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Upstate New York, WinterTarry black sky.
My hands drifting through it,
grabbing at stars.
My arms held upward
ten pound test, thin hooks
spread through the skin,
Paralysis. The clock and I,
we're out of sync.
I sleep through the day.
Every night I wait for a star
lighting up the line as it passes.
When my hands live again
I'll clasp them around that star-
pull it down-
hold it to my heart.
Time's EndThe sky tore open -
space erupting, impenetrable darkness,
and silent stars shining down -
I grabbed your hand.
Soon the air will be pulled
from the sky
from our lungs
but until then.
The light bent around us,
pulled us taut,
stretched us thin.
The night went on and on -
labored, I clung to the ground.
My head all clouds, my knuckles
bright as day. Every ounce
keeping gravity at bay,
as muscles seized, heaved -
finally it rended,
light bent to broken,
an event horizon stretching to infinity.
But in that final moment
as infinity approached,
and the quantum foam boiled over,
hand in hand,
frozen in time -
UnbridledI felt the ghost hand's hold.
In the morning,
when I fetched my coffee,
my hands turned to claws,
my wings ugly and grey, singed with smoke.
When you woke you stepped through the halo,
and your eyes gleamed.
How long have we lain?
And what beasts have we made?
I will fester and become more.
I have grown inside of you,
and soon my hands will be yours to command.
And soon my heart will redouble,
pumping both our blood.
I will walk through my days in silence.
My voice has already gone over.
To my back the thunder will roar, and I will bow,
my back flexed, my muscles moving.
Soon my body will lay supine, and the lightning will consume.
Tomorrow I will wake up.
Tomorrow I'll be you.
Wild Westyou've lived a billion years,
why fill them with regret now?
lying down, waiting for the world to end.
a natural death, calm and quiet.
your face harrowed,
marrow slow, then stopped.
empty eyes staring at empty space.
you've been waiting for the black holes
to consume you. and your soul?
and the heat death?
has it made your heart cold?
but I've known you all these years
through time and space, lives away
has the time worn you too thin?
what of you remains?
no, keep your lips closed.
I can read you fine from here.
the static on every band.
a billion years riding behind you
on a broken horse
through the vast open space.
I won't let you drift away.
The GardenerI was squeezing grapes with my fingers,
jamming them in my mouth,
pulling them from my clothes.
There was a hunger that all my acres
could not subsist. Could not
And with the blight a thousand wasps
carried me out beyond the fences
and past the pastures
and opened my god-damn eyes.
It was bright and sunny
and early morning,
gold light like her wispy hair
and in the concrete cell
I cried out,
"I did not commit."
26 long years.
All that's left
a field of weeds.
In the hallwayI saw death hanging around
in the hallway outside of my apartment.
I was choking on cigarette smoke.
He cracked a little smile and walked off,
rattling bones echoing off the walls.
Motorcycle Ride, San Francisco, Nighthe felt the low rumble between his legs
egging him on. stars dripped from his eyes,
white-hot wet. he pursed his li6ps tight,
contorting his face. he gripped hard,
feet flicking, wrists twisting. loud,
he pushed off into the night.
the black river below him unchanging.
not a sound to the left or right,
just the low hum to keep him company.
the air cooled and light
dripped from his pores.
he turned off the lights,
letting himself bathe in the glow.
the hum raised him back,
his eyes clear on the river once more.
it had been a long night,
and he had paddled soft and slow
trying to keep warm.
he held his eyes tight and waited for the blow.
From the Back RowI heard your soul song sung
the echoes of your voice across empty halls
and I can feel that air so deep in your lungs,
quivering in anticipation, demanding freedom.
The sweet pounding drums,
sweat pouring down your face
and those swaying hips,
prancing feet in your black wingtips.
You grab the brim of your hat,
crisp like your white suit, so clean
and you pound the ivory with your gilded
fingertips, themselves cold and steely,
like your face this morning.
Your song's always been for someone else.
But I'll keep watching, even here, from the back row.
stupid love poems for stupid boys.he was the
smoke in my
saved for when
i'm so lonely
that i cannot
but the problem
with giving your
heart to a boy
with a pack of
for ribs is that
he will want your
well– and after
all that blood and
blue lip kisses,
he will leave you
with a coughing
lighter and a
burnt tongue (but
it's really a great
Soles (Forest Girl)Soles (Forest Girl)
i didn’t believe in carving initials into trees.
i always told you that was corny to me.
i told you i was a city boy,
comfortable in car drafts
and gleaming lights
that dilute natural shine.
to the sight of airplanes,
police cars and helicopters
than anything else.
but you dreamed of wings
so much bigger than aspect ratio,
so much wider.
you were higher.
so that day you took me there,
i knew i was out of my element.
your forest stories teased me;
sitting on the edge of your shoe soles.
and that riverbank that you tiptoed on.
little smirk always flashing your white pearls
when you were whisking through this place.
holding my hand in a tight grip
as you gave me a tour of your hidden burrow.
i had never been so in--
and out of place before.
the atmosphere was brisk
glancing the hairs on my neck,
goosebumps rising on my skin
as i swore feathers fell from your shoulders.
purple streaks nuzzle orange bands
that hold together golden twines
The Cracks Of RealityI traced the tips of my fingers over her porcelain
Felt the skin raise in bumps of sensation.
My mouth fit so well into the crook of her neck
And as her her eyes closed, her breathing shaky,
I found myself swallowing and my heart beating twice as fast.
As her hips rolled into me, as her nails clenched into the sheets,
She told me once more that she loved me, and I assured her I felt the same.
But then reality came, settling into the cracks of my fantasies.
And she slipped from my fingers.
And I was alone.
homesick for childhoodshe was a carefree little girl
with smiles hidden deep down
in her pockets, and she'd only
give them out to the most deserving.
when the quarter hour of her life
struck, however, things changed.
her world was painted black
on accident, millions of shades
turned ashy due to a sickness
that breeds on those empty
spaces between words.
she was dropped into summer
covered in homemade scars,
and with summer, her innocence
was eaten away.
pinned to a bed
like prey, she watched herself
consumed into another
(this world is the 7 a.m. frost
left on winter windows.
and it scares me)
the days spent on the front stepsevery time you rip the lid off
the shell of styrofoam
questions your motives.
every secret you whisper into her naphthalene
stays there. it dies a little
as protein is scrambled. home is not a place.
her curve is ejected
as unidentified. it is bile
rolling back, the sheet of ebbing tide.
you always speak of horses
armoured, whisky clattering on their breath,
kingdoms burning and knights
riding off into the valley of deep sleep
you always speak of ships
leaving, pearly cord
as a farewell extending from coast
to hull forming an image of crying Mary
it shines in front of you
it calls out your name
but he loves meshe says, "sweets, pay attention:
just because he kisses the bruises on your skin,
don't make up for the fact he gives 'em to you."
untitled.these boys and
lips split, eyes
turning gold in my
i watch them trace
this is where
come from– and as
their road ways, i
e y e l a s h e s
in such a way that
stories fall out of the
yahwehIn fifteen hours I will be strung, pelvis
to sternum, ready to be struck
stomach aching to sing -
There was once when I was whole,
full and stretched to breaking,
I have been a giant in my own skin &
I was not enough to be loved.
& now, finger to thumb, you
swallow my spine in your palms
play my bones,
play my bones,
play my bones //
I am rising to throb
& thud & thrum
of pulse and breath and music
of mantra spilt-spoken,
smeared sacred over wrists
written with sweat & sex,
Muscles tensed for every chord,
Herein is the hallelujah -
You alone, you alone, you,
Hollow my belly and carve me
until I am fluted, crying out
between your hands
I have been too much to love,
every wire & tendon pulled loose
, I have been too much
& now you are here
& you play my bones
until the giant in my skin
becomes a rhythm
until I finally feel
I am enough!
You move me,
spine swallowed and sequestered,
I become holy beneath you
I was too much to love:
The UniverseThen suddenly there was matter.
There was time, there was life.
From the unfathomable nothing sprung forth our universe.
Our earth was born,
she, an angry mass of volcanoes and storms.
And life, oh that miracle, rose from the non-space.
A single microorganism,
whose name we will never know,
began turning the Evolutionary Wheel.
Earth had many inhabitants.
But here and now, she houses us.
Homo sapiens, her most gifted child.
We have made her surface angry as the beginning.
Machines of war replace the storm,
death flourishes in the garden of life.
In a hundred-thousand years our plights will matter not.
If the Homo sapiens lives still, he will be alien.
His old achievements as pathetic as the discovery of fire.
Even he will eventually cease to exist.
Several million years will rob him of his humanity,
whether through death or the persistence of the Wheel.
Billions of years will pass then.
Andromeda will embrace the Milky Way,
their fervent dance sending shockwaves through their solar sys
Excavationechoing off the valley walls,
metal on metal. i'm overwhelmed
that ring of ax on gold
we were rich in this valley
til the night settled in
and, surrounded, we tried to keep warm
curled around the fire,
but the stars were so bright
we both went blind.
hungry animals lurked,
just beyond the fire's heat
until we both exhausted, fell asleep.
i felt them pulling,
first at you, then at me,
and i reached up, drew,
and emptied round after round
after round after round
until they were all nothing
nothing but dust and the ash of the flames
and my eyes cleared, but yours
milky and wide.
now the mines haul hard,
the lines never slack,
the sound never stops.
every day they grind another inch off your bones.
Red Riding HoodI want to believe people so badly when they say they won’t bite
that I contemplate climbing into their smiling jaws
thinking that it might be better to be split in two than left hanging.
But always, I draw my red hood and flit back into the forest
running in the shadows of pathways, never stepping into clearings
because I’ve spent my whole life in the wilderness
and I still can’t tell the wolves from the woodsmen.
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