Wednesday, June 27, 2012

i inhaled you-
coating my lungs and trapped your name under my tongue.
now every breathe tastes 
like you.

Sunday, June 17, 2012




the quiet resignation of standing, alone, knee deep in wild wheat
searching for a cat i know i will never find.
it's 2:21 AM, crickets hum
with the heat waves, a slow pulse
of background.
i should move my legs, 
trudge back inside and
wrestle another night.
i feel so small and the world is an ocean.




i can't sleep.

my body is heavy
with thoughts

Saturday, June 16, 2012

"why are you so cynical? you've got to
look on the bright side of things"

 
"ah, but the bright side just illuminates the fact that
it really was my fault. 
i'd love to think positively,
to not write her off into a grave but hope
 drowns you
when it doesn't come true. 
so i'll stick to the pessimism
and if she's really is out there
well, it'll be a miracle"

Thursday, June 14, 2012

post title post title post title 
stop blinking at me like Gatsby's
green light. the american dream is born in a fever
and grown in cul-de-sac
wheat fields; you slept on your jacket
that one night after his hands and you propped your phone
to your ear and listened to her sleep
went home and tried to write but the words were
cold sap stuck in the tree so you opened your
hands
post title post title post title
its hard to write when you're still
creating your life, stepping back and dreaming up a story where
you move to a big city
without realizing how terrible things could go and
you should probably be more worried than you are
but after all,
its just a dream
right?

the giving tree

You stand at the bank like strangers. The physical distance, 14.4 inches, just enough to be informal, to acknowledge that infact, you are blood. Big tree, little tree. Intertwined by last name and DNA and you suddenly realize that it is just a man standing next to you. You realize that you know nothing of your own father. Crooked slightly, grey shining through the brown, a sweater vest that you're sure your mother picked out for him. And god you realize, he is pathetic. And you hate yourself for thinking that, as if some invisible line has been crossed in your relationship, as if you should never think that out of pure respect for the man who made you. He pulls his glasses out and squints at the black line before signing.
"You know I'm trusting you with this, right?"
"I'll pay you back, I swear."
And he straightens and you think of Paris. You think of her neck and whispering into it, you think of how you'll build her a house with your father's branches. The knotted wood, 14.4 inches away and you think of what a man should be.
"You gonna go get her?" 
And you stare at him and you realize that 14.4 inches to your right stands the greatest man you'll ever know.
one two three 
four
i am a mess of scars.

subtle sinking into stability when
you notice the sun shines for more than the
moon. 
courage is a burning leaf, curling at the edges knowing that
everything must burn
to be born again.

you will burn too,
like a super nova 
and you will cry
like a newborn

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

there are
nighttime secrets that nobody knows and i plan to
keep it that way, hiding it under my pillow because
8 words could undo two and a half years.

so we bury our heads and step
distastefully from the truth, dissected and pinned on
my forehead fighting
the sudden realization that once every blue moon

"sometimes, for fun, i think about

Saturday, June 9, 2012

when we kiss her eyes turn dark like
new coffee or the dirt of watered flowers and she's
curved like a bow, her skin is sprinkled with rain drops and
heavy breaths, her shuddering chest