timber.

There was something about his eyes.
They way they stared so deep into me I felt as though I were drowning on the nature of his ocean.
He re-wrote my symphony and made it his own.
Messed with the measures, tinkered with the beats.
My god, how my heart paused!
He’s the unsung hero of all my hopes and dreams.
Taking me to those backwards places in my slumber.
He’s the fool that keeps on coming.
I shudder to think.
That he’s leaving soon.
That, I too, must do the unthinkable.
And stay.
But this is all I’ve ever wanted, and he…was just the icing on the cake.
I shall savor every moment with, every moment without.

Absent mindedly, I brush off the words “I love you, forest princess”.
Truly, my heart believes that I won’t speak those words…
Because this soon means, that I feel it more than I can let on with speaking.

But what do I know?
I’m sick with buttered bread and fever dreams.
And he thinks the world of me.

I know what he wants to be when he grows up. And it sure doesn’t look good on paper.
But no one will ever love him like I will.

Echo.

The world has echoed a silent prayer for me.
It entrusts in me, it's beauty, it's splendor.
I have been a slave to man's lie flavored flesh.
Here, I know his secrets.
Here, I can sense the lies between his thighs.
The only one who knew.
The only one who knows.
I am the silent partner who wishes to not be named.
I am the tragedy with the shapeless face.
I will be the rendering of all you've ever found whole and real inside yourself.
And I will not ask you to spend more than I am worth.

Leech.

This is the only act of forgiveness I will grant you.


The way to my heart is paved in Demerol and shot gun shells.
I am forever going to remind myself of your tears.
You shall no longer be my sense of abandonment.
Wrapped in a blanket that I created.
That I fashioned.
That still to this day keeps you warm.

It's seems you've found your place.
But this is what isolation feels like when those around you scorn your presence and idolize the kid with the full chamber.

An arsenal of words that he knows how to use.
How to let them seep in, sink down, and touch me from the inside out.

He bears no baggage and sleeps under a halo of stars from the West.
Shapeless.

Radioactive.
Except he's not fighting his gut feelings anymore.
He won't wear out his welcome, and will never lie as I have.

It's not about how fast you are.
It's if they "get" your ride.

For Noel.

A lingering stare that didn't hurt anybody.
A gasp and a sigh as I found out you were departing.
The thump of my heart goes with you on your journey.
May it be the soundtrack to a beautiful new day.
Your words will echo in my ears of true beauty and nakedness of the only kind.
More often than not, I'll be thinking of you.
And the wake of poetry you're spreading across this country.
Your words, your heart, your beauty.
No matter how hard you try.
There are some things.
You'll leave behind.

rush.

it's gonna be a rush.
when all the air that's ever been inside these lungs gets knocked loose.

like that rush of hot thick blood that races to your face when you find out, all along, that they way you loved him, was the way he's loved her.

yeah, that old familiar rush.
adrenaline. taking shape in the form of a lover, who forgets your name.

out of time, out of shape, and out of context.
he will never know that my heart beats 10 times faster when he's near.
he will never know that my smile feels like it's attached with saliva.
he will never know just why i do the things i do.
and why
i won't ever be sorry for them.

i'm waiting for the winter ache.
when i realize.
i am no one.
nobodies.
no one's snow bunny.

and no one will keep my hands warm.
no one will make me soup.

no one will remember me...

once the rush of winter's come and gone.

summer heat

i wanna see naked breath take shape like rods of lightening
test those waters and know they'll be just right
savor your flavor under the setting sun
tease your tastebuds with my tongue
lay embraced like ivy creeping up castles
making my way away from your mouth
glittering with salty sweat like a diamond desert
i want to be unrecognizeable to everyone but you

gary's place

todd tells me i'm among poets
that i need not worry

but i just saw the man i think i could fall in love with
get sucker punched

so the only thing i'm really worrying about, now

is that during our first kiss
he apologized for his actions
and i smelled
of cigarettes and beer

H.

with him...i talked of sickles

with you...i want the pitchfork

airate me...like that clay colored soil under those green trees that remind me of your underbrush eyes

eyes that i desperately need on me

kiss me under those stars...stars like the million promises we were both promised

i'll keep them for you...in the sky, as i reminder of what i can hold onto for you

of you

you are a man.

and i am a sorry excuse for a keeper of your stars...
let me keep them anyway

stride with me
you
i
it
will grow

and we shall toast triumphantly, the fruit of our labor

and i'll just bet...it will taste sweeter
under promised stars

sorry

today the sun did not shine.

but as the moon passed over this valley.
a slow tide pulled at my skin.
and washed the heartache of yesterday.

there will be days when i will not smile.

but, today, as the sun did not shine...i am left with moths in my stomach, clinging to light we haven't felt in a while.

saturated heat.
easy street.
your hand engulfing mine.
positive reinforcement.

forget what you own.

this.
is what makes you human.

for c

sweat, pouring.

we aren't moving a muscle.
and yet, it pours.

i want to run a sickle down the back of your arms and capture that moisture in a cup for me to drink.

i want to know your oil, your salt.

it wasn't just the heat that made me sweat.
drip. drip. drip.

i think of sickles and slick skin and laugh to myself.
about old stones.

while we drink, we speak of friction.

godflesh

sir, speak softly under lips of godflesh, for the holy roman empire knows not of beauty like yours, that i know i am the only one blessed enough to see.
go with them.
go with those angels who fly sideways so that the view of the sun won't ever be obscured.
fly with them.
branch wings from those tingling muscles.
sprout feathers as though your heart were growing outward.
go with them.
fly with them.
be sure, to say your prayers at night, even if silently, because you and i both know that no one is listening.
be them, just the same.

not too much.
i only ask that he call me, "love peach".

or something of the sort.
so that i feel as wanted as i need.

and he should look at me from across the river.
with eyes, that could only be for me.

big intentions.
not an ounce of fear.

nothing will cloud those perfect days.
when the trees are green, the sky is only blue.
and you won't have felt it necessary, the need to be away from me.

we'll both enter from the same road.
both plant our feet on the same earth.
breathe the same air.

only this time around, we'll surprise ourselves.

8ish.

Between foreign teeth, lay a tongue, setting forth no rules, no laws.
Faking innocence, in just the right ways.

Never once, did I feel trapped.


The right kind of hurt, at the right time.
Never saying why.
Never needing to explain.

Never once, did I regret it.


Intertwined like no time'd gone by.
Laying above. Beneath. Behind.

Never once, did I think twice.


Good graces working overtime.
Esteem nothing of an issue.

Never once, did I feel ugly.


Something of a faith, working me over.
Of love's long since lost...only to be found.
Eight or so later.

I have yet to frown or speak ill of what I'd done.

And I'm sure, that I'll refrain.

Starving.

The skies scream out for my blood.
The earth starves for my flesh.
Rushing that feeling…of living on borrowed time.
I am still a far excuse away from feeling good again.
We’re both protecting our hearts like a safety deposit box.
But my key just broke.
And neither one of us can afford a fucking locksmith.
I’m envious of those bitter angels of the night.
Streaming light from skin still going unbroken.
They’re damned.
And I am stretching my arms out to them.
But not reaching far enough.
To satisfy my growing hunger.

nuevo.

this isn't what it was supposed to be

where were we only but a year ago?

crying into our pillows because we live in an all too cruel world

and nothing had ever....ever....gone our way

i got your letter...reminding me that you still cared enough to remind me

of how amazing life could be

when little miracles happen

and small victories are the best to be savoured

when they're shared

we're winning

we've won



it's about time

icu

what good is a man hooked up to tubes?

i've become insensitive.
the scent of hospitals does not bother me.

i wonder...if maybe i should have gone to see her body.
but he...isn't that cold yet.

these...machines...keeping him alive...make me wonder if that is all we really are...machines...

and if so...when will yours, mine...break?

olfactory.

she smells like what forever smells like

absolution and obediency

innocence that is non-conductive

smells sharp like cheap wine in expensive glasses

like trucks that keep in the cold

lidocaine and latex

she smells like charlie mansons cental nervous system

and the soil surrounding ted bundys basement

she drinks napalm for breakfast and shits out shrapnel

pouring champagne down her back as though she were an altar to normality and self discovery....she does not grow well in direct sunlight

she eats the fat but gets told shes "too thin"...is there such a thing these days?

i feel happiness for the first time in a long time, and thin, subconsciously i'll die in a heinous freak accident because that will really put me in my place

shame on me for being one of the fortunate ones

i want to filter your blood with my great grandmothers nylon stockings and make a soup fit for kings

i am a thing of conquest

its like finishing a puzzle and then realizing how ugly the picture is

communication.

i stared at the nape of your neck and wondered how it would feel in my hand as we fucked

i looked into your eyes and was washed over with a sense of complete hopeless romanticism

i wanted to trade shoes with you, and hoped you'd be man enough to walk a mile in mine

my attention diverted to your smile as i though of all of the hearts you've painted with it

and how when you walk into a room...it feels like when the sun comes out while it's still raining

your attrition is what fascinated me the most...how it seemed your every breath begged forgiveness for something you aren't even sure you're guilty of

staring at the nape of your neck, then down to your shoes...you had my forgiveness

theodore.

i came for the poetry.
but, now, i come for the poets.

she came for a man 21 years her senior.

if he loves her, he should let her go.

"but she's a grown woman," he says.

she's no more a grown woman than my little brother.

oh, but those titties!
and that mint condition cunt.

i don't like to think of him, a "fellow poet," shooting his poetry across her tits like a strand of freshwater freudian pearls.

i don't want to see her end up with a broken heart...
eventually just coming here for the poetry.

quite contrary

marilyn, marilyn
how does my garden grow

with frostbitten nipple kisses
and pretty boys lined up
all in a row

with velveteen beards
and cigarette smoke

half swallowing my guilt
and bending to touch my toes

on slapstick jokes
and moss covered stones

my garden moves slow

Mariposa

butterfly.
trapped with me in this cold, damp shop...
monarch wings beating frantically at closed windows...
i hear the flutter and it reminds me of my own heart when i can see home, and i have no way of getting there...
i open a window and tell him "out!, right here!"
his frantic wings carry him towards the flourescent light hanging above my head...
"right here, stupid!"
i found myself yelling at him...
as if he could hear me...
i knew, he did not belong here, as i'm sure i do not...
i was angry with the butterfly for having a way out, and not taking it...
after many minutes of holding the window open for him, i closed it, and looked around...
he was no where...

i looked down, and found a ten dollar bill at my feet...

Dancing In The Rain

the rain hits our rooftop like distant drumbeats from foreign lands
i think back to all the thunderstorms, and how they produced little to no rain
how i longed to dance in it...with the men that i had loved
but never did it rain enough
for i only danced with one
now long gone
electrical flashes accompanied the scent of damp earth...
teasing me...
making me think more dancing would come
here, it rains heavy for days
but, i've no one to love

la lune.

sliding slithering sideways
slippery snail trail
poetry falling from between my legs
under the blankets
SPELL YOUR NAME IN MY WET SPOT
etch your name in my flesh
MAKE DAMN SURE I DON'T FORGET
how your one eyed devil purple people eatin' pearl shooter made a goddamn fool of me
grinding teeth from beneath those sheets
rolling gnashing smashing
ripping tearing biting

jack. hammer.


i want to be drenched in your remorse
and i want to know what flavors your seeds come in

i want you to plant your garden and water it often

i want you to fuck me stupid, stupid.

Making Shit Up

he looks like he might just know the best way to love a woman
in his eyes, i can see.
i can see.
we both ache from possibilties and are leaning towards the ones that benefit us better
thoughts that no longer shift like doubt, like distrust, like jealousy
envious of each other for loving one another
having the stones to say so
i am not afraid of the dark
i am afraid of being blinded before i can finally see your light
put it on.
show me.
show me before the summer sun distracts me and dims my sparkle
i'll play mortar to your pestle.

grind with me

drinking perrier, listening to & ampersand

i won't quite know how to finish this...
but that still doesn't stop me from starting.

she needs to find an everlasting love.
be it man, deity, or poetry.
she needs to wake to find...every single breath is something to worship.
how hard this life already is, to make it harder on yourself?!
that. is blashpemy.
to break your own heart?!
to make yourself miserable for nothing's sake?!
i've had it up to my ears with my own self-pity.

i won't wallow in another's.

...

i'm not sure what's going to happen tomorrow.

and i'm not sure that i've still got poetry running through my veins.
something happened to me that makes those sloppy adjectives and strung out metaphors seem like a thing of days gone past.
like i haven't got it in me anymore.
and the fact that i don't want to squeeze the words out...
makes me realize that maybe i never needed them in the first place.

perhaps poetry was something of a crutch for me?