new york minutesask me what its like to stand outside of a skyscraper, two hundred feet up. ask me what its like to be plastered against a bruised sky, no pair of eyes noticing me because im just another black silhouette of the city. ask me what its like to see your own heart leaping from your chest and tumbling ahead of your body and down twenty-odd stories and into the never-ending traffic that looks like a travelling carnival. ask me, i know what its like to become dust.More Like This
the clock on my wall ticked loud enough for me to realise just how empty my flat was. the second hand, blood-red and thin as a needle, twitched ever-forward, still pausing just as long as it took for my heart to stutter, thinking time had broken.
"fucking clock," i muttered, rubbing my chest to encourage my heartbeat to mellow. i took it from the wall after being awake for four hours, having spent three hours and nineteen minutes watching and flinching at its every
LandlockedDay 1 –More Like This
The idea of being landlocked has always terrified me. At age eight, I sobbed as we crossed coasts from Maryland to Oregon for my aunt's wedding and her husband's ensuing funeral; at the funeral, I stayed silent.
Day 2 –
Sometimes it's nice to think of the shores, especially when I am so far from their comforting infinities. At college, I am in a university surrounded by trees and mountains. The nearest body of water is a man-made mess in the middle of campus; it is rumoured that it is filthier than the aftermath of a Friday night in the partying capital of the school.
The only difference is that one has snapping turtles. In all honesty, I am unsure which that is.
Day 3 –
While I swore I never missed you, I missed you all throughout. With trees and skylines punctuated by tall, ugly buildings, my heart ached for the water. It also ached for you.
At night, I would find myself remembering the night I graduate
poem scienceif you abandon a poem to the universeMore Like This
it will continue to breathe in the absence
of anything. it will continue to breathe in
stardust which is most of a potential
creature, which is the creature in its most
important stage, which as a concept begins
bigger than the universe in all its haunting
promise, which the poem knows &
mythologises, which the poem births as
dragons or the inside of a hydrothermal
vent on jupiter's moon, which the poem
names & renames & refuses to flatter &
finally explodes, which the poem breathes
in & out in an alphabetic flurry, which
probes the poem & orbits it dizzy
until it forgets how to be a poem at all
which should be the finding of each
trial of your every poetic experiment.
run on aheadthe reason I keep reachingMore Like This
out these tired hands is
sleep keeps speakin' promises
that someday I'll say something
that treats itself to insides
and feasting you will find me
rich in wonder where you'll find
me wrapped in soft words like
the ones you will remember when
my shape's some chalk stained yellow
and I've learned
the easiest way to breathe
(there's irony in this space)
if you want to go solo
you'll have to do it without me
last season's mix tapesin every story, there is a plot.More Like This
this is called “what happens.”
what happens is usually someone dies and someone rebuilds, someone buys a wedding ring and maybe she says yes.
what happens is we lose touch.
what happens is we stop at the laundromat, and i don’t know if i am inventing the men smoking cigars on the porch, or if it is really thursday. what happens is i am nine and you are a few years older and we are in the laundromat with three baskets full of clothes.
what happens is my parents are waiting in the car and we have quarters weighing down our pockets and we are grown up as we press coins into the slots on the washing machines. we giggle because we are the youngest occupants of the one large room lined with washers and dryers, and we giggle and we wait for the buzzers. we grow unsteady, confused, younger as we realise that we have been wrong. suddenly we are infants and we glance around the room and we feed more quarters into the
Variations on the Word KnowI would like to watch you knowing,More Like This
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
knowing. I would like to know
with you, to open
up the space between your eyelashes
and make my home
in the trembling snapping
rivers of your synapses
with their spiked blades of light
reaching out as spindle limbs,
reaching for anything else
I would like to give you the amber
stone, the small black life inside, the full
echo of reddish pebbles thrown
at someone else’s window
from the street, at someone
else’s window. I would like to follow
your hand through the lettered
the backstage kiss that draws your
shoulders up, a hydrangea
plucked from the garden
where your eyes surprise
me opening, and you discover
it as easily as smiling
I would like to be the word
that strikes you as a crisis curves
your lips. I would like to be that simple
& that astonishing.
bear color for youlove, I let youMore Like This
in places yet unseen
in the silent space
and how we're wired
dear, you are
every memory undeparted
every poem I've ever
odd synapses fired
a hand unclasped (still shaken)
a heart unheard until it's
time to rest
uncommon sense retired
Memo To Myselfdon't fade away!More Like This
walk in the sun
make the time
to take the time
that surrounds you
recapture your spark!
eat with your hands and
talk to strangers
from the proper angle
every face looks like
bears the makings
of a miracle
have a little faith!
throw caution to the wind
leap without looking
life would lack for love
without a little
find the future
full of feeling
at your fingertips
poem for youi will let you lick the loveMore Like This
from behind my teeth.
i will tell you i do not speak
your language. i will give you
a new name so you do not
remember yourself & we will
communicate by our fingertips &
whole bodies. like dolphins
or beings who know something
about being conscious.
we are all a greater wonder.
i wonder if you know
about yourself, how you are
filled with so much light
like a wizard or a fire dancer.
when my eyebrows droop please
kiss me on the nose because kissing
is the greatest thing you could
ever do. the humblest & most perfect
act. the act of gods. did you ever think
our will is that everyone
start kissing & decline to stop.
i love you. it is so easy to love
if you are determined to do it.
i love you because you remind me of
all the amazing flowers.
i love your laughter loving butt.
i love you in the middle of watching
films at home, laughing over each other.
i love you when you roll your eyes at me.
i love you when you remind me of gods
in all their nakedness & brillia
pathos as a punchlineand then, mid-rinse, it hit me.More Like This
there's something a touch more troubling
about quiet desperation
showing its face during the
familiar & commonplace.
weeping in the shower; fully lathered,
red-eyed in the mirror;
shaving cream scattered,
small cut crowning
a procession of teeth.
crying at breakfast;
full stack of pancakes
cooling on the table.
miserable at brunch;
spinach quiche crumbles
collecting on the chin.
it's a fully realized sadness
fit to laugh at, on the screen.
it's a swallowing despair
to bear in skin.