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.
.she'll hold him tight tonightand dread the coming mo(u)rning
a picture of perfectionShe was a painting;not a Rembrant or a Da Vinci...much more vibrant than those, she wasthe fade of Monet,her quirks just shy of a Picasso portrait,and at the same time not quite shy enough.She was a Van Gogh landscape:full and bright and articulate and beautiful-but a real mess up close.Like someone forgot that when you make peoplethey're supposed to stay inside the lines.
Mask Pt.2Dissolve these demonicMasksWe wear,And we'll seeWe all look the same.But I've foundThey aren't easilyTaken off.I've found it too difficultTo undress these thoughts,Instead, I wrap themIn jackets & scarvesTo match this coldWorld.
in all i trustShe says trusting this muchis like clawing through my skin,shattering my sternum, andsnapping each rib like pencilsto unearth a thudding fistpressed between two lungs.Trusting this much is hammeringmyself to a cross like a scarecrowand screaming, “Take it! Take it all!”to home-wrecker ravens and expectingthem to land on my shoulders and cooinstead of claw and caw as they always have.I say trusting this muchis standing naked in soft moonlight,warm haze of orange street lampshanging outside of the shudderson the midnight blue backdrop.Trusting this much is spreadingmy arms wide and whispering,“This is all that I have, all that I am,”to the stars and birds on the wireand expecting nothing in return,but praying underbreath it willbe enough to make them stay.Trusting this much is notbeing vulnerable with monstersand expecting not to be torn apart.It is knowing I may be hurt,but I also may be loved honestly,and this is a chance I am willin
Night SkyPaint me a story of words,the clouds and sky sit as a attentive audience.The stars outline filled with memories of our epic journey.Hands will be joined together underthe light of the Haley’s Comet.The man in the moon will stay hidden in the moon,we’ll seek him out while sitting on our picnic basket.
caesuraSea foam layers salt ringslike age lines on beached birch wood,shattered shells scattered like treasuresacross soft sand that shifts itselfinto hiding between bare skinand shame.I watch turtles hatch and meanderlike men toward different beginnings,the veins of better thingsetched like hieroglyphson humpbacked shells,and I can't help but wonderif maybe I should start crawling, too.Instead, I pick bits of sea kelpout of half-decaying seashellsand watch the sundip a goodbye to the breeze again.They say you can hear the oceanif you put one to your ear,so I tilt my head and listento the whispers that beckon fromthe bottom of a half-rememberedworld.Lofted on a breezeheaded out like a ship on calm waves,phantom voices bickerover which promises to sell me;I hiccup heavy heartbeatsand wonder why empty wordsare so much easier to swallowfor the broken.
GardenWhen I lay myself downOn the warm grassAmong the flowersI gaze at my reflectionIn the sky I'm falling intoWhat is leftOf the person I was Eyelashes flutterAnd cheeks flushI dream of faraway landsBathed in sunlightAnd gems Freedom in my brainSparklingI am stuck in the gardenOf my life
Caesura--C.Sea foam layers salt ringslike age lines on beached birch wood,shattered shells scattered like treasuresacross soft sand that shifts itselfinto hiding between bare skinand shame.I watch turtles hatch and meander like men toward different beginnings,the veins of better thingsetched like hieroglyphson humpbacked shells,and I can't help but wonderif maybe I should start crawling, too.Instead, I pick bits of sea kelpout of half-decaying seashellsand watch the sun dip a goodbye to the breeze again.They say you can hear the oceanif you put one to your ear,so I tilt my head and listen to the whispers that beckon from the bottom of a half-remembered world.Lofted on a breezeheaded out like a ship on calm waves,phantom voices bickerover which promises to sell me;I hiccup heavy heartbeatsand wonder why empty wordsare so much easier to swallowfor the broken.
hymenopteracompassionis full of surrogateslike those brushing in the yard;accidental flowersI would grant them their aspirationone last, exalted screambefore the crisp disintegrationto be a crystal in the honeycombsome edge of necessitynot yet worried off to the nubI do see youand rememberit was me
catching upI'm spent andsitting. broke and bleeding.within my memories,your hands arecaught.I can't forgetwhat time forgot.