Monday, January 30, 2012

summer's frozen somewhere 
out in the woods while autumn died in her sleep.



you miss them so much what
are you waiting for?

Sunday, January 29, 2012

they told us to list our accomplishments and to list all the things
we liked about ourselves.



i put you twice.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

it's too late

they make movies about the deciding moments,
the crucial plot peaks, the last ditch airport speeches and the
bursting into a wedding and stealing the bride.
happy endings tied off with a bow.


there are no movies about the after,
when you've tried your hardest and nothing has changed. when doing everything you could still wasn't
enough.
i will write a book about the outgoing trains, i will write a book about the cardboard boxes and new
addresses. i will write a book about when 
it's just too late.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

"Do I know you?" a woman stands in the doorway. the feeling under your skin where someone feels too familiar and it itches. he trys to place her and 
fails.

a thousand lost poker games and the old chevy that he drove until it died. punching a time clock, her in a white dress looking quite scared and pearls as big as the stars around her neck. white cake and the vietnam war. cold socks, cold boots, cold toes. foreign soil and the three explosions which were probably best forgotten anyway. splitting his knuckle on a tooth and her with her hair in curls looking quite scared as they waded through the emergency room. burying her. the driveway as he walked up it, her first steps. tiny socks, tiny shoes, tiny toes. a tire swing at an old quarry from when he was a kid and taking her there. brown eyes on a princess standing in the living room and then years later, a woman standing in the living room. growing grey, growing sick.

all the things he lost to the fire. 
she sits on the corner of his bed,
"How are you today?"
"I hate it here."
"I know Dad."

they named her blue

but it never quite fit because if she was winter then i was
an early freeze. if she was blue then i was probably some shade
of gray. 
it wasn't like that, no. she was a magnet to a screen flashing yellow, the static and burn
of electricity, she was the raging fever red keeping me awake at night. they called her
blue, they called her November, they called her Tuesday
but to me, she was a leap year, she was the northern lights, she was
a spectrum.

Monday, January 23, 2012

do you miss the burn?


the slow glow embers sitting in the bottom of your stomach and
her skin like late summer nights
you burned to the sound of her voice.


do you miss the sting
of a soulmate, the ache of an ending.

the city lights lull me to sleep and your bed
from miles and miles
calls to me in my dreams.

 these lives,
these lives we've lived
still stuck like ashes in the crease
of your palm.
prompts?

Wednesday, January 18, 2012


she lived to create something terrible.
that was her philosophy, to bring power to the chaos, to fuel the fire. she painted pictures of dead horses and walked heavy, her tiny frame stomping against the floor boards trying to punish the world for everything that had ever
gone wrong.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

the greatest love story known;

 
they call them dead stars, white dwarfs. they shone once, giant bright gods in themselves and 
possibly, maybe, perhaps 
there were planets worshipping their light and 
possibly, maybe, perhaps
on one of those planets there was a me and revolving around the second sun, there was a you.
time has worn them, scarred them with comets and tired the life out of them.
they have collapsed, imploded on themselves and created their own requiems. billions of years, aching across the universe and they have expired, alone. the empty bodies have glided across a pinpricked dome of night for so very long and now, they rotate an arms length from each other. circling every 39 minutes, sweeping close their surfaces almost touching, almost. 
imagine the vast universe, wider than any ocean or mind and the slow spin to each other. see, they tear at the time space continum, the ripples coming ever closer just as the tide pulls to the shore. an anomaly, a flaw in science- a tether of gravity to each other as if to say 
 
"oh, 
i've been waiting for you". 
 
a million years, a tiny drip in the ocean of time and one day, one day, the waiting will become ravenous. too strong and their atmosphere's will graze, a millisecond of a kiss, a scraping against each other and the forces will rise up 
will grab them and smash. they will collide.
an explosion and of the deadened bulbs, burned out stars and white hot energy. yes, they will die a second death into each other, their cores will light up the sky and 
together, they will combine. together, they will be reborn into a new star,
together they will live again
and possibly, maybe, perhaps,
they will breed planets and possibly, maybe, perhaps
there will be a me and there will be a you
together.


oh, i've been waiting for you.

Monday, January 9, 2012

she used to touch his face and he remembers it, clearly, that her hand would glide across his jaw bone
and all the blood would rush from the world to his own chest. each drip weighing down, pushing him into her skin, leaving the inside of his mind barren as a desert. tumble weeds woven into spider webs, all thoughts frozen like flies still wriggling in the cross fire of her beauty. she burrowed through him so completely, she made his thoughts quiet literally 
stop 
and it was wonderful. sunday morning, beautiful and innocent and selfless; calm. it had been easy, he did not veer off the road into love but rather stumbled 
quite quickly.

Saturday, January 7, 2012

you could be a thunderstorm
and i wouldn't mind.

Thursday, January 5, 2012

she calls

mosquito buzz in the front pocket and her
string of words catch me like a web.
dirty sneakers and my phone clutched in
drunk fumbled fingers feeling like i might be
the only person left in the world.
i'm sitting on the porch with a 
pack of Senecas but she 
calls me
and everything is okay.
she calls.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

paper cranes

i like when the lights are out and i don't know 
where your skin is, a secret surprise
of touch and taste and something in me bursting
like fourth of july fireworks.

i see wires in your eyes, a tangled mess and i want to give you the simple
so fuck the adjectives. you are,
you are.

don't leave;
the universe is a pin-pricked dome
there is heaven in stars.


“the universe is infinite, right?”
“of course.”
“everything exists there. every possibility”
“yes, i think you could make that argument.”
“so somewhere, there’s a sheet with our names and two checked boxes in a
celestial filing cabinet. somewhere, there is a world where you fell in love with me. somewhere, right at this moment, there is a bed that we both
share.”
“the way you think is beautiful”
“once, in Oswego, i saw gardeners nailing ivy to the side of a new apartment complex and it made me so angry. so angry that i wouldn't go outside anymore for fear of seeing it, they were cheaters. why shouldn't the stones have to wait for their age? if i have to wait, why shouldn't they?” 
"is this really what you think about when you're alone?"
"yes. is that bad?"
"no, it's wonderful. it's so wonderful."

lot's wife.

chapped lips kissing the cigarette in 
stalled car lots, our hands like foreign shores touching to quell
a raging war.


regret was a rear view mirror. 
i burned your name in the county vault
fallen from leaves the veins and family trees covered your 
kitchen walls and i played nervously with the salt
shaker and i stared and i thought
don't look back, don't look back, don't look back,
but you did
my darling.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

an extra button
a single sock
have you ever really felt important before
now.