April, 2004I was fifteen. eight hoursMore Like This
in the waiting room remembering
the ride, lights flashing, you
crying through your oxygen
mask, saying I'm okay,
I'm okay. I still hear you
when I close my eyes,
see the man across the room,
folding paper cranes out of
magazine pages &
pamphlets about every
kind of pain. after six hours
he taught me the right way
to fold a wing
& it was, I think, the one thing
that saved me: each
smooth and steady crease
we're all made of stories.We're all either made of cells or stories, but in your case, it's both. You're somehow bigger than what one body can contain. And I know that all of this all these words and breaths and spaces aren't enough to explain you. You're better than any fiction will ever be.More Like This
I remember sitting in the passenger seat of your car, watching the familiar city streets flick by, fast like a picture book. It felt like there was something I was missing between the pages and second story houses, but I couldn't place it. I had my arms wrapped tight around my middle, holding my insides in since I was afraid with every passing moment I would let their contents spill. You wouldn't look at me, but you kept talking. For the first time ever, I wished you would stop. You were telling me that you could never love me and I was completely aware that I had already foolishly followed you in too deep and now you were letting me know that you had been drowning for years. You were promising to take me und
small musingpeople are always soMore Like This
sad about caged birds
the fish in the bowl?
the nature of the soul?
the arrow and the bow?
the turtle, a slave to his shell
never running, always hiding-
walls, small devils and taut strings.
i am not so sad about the bird
in the cage.
what i am most sad about is
the look on my own face when i heard
you said you wanted me out
of your life for good.
i am a slave to old
grudges and i am
too proud to
love, in shortit's somethingMore Like This
like an electrical fire
and my god,
it will hurt
and you will smile
because it hurt
and that means
it wasn't all a dream.
graves.we have become as brittle as elder bone.More Like This
i am bent to a crossbleeding in the garden
watching white lilies creep up.
their feet curled around calcium graves.
i am built from carcasses.
a collection of ghosts. beetles mull in the
pits of my hands and ask me to forget
for my fingers crush them so.
like a leopard skinned i
am just a mound.
all glamour lost to the knife.
if god was a color it would be uglyspherical, my world isMore Like This
and two fetuses could easily fit it
i am a child
in women's clothing. i do not
fill out my bras.
it's a yankee scrawl
or a southern drawl,
it's an easterner's briefcase,
or a westerner's silent wit.
and two fetuses could easily fit.
do you remember when i had a lot of hair?
do you remember the dress that i would wear?
the cat has fallen from the tree.
the rose has grown up without thorns.
the middle-aged wage slave has given up porn.
and do you remember the thoughts you had, there?
and do you remember the sun.
the sun remembers you. it is hard
to tell whether looking into it
is really a bad thing or not.
'what's wrong with staring
at God? he is awfully yellow and hot.'
and do you remember the
dead butterfly on my wall.
do you remember me, at all?
'no- no i do not remember you,
i can not remember you at all.'
the water has stuck to the salt.
the orange has peeled itself.
jesus sits cross-legged, dainty on my shelf.
and do you remember,
if you're an ocean, then i'm drowning.You are a calculated mistake More Like This
something that I've known is wrong from the very start. And I wake up next to you every morning lately, praying that your split lips don't sink me even though I know it's too late.
You're already taking me under, because, baby
you're heavy like hurricane. Like a thousand drops of rain pounding down on my shoulder blades. You're seeping into my skin and into my bloodstream. It's only a matter of time until you spread to my heart.
It's too late. I'm already drowning in you.
It's too late, but god, I cannot love you.
You're like the last boy I kissed
which means I should already be working on forgetting the exact way your fingertips press into my hipbones or how my name sounds curled up in your mouth and the way you like to speak it so careful like a secret like if you said it too loud, I could get away from you. Like you want to keep me. But mostly I should forget you.
And sometimes, I try, but right now, I'm calculating the
one of those nightsIt's one of thoseMore Like This
one of those nights
you pool in the dark
letting the light through
window slats shackle
your granite wrists.
You let this
city tiger-stripe you
with its restless
It's one of those
silent nights, not
holy just stretched
out in front of you
avoiding your eyes
as you stare.