE—>

china southern cargo

radiation

sits me down

underneath my seat

these are my favorites 

red lights and yellow stripes

do not walk outside our area

stay

   I

   I

  V

a blue traffic cone spheres into presence 

the curve of my wing clippings

orange lights through the dark

sky

squinting doesn’t make the stars appear

they just aren’t here

jet engines growl and groan

many many people alone

it is hard to know where to look when there’s two windows at once 

my reflection doubled 

eating my nose

my smile in my eye bags

carry on

Carrots produce more sugar 

in the winter to survive

when you bite into a sweet carrot,

it's essentially saying, 

"I don't want to die." 

If I were to delicately remove 

the bitter parts of me and 

produce overwhelmingly sweet honey,

will my heart finally be able 

to communicate to my brain that, 

I, too, do not wish to die

• genuinely doesn’t care if i died

• wouldn’t show up to the funeral

• wouldn’t text to see if i was ok

• would rather play video games

• cooks basic chicken

• entitled and privileged 

• rich but doesn’t know it

• makes good curry

• repeats the same jokes too much

• doesn’t care if i burned in fire flames

• got quiet for a talker

• always in brooklyn when he shouldn’t be

• doesn’t care if i got third degree burns

• wouldn’t text while i was in the hospital

• wouldn’t text while i was in the fire

• wouldn’t text to see if i was ok

• he lives on evil street 

• with an army of friends who are also my friends

• was a gentlemen until now

• usually does the polite thing until now

• very rude

• extremely mean

• disrespectful 

• won’t stop wearing that hat

• it’s stupid

• won’t text to see if i’m ok

• used to be really chivalrous

• got really quiet for a talker 

• i can’t tell if i still love him

• i feel distant 

• i haven’t seen him in a long time

• maybe that’s why he didn’t text

• something i can justify

• evil street 

I am not impatient --

my tolerance for a waiting game is endless,

and easy --

for you,

I would

(will)

still, and count:

the stars

bones in my body

and their joints,

my breaths, 

and rapid pulse.

but there is an ache gnawing at my chest,

pairing, at tendons

as I do.

not for a lack of restraint,

or a tiring.

but a natural-born demand

to make quick work

of weaving you into my seams.

there is a tremor in my palms,

needle through nerves,

trailing long, long thread.

not for my restlessness, 

or disquiet,

but a staggering certainty

that at the end of some stitch

(I have counted and counted and counted)

I will find your end.

but, in trying, in pulling too tight,

will I make myself tattered?

chewed, and unsightly,

through your eyes?

if I miss a tally?

lose time?

will my haste leave you to lie before me,

frayed, and scattered,

shying from my reach?

I am not impatient --

there are few things that I require

now, now, now --

for you,

though,

my pace is compulsory,

(forgive me)

driven by a starving

soothed by your simple shape.

so, I am only seeking:

tangles in your hair

and its roots,

the imprint of your hip,

and half-smile.

steady and sure.

LOVE

however soft and kind the exterior, love can still feel empty

how filling to eat my love for each meal and to breathe my love and to be loved

but birthday balloons are hollow

we all swarm to the most deflated 

the one least likely to surprise us with loud noise 

but they’ve already loved too much

so i get nothing 

HURT

even though it hurts to know you it’s still nice that you exist 

existence is persistent and it won’t let me forget you

i paint you with kind words and friendly gestures and goodbye 

but you don’t really go away 

CRY

here are the beaches i’ve cried over you and under you too holding up distant weight

here are my eyes subject to random hate 

summer hands pull the ocean from my face

as i give you all my years bunched together as one and wrapped in brown paper

because i will always be yours

even if you aren’t mine

EMPTY

without my love for you there is no one looking over me

i don’t love you in a secretive way

i don’t want to hide you from the world

i want to share you 

with the lilies and the lakes

with the seasons as they change

PRAY

they won’t change us again

Cross my heart

Hope to die

Stick a needle in my eye

Give you all you need and more

Maybe I can’t 

But I can still try

I love you

But why does saying it feel like a lie

How can I love you when it doesn't feel like my heart is beating

My breath is fleeting

And my lungs collapsed long ago 

So i’m unsure why i’m still breathing

And if I say I love you everytime

When will love start to be wrong

Can it really ever be right?

Is there a wrong way to love

Or maybe a right way to hate

But the feeling is an inbetween

Because I don't truly feel anything

You can say you care

And I can say it back

But we need to look between the cracks

The fragments of an unsure word

I love you

But what if my heart doesn't work

How can you love a phantom of a girl

You say you love me

But it’s a version of me you don't see

Because that girl in the room is not me

She’s not free

I freed myself from feeling

But now im stuck in a body that hasnt even started healing

The wounds from love I never felt

Words that stick

Or words that stuck

But meeting the right people is just luck

Lucky to meet the ones who lie

who say i love you

The ones who don't try

To think

To feel

To see if it’s real

I say i love you and you say you love me most

But you cannot love a girl who's really a ghost

I look at you with a twinkle in my eye

A smile on my face

No question as to why

I have a racing heart

I have blushing cheeks

I have everything you can want in a girl 

Still I don't know what you want from me

You look at me with passionate eyes

But it isn't passion 

It’s violence in disguise

You lick your lips

Like a predator about to pounce

And now i’m realizing i’m more like your prey 

You said you wanted me but not in this way

You look angry

And mean

Like a monster from a dream

But this is a nightmare

And I can feel my heart beginning to rust

Because I look at you with love 

And your eyes are filled with lust

It’s not myself who I hate

It says as its engine of a heart

Begins to itch

I wonder if the wheels burn as it speaks 

Feeling so universal when the gas leaks

God makes me so curious

Asking of it, 

Where does the spare go when it’s time comes?

An explosion of steel Ford never imagined

That boy and its skirt of shrapnel

Expel the trust from my lungs

It responds and a tear breaches that wall

I’ve kept it up for so long

The spares time is up