Sunday, July 31, 2011

there's gotta be some law against
looking so cute all the time.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

i broke into your house and stole all your clothes
and put them in my closet.
this is your love poem,
marry me?
i always thought of you as an ocean, endless
expanses of skin that my fingers just 
buoyed over.

i always thought of you as an ocean, stubborn
crayfish and sharp shells and an anger in you
settled at the bottom
like silt.

i always thought of you as an ocean, a repeating
of waves, breaking of memories 
turned to white foam.

i always thought of you as an ocean, up to
my legs in your salt and when the tide retreats
with it's tail between its legs i am left
with wet ankles
and nothing.
and for today, i am going to be
lonely.
and wonder why i'm still here.

i think it's time to pack,
i think it's time to go.

Monday, July 25, 2011

you sit and séance up the past.
pouring over blueprints, trying to figure out where it went wrong and
it all went wrong, didn't it?
staring at the timeline with wide hungry eyes and begging something invisible in the corner of the room
to let you go back and do it right this time.

cardinal laws and cathedral doors-
a wide wondering if you'll find who you used to be in all the rubble.
answers in the form of Hail Mary's
"my life is disappearing like smoke;
my body is burning like fire."




i sat in the hospital parking lot for the first time in 4 years and [briefly]
contemplated checking myself in.
eventually, we've all got to be alone
with ourselves.

Friday, July 22, 2011

i miss the 
buy you your favorite cereal without being reminded
kind of love. 


this is the in between 
this is the desert life
being hooked under the sternum and dragged
through the weeds onto the deck.


something feels as though it's about to explode
something is coming.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

theres an empty bed to rest your
empty head,
memories scratched into your walls-

go get your friends and paint it black as if
it never even happened at all.

one day you're gonna bottom out 
from floating too close to the shore
you better bet i'll be hanging around
waiting to break you more.
standing by a payphone 
with bruised knuckles and a jailhouse loan
sawdust mouth calling all your friends cryin'
"where do you think she goes?"

Sunday, July 17, 2011

"there's a place in Sacramento where
orange trees grow like weeds.
all the people in all the houses go to grocery stores and buy
cartons of what they already have.

you should stop looking for love it's
all around you"
she sleeps under her window in case
someone tries to break in
which is crazy but then again,
she's very lonely.
you talk about chemicals and DNA ladders
i talk about nighttime mistakes and
climbing those ladders.

Saturday, July 16, 2011

how sad it is to think that two trains leaving from the same station
going the same speed
will never meet.

the measurements must have been off because we were supposed to glide
on the grid together but we crashed
like intersecting lines, onward and onward and
time only multiples the footsteps we've left
behind.
lost to space and stars and static and i doubt Galileo
could have forseen 
this.



we sat[untalking] and you started to climb back down
all those words you said.
where are your house sparrows?
where are your orchids?
i'll find a delicate girl and write poems about her 
wrists.
she'll muse for me on the couch
in the most [unexpectedly] beautiful moments 



Tuesday, July 12, 2011

i fear an empty pallet and 
a tumor that steals my thoughts; you've
carried this burden your whole life, haven't you?
living your days counting how many hours
we both have left.

someday we'll die and i will seep into the ground and
someday i will live again.
a thousand hallway clocks will make their rounds,

i guess i'll see you then.

Saturday, July 9, 2011

and it always amazes me
how many things I
can feel at once.

Friday, July 8, 2011

i have gone down with the ship

i think i've been
marooned
in my own memories, regret
growing frenzied at the smell of blood.
we made it through the storm and sunk 
in the shallows
and as water rushed in around my ankles i thought about how lonely it is
to live in such a big world and
this whole ocean full of whale songs
about trying to get back home.




last year i stitched 
a promise to my ribs.
i miss love

Thursday, July 7, 2011

the puppet master

you think that girls are pearls
to collect and wear on your wrist and people bend to you
at will, strings and strings and
in all the madness you find yourself
unfulfilled.

every day you get a little more
tangled
and a little more
bored.

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

the phases of life settle like dust around my feet and 
things get a little clearer each time.
i've been saying the same words over and over until they sound
foreign, staring at the same faces that start to
not even look like faces but the covers of books
that i read beginning to end
and close with distaste.

liar.
and it's not even a personal hurt but rather a 
disappointment in character. 
you didn't let me down but instead, yourself.


where are all the beautiful souls?

Sunday, July 3, 2011

paper cranes



i close my eyes and look at the stars
late in bed.
we have matching notches
cut from our belts, we are
of the same kind.

she left fire with her fingers and i burned faster than
Chicago.

Saturday, July 2, 2011

and we write about trees
on paper.


Friday, July 1, 2011

she looked down and told me that life
would bring her back to just where she was
before
and she could wait.