bedIt's a stabbing sightLetting in the morning with a crack of the shadesAnd you forget you could page-turn horizonsWaft through free territoryWhere acres are just bedsMade of fresh landWrinkles in the riverTell remembered timesAbout old languages that could make you cryAbout soft beds that carve away canyonsA speaking voice lifted from the earthBegging you to remember
In your headThat everything is with no reasonAll tides are simple waterBut they hit us the sameThe monsters in your headAre only in your headTransfixedRushing down the cavernThey wipe you outAnd you sleepBobbing in that oceanA starry nighted motionThat rocks you into waking
evergreenUnder the cedar boughs forming scars against the skyI found them: brilliant, ghost-like, humble creaturesTimid like the greying clouds fearful of weepingDrinking from a hollow in the evergreenThey scattered as they saw meLeaving a lone shade lying decimated in the earthly compostFading like sand pulled flat by the tideI knew this was how they would come to their endThe waning gibbous cannot guide them homeAs there is no return for those forgottenSo they rest and worship the dark crescent cup until she fills againThirsting for the stagnant puddles of the evergreen
a drug or choosingYour oily prints upon my eyesBlessed art thouYou bleed through the cracks in my wallsEyes, pores in every centimeter of wallpaperWatching me sleep, watching my night-mareThe horse running from the fire-like riverPouring down the mountain to the plains belowEngulfing my atmosphere in golden red smokeI am not addicted
freeHer cut lip was leaving a trailThrough the early woodsThe cracking leaves left stained autumnAnd birds' nests emptied of their predatorsSnakes keep homes in the canopyBut some of us are afraid to climb
NirvanaCast your oracle, whale bonesCrash from the azureInto white splashing cobaltThunderheads, tell me liesWildfire old soul screaming for the earthI climb colossi to hang from the redwoodLet me fall through paradiseAnd find Nirvāṇa
I take you inYour hip bones stand like shrines that could hold foreverA candle in their shadow to illuminate pleading eyesPlant the seed in my chest and let it crown in my throatBlossoms of desperate breaths and blithe carnality
Sirenum scopulimy bed hangs like cliffssharp edges under tidetwo pearls, golden linedon black, she sings me homeraptured, like gnosisfaded on wine
The Tap on the LeavesIt's the growl of the skyThat burns like kissesIn the soil
summergirlNow read aloud over here. Do give it a listen, won't you? i. summergirl,you are crowthroated and tumblingthrough the aspen grovehair on fire with sunrise, lungsfull of sky.eyelashes like wildflowersand every morning bringsa new spray of frecklesand a sharper curve to your collarbones.the cornfields hold no shadowsfor your lighthouse eyesand there are no endings in thatsurefooted smile. ii. you have grownso fast.autumn finds you with broken anklesleaning on an oak branchand watching the skies.crow to sparrow--you are quiet.summergirl, there is peace in silence,perched treetop,fallen antlers in your hands.you will come to mourn your deer.keep them close. iii. by winter you have paled,and like the streams your eyes have frosted over.you feel the chill--there is no need for sight.summergirl, th
waking upand imagine my surprisewhen my insides bloomedinto so many dandelions,and in a single breathi becamehollow.
astronomerswhen we're togetherdusk is containable; the moon in my palmsand the stars on your ceiling.we lull the city to sleepwith our theories of life; my tongue curlinginto speech.do you remember,when Jupiter was a silver wick, lighting its countless moons?that night,you balanced a cigarette off your lips,and I watched the vermillion flame burn lifeas a newborn sun;stars forming,planets moulding and constellations snakedabove our eyes.i imaginedwhat it would be like to be curledinside the embers creator and destroyerof worlds,so close to your lips.
insomnia to keep you closefalling asleep with the windowsopen, with morning curlingaround you like a drop of blueink in a glass of water,turquoise and unwritten;remembering when early dawnwas a secret you keptin a soft, aortic pocket—your dead lighter spinningto the floor of Lake Ontario,a halo of its bygone, synergetic flame.
PerigeeWhen the mare went blindmy heart clouded like her eyesshe walked calm along her dark pathshe learned step up, step downI led her by the forelockher trust like the moon between my hands
shhhwe are lurking too close to jesus,on the empty edge of a lightless stage,curved nails digging into the skin of our pale palms.he asks as an afterthoughtdo you believe in something holy? and i think yes,i think this is what i believe in.
a string drawn tautthere are so many blue stars in your skinbut i can't believe each neuron is a universealight with planets,gaunt aliens signing godin the absence of your name,dim cars on the street,beneath an awninglike a glowing orange wombyou shudder saying,god,i just had a chill, is this room coldor are we in the gut of a giant who's strung outseven days lifeless,biting the apple,a dragon,wishing for his mother,mijo, dioses magno,the earth is spinning in the eyesof a turtlewith a red shellwho swims in the flowers ophelia braided, who swallows supernovas and they pass through his kidneys,oh god,we could burst any minute,a fly's nerves twitch,tectonics shift, a city laid,babel screechesbetween microscope lenses, clutching wife to child,do you know my name?do you know you're shivering? do you know i'm the son of your nucleus?i live in your cheekand die at your
In my bathroom againGod's in my bathroom again,he's shaving the patches of hisbeard and pulling clown-facesat the soap. Last nighthe held me as I lay in a fever,made little screams, keptthe hot tongues from my face,the mushrooms from myspine.He says his old girlfriendtried to drink his blood, thatit messed him upfor a while. He saysit's been a long time.God looks sad, jingling histeeth at me like loosechange. The clicks of myheart make me sick;folding his pyjamaswould bethe kind thingto do.
where i dance alonei. I mistook a shy boy for a thunderous one in the days when I lived inside his lungs.ii. I wanted your hands in the early morning, or in 8 o' clock light. (Does it matter? I just wanted you.) Hands like paper cranes, hands like wind chimes. Then we could've been like lovers in a parody: "I love you, I love youno, I don't. But you are beautiful." And while I was not your lover, neither was I your queen. Either way, you wouldn't hold my heart.iii. Our fingers would've taken flight and then the rest of us, too. Then you would've known of the ballroom in my chest, the migrations inside my body, of the tiny secret nothings that make their way like monarchsas if by instinct, as if they have been here beforefrom ballroom to piano hands to the museum that is my mind to my stomach. But you are the only lost boy afraid to fly.iv. I was a foreign land and you would not dare travel without a map. But I do not possess a souvenir shop in which to purchase one. I am a des
ZemiThings having to be returned to their transparency: i. / green mist-earth / knit atmosphere / fathomless blue-lavender / lights spun out from light ii. are recalcitrance / and you are convergence & - a fingernail of summer - a melting of rain - a crown of flowers - a priest of sunsets(beautiful? I love you, because. Zemi.Zemi. are you beautiful because I loveyou? Zemi? ) iii. I imagine this is what it's like to breathe sea foam over the Cliffs of Moher: hydration. absolution. To Rilke, it's a melody that floods over us when we have forgotten how to listen for it. I never could forget this: for how could I know my hand as both well and chasm? and how could I know time, a windstruck dimension, standing in her white street? iv. We go on morning walks and Zemi laughs at everything I say.
urban oceanThe wet roads are my urban ocean.Some men see God in the break of foam--I see God in the freeway.I see God in the spray off the backs of eighteen-wheelers hauling consumer garbage to southern Maineas I walk along the side with my boots soaked from puddles.The sea reflects the sky and Route 2 reflects the skyand the waves go shush, shush, and the cars go shush, shushand the clouds roll over,the clouds roll over.The wet roads are my urban ocean.
pacificher longbow mouth is un-strung; loose bottomlip with a cockedjaw -.shebirths into him likea womb
Isaiahdid you hope with me, Isaiah?or did I merely dream the days of our stand;of red strings, of stardust,of too-small hands & too-long hair,& of the words, the words, the words(the ones you had mebelieve you were worth)for it was you who said,"go big or go home.I will give you the world,or nothing at all.this, I promise to you."so dear to me, the vowels & the verbs,the air hissing throughyour teeth: gatewaysto a barren landwordslike wind through the trees,like ghosts through the tombstones.have you left me, Isaiah?I travel north & farther north, still,for humans do, subconsciously,gravitate homeward.but you are nowhere to be foundexcept in the silence.& never have I ever knownsuch a selfish, selfish boy,whowould warm himself with my faiththen snuff it outwith no changeof light in his eyesI am a cup, & your wordsare not water, but dead earth.& so you will always havea part of mein you:my grave.truly,did you love me, Isaiah?for it was heartbreak
the clockwork liari. we dusted dreams off people like the first snowflakes of the season. you'd take one and rest it on the center of your tongue because you hated the taste of ice cream and wanted to reset what cold tasted like to you.you taught me that the cold could be bitter, and so could people's dreams.you drank out of out-of-order wells because you believed they still worked and that the government was keeping it all to itself.i never realized how insane you made me before i wrote this all down.ii. i wished on the sun because i ran out of shooting stars.and just to spite me, you began wishing on raindrops because you believed that they were so many, one of them was bound to remember you.but we both ended up laughing hysterically with protruding knives on a bloodstained floor, didn't we?iii. i talked to clockwork towers and told them to lie because if they stopped for just a while, all the time in the world would seize.one human, two human
grains of sand could never make it whole againi.flashback to the day your record player died,a stranger stole your heart & it rained for a week straight.remember how cold it was at the bus stop, how the ice streaked the sidewalk silver& songbird's cries for spring fell like roadkill on the pavement.iii.fast forward to tomorrow and it's all a little better, the sun comes out& there's fresh dew on the lawn,when your boss cares more about covering up the bruise on her neckthan anything you could possibly do to fuck up.ii.today it's partly cloudy, the world still damp with memories and for nowyou're forced to wake up to the radio alone,even though vinyl still lines your bedroom walls & you think that some things are better left broken.
things you don't learn in schoolI found a cricketon the roadside, put itin a mason jar to show the worldand called it by a first name.He died of loneliness shortlythereafter and i learned how wretchedit is to be forsaken.When I was twelve, I watched a boyslit his wrists with a plastic sporkat lunch, and though Ilaughed at the irony, all i kept thinking was"I really hope he washed his hands."He bled tearsof scarlet red that lookedjust like tomato sauce, but I just stoodthere because it was the coolest thingI'd ever seen.The boy, he smelled of dirtylaundry and cigarettes and sorrowand used to sit by the windowuntil the bell, where he'd wait until everyonehad gone outside to make sure it was safe.His eyes were the hollowed ringsof Saturn, with freckleslike stars & cosmic bruisesup and down his arms.If he spoke, it was of distant shores and escape,and we believed itwhen he talked of things like freedom,hearing the scratch of gravelroads from within his throat.I realized one day that I'd nev
What angels inventedi.The ocean of air aboveyou swells with voicesdeathless skippers leavingdust of meteoritesin gusty mind-crevicesbut you, an airborne antigenYou trammel inspirationoff the tallest waters. The poemsyou could have written I go on and they go too, skating away on pitchey inkii.The ocean of water beneathmy trembling fingers your handcloses over them so claspingso out of breath and quietskin which I am carryingon top of my skin paintsthe blush of every flowerin your state opening upto spring at once you can put your twangy spin on stars (but you can't keep me off alone)iii.The firmament of earth betweenus — automatic: I write uslike the cosmos happensdually — miniscule,cursive:the firmament lasttime you held that stare I couldhave built castles on(the way you lookedat me, astronomically) and now
cool breeze across sultry skinorange morningriversidein the wind reeds bend like backsyours arches like a bridgein my breathand my two lips cross your soft skin connection to reach the endthe heartlandopen and waiting for me
they can't be takentheir bleach skin caught my eyealbino white against the wildhair like bright sky electric in the briarshaloed sister gods shot down like fawn