Friday, September 30, 2011

but oh, 
if we stop for even a second
it just might eat us alive.

anxiety sulks in the corner, biting our heals
and taking two steps 
every time we close our eyes.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

train plane bus car
isn't it wonderful how life
is so very hard.

Monday, September 26, 2011

the pen to a page is a breath to my lungs-

grow tall like a birch tree
i will climb your roots.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

for this, it is worth.

The weeping feeling in the back of your throat
when you watch someone beautiful walk away-
that, that,
is the reason for all of this.

find happiness in your luck,
that you have been able to see the bare-boned world 
you've scooped up all the terrible mud and in it;
one glimmering particle
of happiness.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

T.V. dinners and talking to pictures that sit
smiling on the mantle
of a living room's tomb.
"Do you think they'll ever get off the island Mom?"
he spoke to the fading painting overhead

"Yeah, me either."

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

the taste of Tuesday morning on their lips-
like an old penny or 
rotting fruit.

you hid fireworks under your fingernails and touched everyone

the beauty of love 
the beauty of wander lust.

Monday, September 19, 2011

good news for the last few followers who actually check this! i have finished 'the scientist', in a few days the final copy will be released (not the same as the poems, this is a short story.).

this ALSO means i will start updating regularly again. any of you that have stuck around since the beginning, thank you. you guys were there with me when i was miserable. you were there when i got better. you were there when i fell in love. you were there when my heart broke. this unintentional hiatus i've been on has been like a vacation from my own brain and only now am i starting to get solid footing again.
expect more posting soon! and short stories. as always, i love you guys. i really do. and i always appreciate prompts and WILL respond to them


Thursday, September 15, 2011

The Scientist Pt. 8


He'll lose all the good memories of the past year and he knows that nothing will be exactly the same
so he enjoys them one last time, sitting at the kitchen table with a single glass of water and a single pill in front of him like a sick sort of dinner. He remembers when she used to cook for him, they would sit on the hardwood and eat with their hands,
The knock on the door snaps him back to the present and he's
almost forgotten about the world outside, locked in his little apartment with mementos spread around him. A shrine to the ceaselessness of love. His sister is 
there suddenly and she's flying into his arms and she's saying 
"I'm sorry, it's all going to be okay" and then there's
policemen behind her and they're talking and he can't pay attention because they've tracked
all sorts of mud into the house and June wouldn't have liked it and they're breathing
up all the air in the apartment, his air, their air, and he wants them out. He certainly doesn't want to go with them to the hospital and he really hopes his sister will stop crying soon and everything
has suddenly become rushed. One runs his fingers over a cup left out on the counter, her cup. He hadn't had the strength to move it and it had sat out, covered in a blanket of dust, for months.
They need to leave, now.
And one is moving closer and telling him to just take a ride with them and he moves quick-
grabs the pill
and locks himself in the bathroom.
It tastes chalk and his heart starts to beat slower and the slam of their fists against the door start to lull him and he feels rather sleepy before something suddenly hooks him through the sternum
and pulls.


It's the last night and he's already fucked everything up, the click of the closing door rings out 
into empty space, a hollow apartment full of love that he 
let die just like the house plants. Only this time, there will be no airport and no 
four more years and she won't be coming back with sunburn because she's gone. She actually left.


He scrambles for the door and jumps five stairs at a time trying to catch up and she's got a head
start but he's running and it just has to work because he loves her. 
He loves her.
She's pulling out of the lot and almost hits him as he flings himself over her windshield;
"Don't go, parallel lines, remember? Don't go. Please."
And it's not a command but a plea and he's breathless from running and breathless from feeling so many things at one time and she just shakes her head and pulls away into the night.
He watches her headlights disappear.

He's laying on the floor and sirens sound in the distant and for some reason he thinks
he hears her laugh in their wailing. And then his neighbor is knocking and there's been an accident and he's running barefoot down the block. 
Little black Camry crushed into scrap metal, an explosion against the concrete divider in the road and
it must have been beautiful. She went up in a fireball and a man is grabbing him and holding him back
and he's just trying to reach her. She's burning, she's burning in there and everyone is saying
"She's gone, she's already gone" but that's impossible. He can see her hiding behind the flames with that one smile, playing an eternal game of 'tag' and he's it. Everyone is shouting and the crash must have unhinged time because it's all spiraling out of control. 
He doesn't cry.

The world just ended, sitting cross legged
at the crash site, picking up tiny pieces of crushed plastic and glass off the asphalt and putting them
in his pocket. The ambulance driver wraps a heavy wool blanket around his shoulders even though it's spring but he assumes it's supposed to comfort him. A blanket to make everything all better. 
He swallows the air and thinks
that it might be as close to tasting her breath that he'll ever get again and he swears
he can smell her perfume
but it's probably just leaking gasoline.
He sits there, in that exact spot, for roughly two days. A protest, a hunger strike
against God, a mortal attempt at changing the mind of the divine. 
The local news crew comes and tries to get him to spill his 
emotions, tragic journalism for the folks at home to cry over before eating 
microwave dinners and putting the kids to bed.
"I'm waiting for someone."


It's uncomfortably bright and the first sensation he recognizes is 
a numbing in his feet. His eyes adjust and the scene dissolves in, snow, trees, a hill.
It's January and he's in Central Park.
He whips around, eyes peeled wide with wonder, and almost slips, shoes trying to clutch to
ice and there's a 'whack' from behind him and there she is,
sitting on the ground looking confused and it's as if he's seeing the sunlight for the first time.
Her mouth, her eyes, her nose, her ears, her neck, her right arm, her torso, her left arm, her legs, her
feet, her finger, the ring, the ring, the ring. And he looks at her, he looks at her like she's the greatest thing he's ever seen and he bathes in her presence and can't stop staring because 
he's scared to death she'll disappear again. And this is it, the one moment he regrets
the most and she's just fell and he's standing there for a second before bending down and
helping her up. [Touching the solid of her arm is a mouthful of water to a dying man, an explosion of joy threatening to tear him apart. She's real.] 
"I'm so sorry. I meant it when I said it, I meant it this morning."
"What are you talking about?
He wraps himself around her, red little ears and a beating heart.
"I'm never going to lose you again."
She pushes away from his chest, a little confused but smiles;
"Oh yeah? Come catch me!"
She takes off, wading through the snow and looks back for a split second, waiting for him to chase her and he runs, 
he runs like a fucking dog towards her.


Thursday, September 8, 2011

what am i even doing?
it's not me to desire.

i am ruthless, i am 
destruction, i am 

you flit over my
petals. i will grow
one day into a tree and 
you will nest in me.
i'll keep you out of the rain.
i need to figure out why my heart beats so fast for you
and why you probably
don't feel the same.

if wishes were dimes
i'd make you a millionaire.
if you could, would you really go back and do it all again?

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

fall leaves in your mouth and pressed to the knees of your jeans 
she's burning out your name, she's praying to the trees

your breathe is cold, she's dishing out the blame
laid out on the old crack of your windowpane

she built you up, she turned you tall, scraping the bottom of the sky
she aching now, she's grasping at your eyes

"please, this woman is all i got"

Sunday, September 4, 2011

i wish the sky was deeper.