Saturday, December 29, 2012

late night shaking-
i pretend it's from her lips 
rather than the third cup of coffee.

our love could sink ships-
we'll cling like rats to each other.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

the black plague

prologue, December 2016.

how fitting is it, for us to have created our own end? the only thing more powerful than a human hand is the gun it points at itself. you can't say you're surprised that no one listened, why would they when the news reports cry wolf at every strain of strange cells. bacteria, viruses that creep into your bones faster than winter and freeze twice as cold. you imagine them made of metal, robotic rabies raised by the nurturing hands of our own scientists and their insatiable thirst for mortality. you can't say you're surprised that the subways ran on schedule still or that the white masks over mouths didn't grow in number. you can't say you're surprised that no one paid attention until it was far too late.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

bone marrow transfer/love is [not] reason enough

the I.V. was like ivy crawling it's way to the crook of her arm, two plastic bags hanging down like overrippened fruit above her head and you think of her beautiful hands and the veins on the back of them as the veins of a leaf

yellow in autumn

and her skin, yellow in autumn and hollow bones lit up
like christmas lights against an x-ray machine.

bed, 2:30 p.m.- mid april.
"would you love me if my face was stuck like this?" she scrunches up her brow and widens her eyes and you kiss her shoulder,
"most definitely not" and she leans away in mock offensive, 
"would you love me if i only had a year to live?", you stop at that and actually let the words roll around in your head because it means more, doesn't it? does one enter a commitment knowing it will end? would a sane person knowingly give themselves to a wilting plant? 
"...i think so."

luckily, love is not sane person.

"well don't worry, i'm going to live to be one hundred."


theres a pounding in your knuckles from unconsciously reaching out to her at the memory only to be denied by a plastic railing on your own hospital bed. it's funny in a sense that the first night you'd spend in marriage would be like this. she groans and rolls to her side and you see the dark circles in full light. there's a knock, the doctor enters, flanked by two nurses;
"are you ready?"and does one willingly give years of their life for a few months of another's? and does one risk their last breath for somebody else?
and as they roll you out you question, briefly, of why you're doing this but the answer doesn't have to roll around in your brain this time. why?

because you couldn't afford a ring anyway.

Monday, December 3, 2012

guys, i'm in a story mood but unfortunately,
as it seems,
all my ideas have grown a little bitter
in my mouth.

feel free to submit prompts (for those who have, i'm still working on it!)
or otherwise, I'm considering a piece focused on either

-the great chicago fire
-a bone marrow transfer
-the black plague (in a modern telling)
-a bookshelf capable of love
-Aaron's golden calf
-the tower of Babel
-the blind pianist
-Van Gogh's wife

what do you think?

"there is only so much poetry you can fit inside a day
and lately i've been spending it all on your skin."

i think it's normal to fall in love with the one who saves you and besides,
she always tastes a little bit like last year,
like christmas dinner
like all the love poems i never wrote 
like all the love poems i never sent. 

"i don't think i was alive before you"
she laughs, lightly, like a wind chime and does not believe me
for good reason, all these words are rising air and i am not
very trustworthy, which she knows
and does not comment on

and that's love.