i write like a five year old.as we were driving, a satellite sent me urgent messages to be a home for you. they were hidden in commercials for new houses. the messages said they needed to be sold now now now and filled with people eating and loving and sleeping and leaving it and coming back. everyone needs a home. i turned off my radio because i don't want you to be reminded of what you don't have.it was quiet then. i liked the silence, because i can listen to you breathing. if we were silent long enough, i can imagine your warm breath filling up the car, mixing with mine, until what was inside of me could be inside of you. i think you would find that creepy, so i promise myself never to tell you. you hate silence, and a wave of irritation crossed your face. it is fascinating. i almost hit a car, watching.watching you.i parked and we walked. i walk too fast for most people, and it's annoying because i don't slow down. i expect others to speed up to my pace, or risk becoming a blur in the past. you are not like
i am being empty i am point byou are likea communications towerdirecting signals across an oceanto radio receivers on the other side. andyou are beautiful.there are two kinds of people in this world:people like you andpeople like me.you are like two grammes ofsodium nitrate in my bloodstream.so small and so subtlein terms of volume,but nevertheless killing me.
this is the endwe stood still and watched the earth rush towards us.the train tracks looked like a ladder,ever star a step. life stole so much.every passing moment greeted by another. fluidand constant motion, escaping from our grasp.stay close, and we are time ticking. we are passion. for once,we are not afraid.what for, you asked. why anything.your eyelashes spoke symphonies, systematic and it sent me shivering.how could i be so hollow and so full? i am nothing that you are.i've seen many dusks and few dawns.there are mountains i hate and birds i envyand stones i throw. i wish for morehands to hold. i only love one thing thatcan't contain me or i contain it. i feel electricityin palms and fingertips, and it's pulsing. it's brilliant. it's killing me.my breath is stale. i am lost,but in the darkness you felt familiarand i just want you to hold me for a while.the train will swallow us, whole,if we're lucky. look deep into the blindinglight and step forward. this is ourlast breat
when you paintI am fightingto be a building burning to the ground.you are a lover. you are my lover.you have cans of gasoline.you have matches.you have no causeand no pity.I am alight.
obsessionsstone manyou don't look me in the eyes anymore.and sometimesI really wish you did."come alive (I want to be someoneyou could live for. I want to beyour reason.) move.anything, please. just once,just for me."(I carved you to besomething beautifuland I can destroy you into something better.with a hammer in a heavy hand,you'll be in pieces scattered aroundand I'll never be alone again.)stone manI made you a stone heart.and stillyou can'tlove me.
directionas life grows coldI head for distance.wandering dusksettles on my shoulders,searching for it's beginningand my end.I'm so tired. I needyour warmth.(some nightsI sketch your handsto remember the lightfor a whileeverything is good.)
make new friends, keep the oldI have many friends,and they are lonely.They like alcoholand cigarettesand pills and powder and fuckingand they don't like being toldwhat not to do.they are poorthey are nicethey have each otherand that's enough(until they need more.) they say I'll be an alcoholic.they say I'll become a chain smoker.they say I'll live in a shitty apartmentand all I will do is write.(I ask them when the fuckapathy became an emotion. they don'thave an answerfor that one.)I say we all die eventuallyand being a writer is terribly cliché wayto do just that.They ask me for more money.I give it to them, usually. I don't care.I don't need lonely friendsbut they need me.
spaceI sank.the worldlooks betterdown here.empty. dark.quiet.my ghosts can'tfind me.this is my placemine alone.(until the day I need to breathe.I hopeI neverdo.)
soundwavesradio towerscounting hoursfor every static lettertransmitterand make-shiftladderlike fingersflying downspinesrealignedlike thoughtsstumblinglike watches andwindowstumblingand electric timetickingrhyming and lying(I lied) tied,side by sideby myself.
Call it Fallthere's a soft kiss ofmedium-rare sunlightin the barelybroken bonesof this October dayjust warm enoughto think that summermay have stasheda day or twoin our pocketsbut each tomorrowreminds us morethat it didn'tthat this autumnknows little lifeoutside its barrelof choking appleswhere yellowjacketsbore, conquer and,still sweet,curl into a coolslow sleepof frozen dreamspaused in dawn'sblanket of frostthese short daysunder long nightscount down toa new beginningof the enda dark springof bright blushand angerthat will burn this forestnot down, but nakedand we call it Fallas if there's a misstepor slip involvedas if we make a choiceor skip the chanceto not veerfrom daylight's trailonto these our printsso well worn and re-worninto timetwo human sets enterand where it goesfrom theregets lost in thecrunch of leavesbeneath usour moon stays lowgiving trees new lifeand wind carries crieslike song, for miles
i. my little pigeon,you walk the line betweenreality and imagination, strayinginto the unknown and bringingback little pieces of wonderwith you when you return.ink drips from your fingers asyou smear words onto pages,breathing life into stiff piecesof paper torn from your notebook.coffee may be where i foundmy home, but it's tea that runsthrough my veins. i could braidyour hair for hours, letting the silkystrands run through my fingers likeyour words run through my heart.we can walk into the sunrise together,holding hands and laughing. i will sharethe sunsets i hold in my tiny palms,and you can share the stories you lockin your heart. i want to travel the worldwith you, pointing out the little quirksthat make up people and stumblinginto adventures behind little shopsand backwards alley ways. i hopeyou remember your handkerchief,or we might end up flying there andback again in the blink of an eye.
we used to fly togetheri've got a good memory,but i was surprised to find the box;full of our scribbled conversationsand protestations (no, that's not right)declarations, no, dreamsof what the future might look like.we were young, vibrant, andbeautiful (and inseparable, once)and we thought we knew how totake hold of the future.for my part, i struggled withage as if i had a chance of winning;our battles were the talk of the town.you, you took to the passing of time with an eagerness that showedjust how ready you were to put away the notions of childhood.i've got a good memory,but it's easy to be selective,pick and choose the momentsthat i want to relive.we were foolish, confident(and oh, so alive)and we fell into our roleswith a predictability that is near miraculousto behold.i doomed myself to the role ofthe forever-child, always looking back,always dreaming of the carefree days.you quickly ran out of adventures,and set about finding new myst
decodei pinedunequivocallyfor the quillin soft shadows:the swallow's smileand toothyflightthe curveof treebowsrotting-freshto planta buduphigh andhemlocking-mebetween a dreamand sleepand sleepand sleepyou musn't worryI have foundan ink-sourcethus:a quibblingcreek -my soul!It willblossomlike poppieson the pagebefore me,myfingertipthe pen
Empty But Alivebreathing you in, octoberi taste the numbing agentseven on the very surfaceof your conspiracy, thisprepping of the patientthis unworking of the earthsealing it as-ishardening the sitesof future graves, forced shallownot harvesting, just weakeningarranging late-year stacksof blurry panic, while disablingthe defensive responseso much decline to wagebefore the winter killsoctober knows i'm a foolfor the dark underbreathof its dead open airthe howl of the breezethrough its night fields, emptybut alive, and so very not emptyits rhythm of silencebetween barks and callsstalls my heart mid-beati used to pray for its enginesto restart, before it hit groundbut now i realizethat there is no floorto this dreamand no bottom to this fall
ten.why don't we sit underthe hangmans noose;contemplate lifefor a bit.watch the crows hustle aroundthesefrayed ropes, and listen to thewind rustle dirt'sleaves.there's a cool breeze comingthrough,almost too cold, its...bitter.so let's just walk away and seek thewarmthunder these charcoalfeathers.[its a comforting feeling to have life, anddeath in your control. ]
catching upI'm spent andsitting. broke and bleeding.within my memories,your hands arecaught.I can't forgetwhat time forgot.