side/walk someone told me the side-
-walk just split and (i'm blindfolded)
i don't (know which way) to walk
i don't (want to
seeing reasoni do not want to scare you off like some startled animal
you small, large-eyed creature
i do not want to hunt you, amanda-ken.
i do not want to hurt you
oiled last august when the sand was right
and all i want is to smooth you over like bad carpentry fixed
all i want is a belt sander and some time with your scratches
telling you things you can't do don't work too well,
telling you you're love and honey won't sink under your skin.
innocencewe found each other
in black and white photographs
(i was twelve, you were thirteen)
what a world
we were on the playground
with each other,
more often then not
i thought i loved you
(there was nothing there
i knew nothing;
you knew less
we met two years too early.)
and two years later,
(salt lake city
is a lot farther away
then i remembered)
we've never talked
(we let go of each other's hands
just like we let go of hearts
we never held.)
in the blink of an eye,
our faces were never as red
as they remembered
we were never as in love
as i thought
i dreamed i kissed you once
i put on cologne,
like i knew what i was doing
(and i never did)
Requiem for a Pick-Pocketpurse-snatcher:
a more pure find, not yet found
an evil, shoveled up from a hole.
and in love, he slides his tarsal constrictor
in and around-
through and into the pocketbook of mother.
a starting pistol fires in the belfry of man,
as each shoe, during its contact with earth,
moves further from its last.
he is a criminal,
could he be more?
could he leave his sneakers, dry on the pavement?
the airborne pick-pocket
riding high on the edge of a cloud.
shooting starsThe colours of the city were mildly exhilarating;
monochromatic structures blending in
with various neon lights of apartments,
bars, and adult centers.
The wind blew viciously
and the surrounding quickly vanished behind me
consumed by another before falling to the same bittersweet fate
in the end leaving nothing
but a brilliant white light
and a need to escape faster.
The bridge spanned for several miles,
but there was no one within sight,
what else would one expect?
The night sky was menacing but inviting,
and in the midst of the chaos
shone a star with such glamour that it could blind.
I slowed my motorcycle before dismounting it
and looking over the edge
into the water deep below,
a small breeze kissed my lips.
the water breaking into waves
and splitting apart whilst the ground shook.
My body was filled with anticipation
and I embraced myself wildly.
"I simply can't wait..."
The star vanished just as quickly as it had shone brightl
crystal hangover. 1991someone is picking up my thighs
and i am pulling my facial bones
out of the floor.
it is like trying to pick up a thin sewing needle.
i am a fleck of vomit.
sound echoed in a frame held together
by obvious red wires. so obvious it hurts.
it hurts not.
me, i am looking through panes of glass
with baroque decorations.
floating rococo rosettes.
these muscles are made of cake icing,
i want to peel them out,
(am i buttercream?)
strip this bloodswirled, venetian pink flesh frosting
i am entombed by my tight silk dress
trapped under cushions, and,
somebody's pointy knees.
arching up my spine, my line of sight,
deepening my hazy horizon line,
squinting at the warm shadow above me--
i am madonna with the long neck.
marry me, summery shadow. thrumming purplish sound,
breath and iconic pressure of fingers
burying into my thighs, hips.
rape of persephone, i think. bernini.
i am marble, hit and polished to look like flesh.
i am frida with a floppy heart,
brooklyn, 1930turn-of-the-century man, clutching a tophat
in fingers draped with delicate whitesilk gloves,
hiding the bloodstains of the pig you killed
for your breakfast bacon
the gray concrete prison blocks
keeping him inside this science experiment
he reads dusty books hidden in
the back corners of derelict libraries
"how to be a gentleman" ;
"the subtle art of finger-fucking"
how do you live with yourself
sir? the crows perched on the telephone wires ask
he spins his top hat in his tainted fingertips and replies
i don't know, how do you?
a sardonic wolf-toothed grin preying on his upper lip
every night he says his rosary
over the splayed legs of the milk-
white serving girl that brings him his morning coffee,
and his evening tea.
she smiles serenely as he presses his fingers into her,
she doesn't see the bloodstains or the fleabites along his forearms--
he is a gentleman, after all
i sound like a violinist-
look at me, just look at me-
i'm anything but pleasing
but even unwilling,
you're the closest thing i have
to an audience.
for spilling my guts,
i'm making such a mess.
we can go home and in the morning
none of this will have happened.
let's take our mistakes
and pack them neatly away,
put in little boxes
in the back of our minds.
take the string
from your finger
and forget it all.
i wish i could set fire
to the things that have been plaguing me
but metal doesn't burn,
and neither do memories.
RxI would prescribe for each
and every one of you to
spend an uncomfortable amount of time
with someone more medicated than yourself.
It doesn't matter if they see things,
or refuse to feed their guts,
or happen to be so anxious that they
Just lounge around and pretend to drink
untouched coffee. Smoke unlit
cigarettes. Let them choose the
conversation topic; it will be interesting-
It will be about
It will be about
It will be about the kinds of things that
stand over your bed and burrow deep into your
chest with their lighted eyes.
He or she will make the case
that every medicine shares the same
intended side effect of making you
feel better, just long enough until they
start speaking with shadows again
and consider overdosing on sanity.
If I were them, I would
accent this whole conversation by
flicking the light switch
As if it were
day and night
all over again.
BANKRUPT- phasing in and out;
falling in, just to be reminded
it's all an elaborate ruse.
go on appreciated
by the underappreciated)
I am no maiden,
no damsel in distress,
so save your lines
for those who will pay you for it,
I'm not buying.
[transaction failed due to insufficient funds.]
I am BANKRUPT, broke,
summer is dyinghis eyes are beautiful.
she's never seen anything quite like them -
the color of
the sunflowers and their namesake
and just as happy
he catches her
because they are so in love
everything comes to an end and everything
that comes together comes apart.
she cries again
summer is dying
leaving behind a gravesite
of a boy with yellow eyes
In retrospect.V. Empty plastic litters the floorboards
like bad memories and newspaper clippings,
and I'm reduced to reminiscing of times when
the car was blue and not in blood rust.
I'm scrambling to make use of a lunch hour,
spending money on bitter tea and inhaling
the scent of people run dry.
It's two sixty two for another cup.
II. I was a good listener once,
when her words were nutrients and I swore
on the trees and the scars and my mother's happy grave
that we would learn to be an entity or memorize lines.
That kind of love isn't rooted for every rake, shovel,
or metallic prick at one's convenience
to be dug up twice for every lover happier without me,
a sentiment not whispered by the tulips but you,
and truly, much happier without me.
I. Hair ran long and chests grew tight with unsuccessful
attempts at being buried six feet over, not by choice
but a careful turnstile of words built to levy
demeanor by calculated demise.
I am not to forget the carousing of knuckles
in a ti
symbols of the clinically insanemy mom always told me to not stare at the sun
because it was unhealthy
and would cause you to go blind.
she'd yell at me
and my cousins during our
creative name, i know, i didn't come up with it
my mother also told me and my brother
who happens to be
three and a quarter years older
(even though i can be older than him
think something like
a thousand and one years when it comes to
getting in danger)
that if we didn't be quiet and go to sleep
that very instant
the 'crazed politicians
who probably have rabies
with a side dose of stupidity'
would come out of the closet.
wait, ha ha
that's me who says that to my little cousins.
my mother says i should stop lying
that it's unhealthy.
we think differently when it comes to that term
i think that you're unhealthy
to look at
like the sun
and wishing for things then never getting them