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Monday, November 4, 2013


feel the depressions in sheets and look at yourself
mirrored in silent charity by friends who knew you when
wings broken and tiny shards of bone and wisps of feathers scatter on the floor.
the smoke makes you so listless like embers in a fire
and you walk some path that winds and winds on grass thats mediocre green
Pick up disbanded elements: theres too much
and no one can sort the pieces save but you
hey, maybe you were blind before in some blissful dream
crisp lines and soft truths rescue you
jaded now, fuzzy shapes careen around your window
sharp knives behind doors wait in slience with shiny mouths

posted in participation with Three Word Wednesday

Thursday, July 25, 2013


confessions i don't know how to speak
wash over me in waves,
tips touching in nature i'm here with you, like
a thousand thoughts come forth
the most persistent army.

I fear for the darkness
taunting, smooth sister
I know she finds purchase in blood.

sweet desperation I see you here
if this becomes the last of me I hope I've been a witness to both sorrow and joy.
I am a prophet
I am a prophet
I am a prophet
I am a prophet
teling you to fight;believe your eyes and know this selfless news. i am string I am held up by fields of wind on all sides to remind me I am temporary. I am not made for us. I am not made for these seconds in time. I speak the tongues, many follow.

do you know what we are if we try?
creatures crawl on me up sand and grass
and take pieces of flesh
but I have a committment to memory.
you do
I do
with moist eyes and cheeks let's view the world cleanly.

we are being a s s a u l t e d by the things we put in our hands
I have a purpose.

Monday, June 17, 2013

the closest to wild I've felt in a while is wearing that shirt you have with holes in it that you left at my house on tuesday. the arms hang down like the spare set I used to have once before. while I wait for you I sit backed up in corners in your clothes. Cotton-Poly blend comforts me and I want to leave but what if I pass you in the street? worse yet, what if I pass you in the street and you're unfamiliar? My poor fingers cramp up on weekends and I want to leave grooves in you for water to pool up in when it rains in june. there are so many places I need to walk to before I fly, I need to know how it feels or I won't  know how to appreciate it. See me on page 6 and wonder where I've gone. I have shrunken tufts of hair on sticks sitting in rows.

Thursday, May 30, 2013


This morning, I let the sunlight wash away remnants of you
elements of you clung to my skin, my fingernails bloated with scrapings of you
I want to be drowned in a sea of reason and be rescued free, salt water, grain grass
I want to be clean.

Two days I soaked in you
felt the weight of you on my chest, in my hair, behind my eyelids
I saw you: on the countertops and the wrinkles in blankets
empty cups on tables, a marked void.

For once, I saw a completed you like leaves in wet sand.
I have you whole in absence. I have you lined in shadow.
And you said, tight lipped, "This is Nothing, Nothing".
I see your voice waft high, salty smoke.

I think it's written for me to remain at the edges of you,
shaped to sit at the corners of you
to ride at the creases of you.
I am molten, molded to follow your light

Wednesday, May 22, 2013


Tonight, at someparty somewhere with somepeople, we rested
in eachother's gaze and sifted. Parts of me were at the surface that I had never seen
and I hoped that I saw those in you, but you can never be sure.
But tonight the wind tells me to imagine things I never have.

I foolishly asked people on the perimeter what they saw, Expecting a looking glass
into things I hadn't seen, thinks I hadn't thought. Where were you when I was broken
into shards at your feet--are you lost? You and me: an endless shoreline.
Tonights hopes have many folds, and I look for them in the curves of you.

Somehow everything I write
Turns into an ode to you. Pathetic things I wish you'd read and see me on the pages.
and it's silly because they're silly and we're silly
And tonight becomea a series of sighs from twisted lances.

I have some Facts: When you leave a room, I want to follow. Desperately, fervently.
I count seconds on branches and streetlights to the appropriate time
without you feeling crowded. And this too, is sick. We know.
Tonight taunts me. I am cold amongst a flame, drained of what you needed.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

Translate me: look for her here.

I ran from you. Undrunk to songs unsung
twisted. A crown upon two heads
hid from things too familiar to be comfortable
too chafing, raw skin on shades of grey.

And I hear her voice among the pines
clear tinny fragments, sirens wail
plastered on steps and rusty nail beds, you
teeter here, pleased to show, skin to skin.

I watch you how I want to be watched
open and disbelieving and hopeful and haunted
eyes follow your gaze, down a throat, up a thigh
lined with smart truth, lusty innocence,.


we come to you in your human beds
pick hands to wipe you clean
foreign concepts float above us, hovering
but we are not governed by the confines of flesh and bone.

what is your mind? fields of useless craving
we try saving you, en caving you
prevented by velvety loyalty, soft sorrow
this is alien to us, we are alien to you, hopelessly breathing.

simply: we must take you. your time is gone
potential and windowless rooms await
there is no discourse between you and fate
we wipe the slate. strip your fecund poise.

teetering now, you shudder. Hear that
sliding slipper-typhoon you trap within
the spirit of you.Coined in mysterious consonants
and you remain ever enshrouded.

come home. you body anew. leave back these worries
do what you were born for and take strength in what you should
these earthly things but weaken you. redouble on doubt like useless frontier lines
we are who you are in the trenches, you survive by naught but breath.


I could compare my feelings to water cased in glass. Swirling and moving against some unseen barrier.  I could say that all I've wanted to do for two years was look you in the eye and be bare, hold truth. Or maybe that I've been trying so hard to keep everything so cool, so chill, non-committal, unattached--that I've forgotten what it could be.

I feel like I'm a scavenger, picking up pieces and riding on coattails. I have broken shards of you lining my pockets, I stick my hands in sharp edges to remind me to feel. And this is what I live on. Gleaning just enough from smiles across hallways, fleeting grazes. Surviving, just barely.

The though of this (you, me, us, we) being forever the way it is makes me sick. It wakes me up when I thought I was awake already, pushing my eyes uncomfortably open.  I want to done, with you, with this. 
I understand what you meant when you said you can't help it. 

You are not the best person I've ever met. I could list every terrible awful thing you've done to my knowledge--I probably have, in fact, in some attempt to regain my sanity. I get words of caution and pitying looks every time I say your name because they know the danger of you.  I know as well: you tumble out of my mouth like sand, like marble and I let it. I let you fill me up beyond my limit and push me. 

I guess this is to remind me of stasis; maybe I'll break something and have to put it back together. I doubt it will be you, nor do I think you'll notice if it was. This is pathetic and sickening. and we are less than human. All I want is to be seen by the right pair of eyes. 

Wednesday, May 8, 2013

To Be Read, Frantic.

Some combination of nicotine and cannabis and alchohol
Pushes me through the sun to get to you.
I drink my sorrows. Bass beneath the blind
Tip me from that jar of potent brew.

Shaded. Not prideful, no curtains
Kiss me beneath the slide of sweeping fate
Find me so slovenly, stones throw
Scratches hard on water, slate on slate.

I am not made to bend but I curve straight lines for you
Shattered resolved melted into snow
And you are a wall, a mountain, an ocean
Slipping through me, bliss, unsteady flow

I do not want this. I don't want you.
Fickle gazes across brows, cast aside
I can't have you parcelled , appease me with pieces
Warrant me whole to you and I'll abide

Take my hand, take my blood, take me and slather
Spread me across your soul til we are one
Weaving passion ascended, holy flight
Sparks of light embedded behind the sun.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Slats 4.30

Lately I have only been composed of late nights.
Porches scattered with people being and learning amidst gusts of wind
We are vast. We breathe air made for us, silent tribute to vitality.
Moons awaken us asunder and we ebb and flow in pieces.

So scared are we, sitting amongst branches and concrete and laughter
Passing spirit in smoke, giving what we cannot take.
We slip slow and steady here, for time asks no questions
Sky falls to shadow, but we are not for Day, not now.

Rain sprinkles like wine on our hands and feet and we scream.
We drink what Night has to offer us, sipping frozen hope
Ours is many and one together, rolled up in paper thin destiny.
And we know nothing other than this, trying to be who we are.

Sunday, April 21, 2013


the moon opens and there is thunder in my gut.
"speak to me, goddess", but there are no words.
I weep for things unseen.
Lost. I am a fog, misted across wisps of smoke
twisted sacrament, blistering.
 I turn and take and pour and scream
I am still whole.
the ground taunts me with closeness and wind weaves through my fingers
I reach for her to take my skin and make me silver.

This is the game we play: vangrants cast
sovereign states pushed near by wounds and time
destined for places yet seen.
we are One, gathered here in secret.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

To the Earth's Child:

I know what you are by what you see
leaves tanlged into strands of twisting wind
and you see sunsets, dirt-turned-gold
destruction gilded, glittered, gone
we are all and we soon return.
broken wood sits like a splintered crown
atop a turned head; I trust in things blinded and I trust in you.
and what a beautiful you: molded by gusts of feeling and rays of light
shifting, turning, changing, being amidst those static slips.
endure for us when we have wilted
when we've forgotten, tell us of our shape.


And I know forgetting's easy
picking slim along side roads and alleys
let memory slide, let it fade
into sloppy tumbles of weeds and grass.
but pick me up; there is no thorn too sharp
to prick you into red-white feeling
reminded of you, slow steeped into strands
skipped over on the loom.
overhead sky kneaded rough by steamy breath
136 bodies nestled into branches, reaching
making shapes you made once
when you knew to be what you could.
I have half a spine to tell you
"it is lost, it is new"
but words whispered on wind make sounds like the sea
the sea never remembers what she washes clean
you, tear-stained and salt dried
on the banks beneath the ground.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013


No songs were sung when you were born.
I looked into your filmy eyes and felt no change
Of heart. and Souls above danced high, no blessings down for you
You wiggled tiny hands and beat at wind.
I held you nonetheless and pressed you to my chest
Tried to absorb you into what was me, once.
I look at you know and wish I had knew you then
Really knew you when you first entered the world.
As everything is new, sharp and blurred at once
Fuzzy outlines making solid scrapes on your new skin.
Milky body illuminated one time among many.

Later, you became the apology I could never bring myself to say aloud
So I whispered it to you. You grew with "I'm sorry" written into your skin
And slashed across your face, and I hated you for tethering me here.
Unbeknownst to you, I was a fly amongst a sea
And meant for things transcended, things past the plane.
I want to press flowers to your nose and into your mouth
Until you cease, and I cease myself.


I always want to write when I feel inadequate or frustrated or lonely
but I'm not sure if it's because it helps or if thats what I've been trained to do
I scratch at paper. ink beads like blood.
and I don't feel any better.
I mean eventually I get over whatever made me mad in the first place, but wasn't that inevitable?
what am I doing?
documenting my twisted little feelings into something more tangible?
I don't think I am made to last here.
I don't think I have the stuff.
I want to go home. I don't even know where that is.
so I stay.
patch up holes where I can, mend bridges I set fire to.
and I don't feel any better.
if I had to describe how I feel right now it'd probably be cracked or bruised or something
something that says  I have some distant awareness of nothing I feel ever really being permanent.
I feel broken all the same.
same to you I'd like to cry.
I know that's some sort of catharsis, maybe after I'll know how to move my feet like I knew how all along
like maybe I had too much traction.
my cheeks are dry. and I am still cracked or bruised or something.
I wish I had someone to take up all my mantles
to catch all my torch passes
I probably do, I'm just too lazy to try
not too lazy to type
and I don't feel any better.


I ran on dirt roads and eggshells to get to you.
Fix me, I said, Awakened.
You are the eastern sun
Torn from grass and gems
Backwards praise from gods unseen.
Rise up, and take me with you to someplace without shadow
Leave empty behind. Torn up.

Glass mixes with diamond flakes, taunting
We will know better than to cloud our eyes with beauty.

There are wings stuck to my bones and I don't know how to open them
I want to be cut open, they pick at the waste I've made.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Tipping Slide

I was made for sunny days
for whispered tales and spirited slopes
for backs of palms and thirst
for roses bent with dew
I was made for passion filtered
for weeks gone by in hazy mist
for unlocked doors and chains of grass
I was made for you.

I want to fill in parts of you so together we are whole
and hide myself in what you make of me
pieces of me break into light when you say my name
and I am transcended, this time.

Friday, February 1, 2013


I want to curl around you and tell you secrets
and memorize your heartbeat through your fingers.
but I know that's not us. that's not you. that's not me.
so here we are, drifting.
what can we say to ourselves without failing?
I am not made to bend
but wherever you are I yearn for.

Saturday, January 12, 2013

One of our own to say

your fate is not for you, but for those who mete the plane.
go soft. go steady. they will wait on banks for you.
you are angles and razors
an untouchable daze or some sort of monster
and all i see around you is red and dust.
X? Uncross your arms,
you can't see what's ahead through your wrists.
the paths are laid, the fields are drawn
come leave those voices behind.

Thursday, January 3, 2013


we can only come together with moonlight
when She is watching over our intentions and desires
so nothing distracts us from the task at hand, at our feet.
kiss me finally at midnight, kiss me deep to turn the day
pressed against cold glass, frosty metal, wind on skin
but you are warm and we are here, alive
and nothing is more alive than we; two twentysomethings far from love
but near to bursting with intangible something, remarkable something
something deeper than thought, telling us to live and live and live
and live we do, for a moment, slammed into the doors of cars
for one fleet of dreams, we were idle, on the brink
the moon still looks on, too old to hide Her eyes
we are the history of Mankind embodied and wrapped in smoke and mirrors
bodies hot, heavy steam, holy water
there are no words, no nagging wishes and lost hopes
screaming supicions of guilty slopes
only you, only us, and we are only air,
made of things twisted in dirt
and from earth we are made 
and to earth we pay true tribute
and with earth we married lay,
until then we crash together again and again,
once or twice watched over 
hoping one time, hoping tonight
our pace matches ill-begotten stars

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

A Confession. or Concession.

it seems like every New Year I start it off my giving some dude a blowjob in some inopportune place
and I'm a firm believer in that my year is affected by the way I begin it
I mean start it off one way and it's kinda like why change who I am this year when I can do it later
how American of me
I feel like 2013 is code for "choke on it, bitch"
in one of those secret codes I used to make in 3rd grade
so no one could read my love letters to various snotty-nosed hellions
some things never change and now I'm writing lust letters with my tongue
letters to snotty-nosed hellions who just learned to bring tissue and got a little taller
mid blow-job I think about what I'm gonna do when I get home
like sleep mainly but also pee
i think about the scarf I'm crocheting and how I'm gonna buy more yarn soon
and how girls like me doing things like this are what's wrong with society
lastly I think about writing this down
and I get all sorts of ideas for what to write
and I'm kinda happy
so I guess blowing dudes for new years
sparks my creativity
for the rest of the year
a fair price, i think