Idlechild.

There is a blue night outside my window that beckons.
I am typically ignorant of howls of wind or gusts of snow, but tonight I relent.
I press my ear to cold glass, goosebumps gather on my skin.
I hear whispers. indistinguishable, faltering.
Slowly they solidify and echo back in waves:

hear us. here we are. know us as we know you.
you are everywhere but where we choose to be, for that be grateful.
now is your chance. abandon thought, abandon speech. we are here.
this is the harvest; these sacred hours bend for seldom few. 
fluid is the space between two types of beast. 
hear us. we plead for you, your beating heart.

 A four-second stillness inside of my chest.

underneath my skin there is a sudden urge to fight,
Like a battle cry made of shivering bones to which I must respond.
I put on my coat, knowing soon I will have no need for warmth.
My hat, shoes, gloves. Somehow,there is comfort in finality.
For a moment, I think of goodbyes, but to whom? I have no words.
Only some sort of stir, some sort of rift, some sort of guide,
That tells me I am not meant for boundaries of flesh.
Once more I press my ear to glass, then my lips
Whisper to them of my arrival with my soon-begotten tongue:

i hear. i come.

Snow

is never all white is it
always white and or white with or white, but
so I guess thats true
that you 
will be as white as snow after me
flecks of me will mar your pearly scapes 
and I will stain the top layer of you and force you to scrape yourself clean
I'm sorry for that, sorry for you
sorry for hands that guided you curved instead of straight
please
fix yourself without my help 
I'm afraid to touch something so fragile, I've always been sorty clumsy
but I hope you get there, I really do
I hope I see you across highways     and in stores between aisles
 and from few and afar and someday somehow
and you will be as white as snow
and I will see myself in you
and wonder what I've done

MARY MAGDALNE WAS A DOWN ASS BITCH

ERRBODY BEEN SAYIN THAT MARY MAGDALENE WUS SOME KINDA HO AND THAT JESUS WAS LIKE 'go forth and be not slutty, O woman' AND SHE WAS LIKE 'nah'
BUT DEN CHANGED HER MIND CUZ HE WUS HAWT SHEEIT ALLUVA SUDDEN

I DONT BELIVE THO CUS ME AN HER USETA KICK IT
AND SHE WASN'T NO MOFKN GOLDDIGGER

1:48 PSYCHOTIA

so you know what its like to need someone to want you
and your need and their want are oil and water on canvas
on canvas
or concrete
your need and their want spread colors on snowy steps
and tell you they existed
your need
and their want have everything laid out ahead
two paralell paths on paved back roads
two shotgun shells on a shelf from IKEA
plants wihtout seeds
your need and their
want
have nothing to talk about at dinner
have nothing to hook and eye to
have nothing

your need
and their want
are hungry beings left cold cuts to the chest and back
hooked on the phone lines like fleetwood

they are in chairs one seat apart             R e a c h i n g

                   your need and their want
are crowded beings
       in a crowded room
in a silent city
        of
Men
and Gold

Shanticah

it's 7:08 and I smell like pancakes and weed and french fry grease.
No words. I have no tongue to speak them.
It will be a convenient winter, splitting up problems where they lay
and tossing ourselves into a blanket of white.
forever has come sooner than never had thought
and now tis time to pay for our crimes.
high noon we come to you: wrapped in edges of muslin from the curtains
prayers still on our lips, eyebrows drawn
whisper to us, reedeem us
I never thought to wonder where my will to speak had gone
until something rolled me into a corner and let me scream.

Diari

it's not even christmas break and I already feel hollow. and no
I'm not just saying that because I miss you
I do though
but that isn't just it its more like I'm one half of something
but I don't know what's missing or how to find out
and I know that sometimes i've felt whole and that was good
most of those were you and now I've got this emptiness, this void
and I want to punch myself and hurt myself to snap myself out of something, anything, whatever
but, by definition, i'm scraping the sides which is hurting my knuckles
and classy ladies don't hit things and that's what got me here in the first place
so there
it's done, and it's out and i'm here in my room making peace with the sound of my air conditioner/heater
which is this white noise that I can pretend are people and then I won't be lonely
and its nice because it can keep me cool and make me warm
just like people so it's basically the same as having someone care for you
right
can you just come over
you don't have to talk but I don't want to float away
just tether me so I know I'm not lost

Crypt

in response to Three Word Wednesday's latest post

I feel surrounded and suffocated and haunted and worthless
the worst part is I know I am none of those things
I know I can breathe and be free if I just try
but it's more comfortable to stay, here.

for you it's easy: ruddy cheeks and eyelash blinks
and twirls of feminine something that I can never get the hang of
I feel clunky in my skin and wish I could step out of it
wish I could skin myself alive without feeling too abnormal

then I could start over
lavish in new beginnings
trap whats mine in a gilded shell
and say I never faltered

would you want to save me then?
could I teach to look for me if i lose myself in you?
are we resigned to descend if nothing's ever up?

I honestly just wonder
is all I have to do is look dainty and smile
and dangle my heart over boiling saltwater
or can I actually be broken?

maybe I'm doing it wrong.
maybe the hands squeezing my chest belong to me
I've been running from myself so long I've forgotten what I look like
and I'm afraid of what I'll become if i remember

en junto

and if our love was fading water
fading  slaughter of spent nerves
and all the hope was scraped from the inside of my chest
would you  try still
is there no end to what we have if all we do is scour
i am not stone
i am mud
made of earth and water blended
so help me if i flock to fire because my knees are weak
stop sounds of misbegotten faith
and waylaid dreams of purity
you saved me from resurrection
cos whats the point of being alive if no one knows you're real
if our love was once and for all
a solid shape unblemished path
if all the corners of our life were rounded
i'd still jump in feet first with you
i'd hold my breath and linger
until we both run out of air

This Is My Attempt, or Suicide Day

If you ever find me standing fixed
Crying away my fate, give me an ear
Scrape the bottom. Save what once was nixed
Paint pretty all the little things I fear.
Beer-stained promises have never kept
The way a pot of envy always keeps
Go back. Pretend that I have never wept
That I have never mouthed your name in sleep.
My heart is heavy and my ribs are slight
Too weak to hold a beating mass too long
Stand outside the door. Marry the night
For we teeter here twixt right and wrong.
Choose one side of darkness and find its twin
Buried underneath my guilt, within.

ripped

I am surrounded by your warmth and I know it's stupid for me to be giddy but I can't help it

I walk across campus, sliently saying to passerby, ask me

Imagining a note taped to my back, no "kick me"s any more no no not for this girl

I don't even remember how I got to class, it's hard to remember what steps you used to take once you start floating

At my desk, I don't listen but rather memorize the way fleece pools at the back of my chair, waiting

I walk outside, my skin and my hair, everything is you you you you you

I hate being trapped in this inbetween but it's the only place that things havent definitively crashed and started burning

So I allow myself  because I know myself and I am standing on a hill

Leaning, soon to tumble so what do I do do nothing

Or can I confess to you like every ingenue and never look back

I don't even want to finish this sentence anymore cus Im the last picked on the team

my fingers are weary from reaching and all I want to do is sleep

but I cant I cant I cant everything Ive never done holds my eyelids open

I wish I could just take my lungs and sew them shut and be the problem solver

Untitled (Seamstress)

I am not sure how you appeared in my life but I ask for you to leave it. I am not strong. I am not one for subtle battles. Light shines on me here and I cherish the time I spend without shadow. You stroke the back of my heart with your fingers, I hear your steps in the front hall. Don't strike me. Today, in the kitchen, a bird sat in the window and chirped for me. I would warrant that this was his first performance without an audience, he was clearly nervous. I clapped sudsy hands and the plates shined their approval. He flew, away. My eyes trailed him until i could no longer. Suddenly, swiftly, you were at my neck. Pawing, breathing. I saw no colors, heard no music. The bird was gone. I am gone. I let my bones be crushed to dust and sprinkle it on the mantle and china cabinet. It gives me something to do; idle hands are the devils workshop. I heard once that it's common knowledge to fear the weak en masse, for they are then made strong. As opposed to the strong working together, since their conflicting strengths and natures weaken. When I bow my head on my knees each night I pray this is true, my speech timed out to the cadence of your breathing. I pray I am a force, for I send out a plea to multitudes.

A Plea

promise me

that when your wings finally 

finally

unfurl

and span that mist-shrouded void

where you go won't be limited by what you can imagine

promise me

once your eyes are open 

muddy crystal cleared

that you won't linger too long

wont trail too far behind

promise me

that when you do stop to rest 

you can look behind

and see the path you left

promise me

that when I hold your hand

your grasping fingers will be weak

from holding onto lightning

for just a fleeting moment

For Alt Lit Mary and Juan

let's get reaallllly stoned
and sit in the shades of moonlight
toasting to what we once were.
curving fingers into palms and
stretching into beams of sunlight, lets coast
into a sky made of cotton, made for us
i don't want to live in the inbetween i don't want to skim the tops of our potentials
i want to lie on your bones like herbs on a mortar and pestle
and wrestle with each other's demons until we too are spent to sin.
or are too spent to sin
winningly we jest
stable is a word less defined by instability
tears are the cost of fresh baked bread.

lets get high, then
and twirl around like night terrors
or like birds so exotic people wonder where one ends and the other begins
 wonder if endings even matter
twisting to a burst of flame so bright
you wouldn't see it if you blinked too hard
take me into your arms, let me stay there
because love is a thing that you sqeeze underneath breaths.

HOPE

in response to Three Word Wednesday's latest post

It does not die with dignity, this thing.
It reaches into every corner and rips out chunks of whatever it passes
It snakes into the folds of you until you know nothing else

It's almost like a cockroach, surviving after nuclear lives
Rubble rains above and there it is, scuttling underneath your toes
reminding you to thank God something made it out unscathed

never truly benign, this thing.
though seemingly harmless and faultless and helpful
It cuts quick, lacerates loose muscles

parasitic dependence and alcohol inspired
it ripens,maturing then vanishing, leaving you gasping
withdrawals come in waves, and you tread water until you can't

always two steps ahead, this thing.
a salve, a poison
entices you sweetly, with a cheshire smile

Microchisto

I stare at you, your back

I search the space in the middle of your shoulderblades

I listen in the break between breaths

I wait for the shift in your heartbeats

there is no place for us.

there is no time for softness.

these things are often messy.

these things are often hard.

we dream malignant dreams

that squeeze our chests upon waking

dreams that keep; dreams that scour

terrors of what we could be

this is the place we stagger. 

this is the place I falter, for you.

this is the place they warned us of.

this is the place I thought I knew well.

I'll push into the shape you make for me

I'll edit myself until I become yourself

I'll curl at the edges

I'll forget who I was

For I cannot pretend to ignore you.

Cannot feign coolness, disregard.

For you are the name I whisper in darkness.

You are the memory I play in my sleep.

Webs.

in response to The Think Tank Thursday at Poets United*


Do you remember the moment I dreamed for you?
I hung that net on my wall adorned with tiny strings and beads and feathers
and blessed beyond the heavens according to the lady who sold it
folded myself into bed and wished
for you.
I knew in the back of my mind that you don't answer to dreams or 
even blatant requests but I was just, you know, hoping
hoping that maybe I could will you somewhere 
but that didn't work with anything else i did so maybe I just bought it because it was pretty
next morning I peel the sleep from my eyes
you coughed politely
there you were.
caught between strings with a feather in your mouth
you pleaded silently to be cut down but I ignored you for myself
handed you a sword and laid down, commanded you
and for a while
we fit, saviour and saved. 
you cut down everything that wasn't you and I fed you bits of my skin and dripped water into your mouth
but your eyelashes drooped
and your fingernails turned yellow
and while yellow is my favourite colour
I know murder when it's human-shaped.
I untied your hand and convinced myself I had Stockholmed you into loving me
that you were coming back
that I could wait
that I was only waiting
until then I hung my net across my chest, afraid to dream to hard.

*Think Tank Thursday is a weekly prompt where ports are given a subject to write on. this week was "Dreamcatcher".

Yellow-Bricked

A response to Three Word Wednesday


I walked along the left side of a dirt road, unsure.

one patch seems ominous; I stick my hand into the soil, I breathe.

"so here you are,"  I say, not knowing whom to speak of.

I take a moment of finality-- the earth welcomes me.

the rope at my feet coils and uncoils itself uneasily and I twine it in my fingers.

the birds seem weary, and thankful.

for a moment I think of my mother, mothers always trace your path before you know you have one

worms trickle over my splayed palm and I imagine her.

I am sun-drenched, canteen full

I pull on my straw-lined uniform

stand against a wooden board, my grave-bed

"wrap the covers 'round me, sister," and I am bound.

my audience watches and I blush from the spectators drawn here to witness with beady eyes

I look at the sky, I breathe

I look at the earth, I breathe

I look at my hands, I breathe

while the earth crumbles beneath.

Fragmented

you're just so-

       you too-

I really want to-

       me too-

is this okay-

       it's okay, I'm okay-

       put your-

okay just tell-

you're so beauti-

       don't worry-

       keep-

should i stop

is this okay 

are you okay-

        don't-

I love you 

I love you

        I love-

   

BFA

splinters in my feet
infected, pus infused
from treading boards
I cough, try to speak around the maggots squished between my teeth
made from ill-motivated butterflies
eyes blink against skin and I'm drowning
flailing
but at least it's in a pattern
at least it's driven

at least i think i have a purpose

for a little while I think maybe this is it
maybe I'll make it this time
I stumble
my hands blister on hot lamps
I tilt my head back
lick the tears off of my face because my throat is parched
and whisper
"when sorrows come
they come not in single spies
but in battalions."

I hear applause, somwhere

Urinemuse

just now while peeing i saw a large ant.
my normal instinct is no smush it-- impose my human big-ness
but it wasn't harming me
and honestly i've just been too lazy
to give a fuckall anymore
so i watched
while it teetered across the floor
occaisionally hindered by the bathrug
but determined nonetheless
and i thought
what if thats me?
we?
us?
what if
the only thing keeping me from being smushed to death
is otherbeing laziness
and the fact that i haven't bitten the wrong leg?
and here i am
teetering across someones mildewed, piss-sprayed, blue-green bathrug
careening toward my death
or
if i'm lucky
an uncerimonious yet efficient stomping?


the ant reached the wall
i finished my pee

i think i felt it's body between my heel and the carpet

Anteros

I want to touch you.
Feel the pulse beneath your skin
let me trace your veins
like road maps
to paths that get spiderweb-thin.
I feel poetry in the way you breathe
but only fragments.
you exhale
and it's gone.
I'm gone
we're gone.

Where They've Gone.

A forest of potential toothpicks
looks out over a sea
holding old chaos in its hands 
tightly.

things broken and unknown
crawl into small spaces 
and hovels
to sing.
wavering voices from under branches
tinny notes inbetween roots and leaves.

we are dominoes
careening and caressing each other to the floor in a fluid, perpetual charade.
crashing in on one another 
waves on glass
until we all become grains of sand.
minute, indistinguishable.
bound together by elements we are unable to understand.


somber fingers touch skin
touch veins
touch bone, gripping skeletons smiling, eyeless.

slowly
a flower opens
on hallowed fields of cement.

Streetlights

you cupped my misery in your hand and threw it into my face, splashing me like cold water. 
Buck up you said, the world's a bucket full of shit
breathing in its tangy stench I rejoiced that I had something worth breathing, 
clarity.
I blinked.
you took my hand, interlaced fingers. One misery-drenched, both tearstained.
suddenly we became We. my. us. ours.
I faltered. slipped away. unbent my knees.
No thank you I said,soft crescendo.

you smiled, your teeth filing into points while I watched.

and yet-

we rock

simultaneously, but not cohesively

gone, but not forgetting

the shape of another.

like prodigal puzzle pieces given up

so worn at the edges

than any other will do

will fit, imperfectly

crashing closer

we slide towards what we accept and reach out with our fingers and toes.

on the balls of our feet

almost touching noses

our knees buckle,

and yet-

...