Her Hysteric Obsessioni've ripped off my scars &More Like This
plastered them amongst the sky
because you didn't believe i was
insane enough to love you.
SnowFrost, like Vesuvius ash,More Like This
furies away from their cloudcage,
intention akin to Maternal mourning for Persephone,
sent to sift shivers through the down-draft's fleeting perforations
and smother all movement, still all things,
in a rheumy pale shellac.
Bel HeviWhen they mapped depression’s manifestation,More Like This
they showed my body turning blue
as if it had filled with the water
of every downward-floating mermaid
with her heart and her gills on her arm.
They told me
depression is a tandem bicycle.
That it stretches, elongates, reaches,
spreads to both ends of the spectrum
from a thrumming red to cobalt black,
from a violent joy, like a catalyst in a combustion chamber,
to a deadness, a negative entity in non-existence.
My fingers may radiate words
but my heart is a vault full of
It is a simmering and freezing, incapacitating, sorrow
they measure with their electrical wires,
and is that supposed to placate
my fear of drowning,
is that supposed to unbend me from fetality?
I fold fender for fender beneath
my mother’s sheets
as my body turns to blue
and bitter, black frost-bite,
and is the idea of agony as tandem
supposed to restore my faith
in modicums of
in parcels of good days
when I did n
Bird BonesMy ribcageMore Like This
is the hollow
of birds cracking
at every thought,
and touch of your
breath across them; cool
as alabaster, soft
as stormy skies.
(il)logical biconditionaloh simple thing, you’re wondering at me but are you asking? simple thing, even if i answered how would you hear me? would you leave last knowing that, that not-simple thing? would you ask it, too—and as alive or as aliving?More Like This
oh you poor, poor simple thing; you couldn’t possibly understand.
oh special thing, i’m taking you but not for granted. special thing, even if you kept this secret how could you lie me? would you knife yourself through the belly of a soldier, shoulder me lung-hung and carry me—and carry me on?
oh my poor, poor special thing; i couldn’t possibly understand.
suffocate medare me to inhale with lungsMore Like This
swaddled in cotton candy
taste my tongue, pink,
so sticky sweet and
on the trail
of your throat,
wet rainbows left
by the blushing slug
in my mouth -
kiss me with a death grip
on my windpipe
ten gifts for me,
fresh blue-indigo oil slicks
puddling dark and deep
beneath my flesh.
lamentfrom ivory fingertipsMore Like This
fall the promises
once kept curled up
moons left in palms
from holding on
for too long.
from black-tipped rose-lipped
sprout the seedlings
on tired cheeks,