where i dance alonei. I mistook a shy boy for a thunderous one in the days when I lived inside his lungs.ii. I wanted your hands in the early morning, or in 8 o' clock light. (Does it matter? I just wanted you.) Hands like paper cranes, hands like wind chimes. Then we could've been like lovers in a parody: "I love you, I love youno, I don't. But you are beautiful." And while I was not your lover, neither was I your queen. Either way, you wouldn't hold my heart.iii. Our fingers would've taken flight and then the rest of us, too. Then you would've known of the ballroom in my chest, the migrations inside my body, of the tiny secret nothings that make their way like monarchsas if by instinct, as if they have been here beforefrom ballroom to piano hands to the museum that is my mind to my stomach. But you are the only lost boy afraid to fly.iv. I was a foreign land and you would not dare travel without a map. But I do not possess a souvenir shop in which to purchase one. I am a des
usOur love trembled at the knees.
TributeShe came back to me undone, brazen & alone & alive, awash in morning light, with mockingbirds braided ‘round her ankle, with her soul cradled in the arc of her foot, & took me outside. She came delicately, barefoot through the days I had sat alone, hush-hush through the grass & gold, came & laced fingers through my mind & called to me, down through the years & the hallways of my heart where the dust of you had long lain undisturbed: "He is no longer here, but I am.”I have found the voice that left with you.
inside the quiet.My blue broken boy,We found love in November.No longer golden,Hear silence where once you were.It never did rain for us.
sunflowers.they will see her and they will say,"she was loved, but now no longer.dry earthand paper-pressed sunflowers,she is the vision of a dead summer."
reinventionI should've met youwhen I still had it in meto change my own name
Wildflowers, Imperfect BirdsI breathed your name like wildflowers under vast broken skies, in wide-open spaces. The wind blowing through them spoke of dew and dirt and petrichor, and there was sunlight on the ground like a mosaic patterned by god's own hands.I said it like a monarch claiming new land: a declaration, a butterfly breath over old earth; like it was coffee on a warm morning with the sun in my eyes, interlacing with my lashes; like it was a dream; like it was a prayer like it was a miracle wrought of air and bone and body: you, in, out, in, out, in and in and in.I cried it out like an earthquake between lip and lip, continents that don't quite fit: your name, a fault line that doesn't know how to apologize.And I whispered it like it had grown nothing where there should've been feathers, no wings to fly it on, like my lips were the nest it would always call home.So I breathed it,And I whispered it,And I said it,And I sang it,Like a castle; like a mirror; like it was the big bang and ever
didn'tmind.I was the raindrop.You, the streetwalker. And her,A prismatic umbrella.
I Of YouI want you to breakand never bend for me,see my historyspiderweb your brilliancetill you belong to me(and I, to you)utterly and foreverand knowyou cannot stop this.
deflourgod'sgot a thingfor women in white dresses,legs broken andtwistedlike the knotof a dead man'snoose
SeashineSacred skinwhere heavens and oceancollide,an imprint on salted lungsan echoof aching, ofa moonlit yearning upon therolling tide.
an irrevocable truthi.snowflake child, you are a fine exampleof the incandescence of a human lighteven under innumerable umbrasi see you- ruby and bloomingferociously fighting your wayout of a pile of rubbleii.my anemone, my halothat comely wraps around my moon pithdo not fret if i self-stumble, fumblewith my fingers, and mumble to my toesmy center of gravity is oft frail andmeek to begin withiii.you are lead cause of the diamond flecksscattering about the carbon of my pupilsyou do not leave meyou teach me to besnake-eyed yet shotgun-hearted-a sapphire wanderlust lividfor life and star-gazing sights, you mapconstellations on my freckles and fright iv.look now at how i'll find my lighthouse loverthen tend to some kidsand grow out of my gills and into grey hairsthen tend to some kids with their own kidsand reminisce about friends and phenomenai signed my name on a patch of sky withall on my own exceptthat your hand never left minethat if i were to crumblelike the sandcastle
windstorms and labworkafflatus, inflatus, my morning globe,as lithe as your impermanence.and home! dread homes! are rabbit dugs,spoonholed piles of mexican brickwhere nothing ever touches down,nothing here alive receivesthe plains’ poor offering of gypsy light,the ugly wind that meets the mudline.[metaphors]1. a mottled fence2. and how these storms hold faceless teeththat slat their eyes through butter-woodthen purge their guts on wintered florets4. some freshly headless nativities,their polyethylene skirts upturnedfrom violent sacks5. and knowing i’m a soulessspeck i lick at what is manifest beneath your hair each poison taba colouracidfire or lake a brothel and religious studiesi know, i know you never meanto murderor completemebut do not say “live for yourself”.i’ve come online to see the godthat came before me.we are so poorly marriedlike bookend spines of Plath and Hughesup on the shelfare somehowsynon
ApsaraFind me sunken into thelotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,waist-deep and pinkin sunset, and we will cry:for three-faced elephants,for rain,for the dancers threading gracebetween their fingertips—until I dress in the heaviness,a sarong of heat.
custom skinthe fake drinking that hot tea & cocoa hybrideating what seems to be green bread & greener delileaves a trail of eskimo kisses & pink neon post-itson notebooks she must have filled in her past lifethe doll wearing the remnants of a knockout round of hipster versus hippiecarrying herself on typewritten tattoos singed in esperantomasters the art of penning fables & sketching suspects in hopes of healing her phantom selves
the right way to let gocould you pull me inwith a gravity tow?just enoughto let me gointo a better orbit
the hungry look...the hungry look,the wolvesweaving throughand around the gully of your throat like wraiths,we can feel you rusting, lost one;i know that drainpipes and fendersbegin to crackle after winter wetand that there’s a touch of snowin all of us,but no one,no one could hold you as tightly as you do,your whole body, bloodless in this arrest,and if you will not let your fetters showi will show youthere’s a place for going, and you haven’t gone there yet;where quantum particles, once in contact, can retain a connectioneven when separatedwhere youwander up to a strangerwith your shirt inside-outand say ‘don’t mind me, i am just a deer come out to observe the world’some strange magic, that once done, cannot let go
.when her love left, it leftthe house emptyand she saysi hope one day it'llcome back to me,cos i don't keep this shotgunon my front porch for nothin'
SurrealismThree a.m., andGod is in my bathtubagain—sipping whiskeyhallelujahs;backlit bya freshwater moonin the mother-of-pearl sky.
and yet i cannot write of youi am attracted to the broken,the lonely, the nutcracker before he was made prince.i am false in a way that shames me:burning through daydreams insteadof looking for their existence,lately i have neglected the self-inducedhallucinations i am prone to.you are gorgeous in your honesty.please do not love me,i am afraid i will break you.do not question the poems,they are the only things tying meto mortality; the only things i will giveaway easily.i guard my secrets the way misers keepuseless pennies tucked between their eyelids,savings for the day i stop giving out poetryas if i could hand out my burdens,and walk away like the skin ribs show throughnever saw anxious fingers plastered against them,forget the smell of blood, rubbing alcoholwounds, confessions i have not been able to speak.
muffled tears and handouts of cynicismit was a quiet,rainy afternoonwhen you showed mehow the frameof your bonesturned from pillarsto ruinsin just four seconds.you were barein every scaling inchof skin, feathersdetached-falling like stonesthrough the cobwebsbetween the nooks andcrannies of my fingersand you kept askingfor the two centsin my pocketwhen all I could give youwas my sympathyand lashes wrappedin an expanse of iris.there are no tears,there is rainbut no petrichor.
simple pleasureswind caressing my face,tangling my hair,cooling me down on this hot summer daywatermelon juicerunning down my chin,spitting seedshoping that they grow anewmy daughter's smilewhen she splashes me in the pool,her screeching laughwhen I chase herit's the simple thingsthat make me sigh with contentment,it's the little thingsthat bring tremendous joy
astronomerswhen we're togetherdusk is containable; the moon in my palmsand the stars on your ceiling.we lull the city to sleepwith our theories of life; my tongue curlinginto speech.do you remember,when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?that night,you balanced a cigarette off your lips,and I watched the vermillion flame burn lifeas a newborn sun;stars forming,planets moulding and constellations snakedabove our eyes.i imaginedwhat it would be like to be curledinside the embers creator and destroyerof worlds,so close to your lips.
I Fear LifeI do not fear death, I fear life.More pain in living, life,nothing more than an extended exit strategy.Life, a means to an end.Life, kept in place by bookends of non-existence.Too many options, too many paths.Love is fleeting, happiness never lasts....A horrible day can feel like an eternity..and life has too many days.Death just happens....if you have a second.
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you? i. summergirl,you are crowthroated and tumblingthrough the aspen grovehair on fire with sunrise, lungsfull of sky.eyelashes like wildflowersand every morning bringsa new spray of frecklesand a sharper curve to your collarbones.the cornfields hold no shadowsfor your lighthouse eyesand there are no endings in thatsurefooted smile. ii. you have grownso fast.autumn finds you with broken anklesleaning on an oak branchand watching the skies.crow to sparrow--you are quiet.summergirl, there is peace in silence,perched treetop,fallen antlers in your hands.you will come to mourn your deer.keep them close. iii. by winter you have paled,and like the streams your eyes have frosted over.you feel the chill--there is no need for sight.summergirl, th
Daddy...?Ambulance for youRacing by the houseMom just calledIt races for youDad, don't leave meDad, please come backThe doctors toldyour brains bleedinside your headyour veins burst.Dad, don't leave meDad, please come backDaddy...?
Sky EyesDesert hands tell talesof a hundred arid summers, butyou are no longer as cloudless as they(there is a stormcreeping through blue, blue veins).But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,that grey cascade blurring againsteyelids and horizons;and suppress her misbegottendroplets, seeping into the soddenground underfootfor there is still sun in your sky eyes.
Teeth, Wristsnovemberkissed me blueand cold and bitter;eyes that cradlethe sun withoutopening, and handsthat have forgottenthe way to heaven.