Wednesday, April 24, 2013

i am loved by twelve hearts
roughly,
loved to the bone, loved to oblivion.
twelve hearts that ache to take on mine, twelve
hearts that want to know my ventricles as well as their own. 

i think my capillaries might not be as beautiful as
watercolor drippings.
when confronted with stress i
think of the pressure inside every 
morning and of the white hot
digging, the dragging, the fibers slowly giving way.

it piles up, it surges-
and i become a live wire.


Monday, April 22, 2013

call me an idiot[idiot.]
for missing social cues, for being gently tossed the romantic 
relationship ball and
dropping it after a .6 second fumble.
[when i was young my coordination was so terrible that they taught me to use both hands.]

sometimes i forget that going on a date on valentine's
day might be setting the bar just a bit too high for my modest 5'6 [i've lied about my height for years and i'm not sure why because it's not like it isn't 
obvious.]
sometimes i forget that it might be faux pas to give a girl a ring
after two months but you've got to understand that with you
i don't think
so much.
you touched my thumb-
i would have given you the entire fucking world in that moment.

Friday, April 19, 2013

occasionally, i consider going back to the hospital
just to get some fucking sleep.

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Boston

they were half in doorways and mid-step
kissing mothers and good women and maybe even 
holding an old Kodak-
eyes wide and brown and round
as bar coasters. 


Boston is on fire
the families are burning like tinder.


[sometimes i want to cut all my flowers
down.]

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

like mercury.

i didn't break, the strands of 
liquid still held tight. a boneless mass;
twist and pull me apart at the joints,
stuff me into a thermometer and watch
the rise and fall of my stress (it's ninety
six degrees in here).

i am spred thin but i didn't
break
yet.


Thursday, April 11, 2013

mornings

i often take cabs to you, rushing up six flights
barely touching each step and i 
wake up six times with you each day.

1.) we dance, roll back and forth like waves
following the riptide of each other's sleep-
i turn to the cold side of the bed and you
follow me. 
2.) i think someone touches someone's skin but we
remain still, sometime around seven. a bird sounds the alarm
in the distant, i move. your phone sounds the alarm in the foreground,
you move.
3.) and you are kissing my face and touching my stomach and i groan awake. 
4.) hands and shoulders touching walking past people who were
quiet in the morning and they didn't eat their laughing for breakfast and 
did not wake up to freckles or the smell of hairspray.
5.) we are on the subway and i am coffee and dreading my stop.
6.) i am home and you are at the office probably
shuffling papers and changing the lives of
girls and i think you might be my hero too. i talk of you how one talks of 
an idol. i am in reverence, i am your team, i am your biggest fan. i am home
writing poems about you.

you make ripples [inside me, inside the world]
you are very important [to me, to the world]

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

vitamins


i
started taking vitamins for you, you know.
relaxed my throat like you relax your chest, your ribs fall neatly into place
when they touch my spine like a quieted kitten curling 
against a ticking clock. 
you think my clock is ticking, sometimes, and worry of it.
you worry about my smoking or the fact that i hate
drinking water, how i don't run.
according to some website i will die
on September 16th, 2058 at 67 years old; 
September 16th, 2058 is a Thursday
and i am okay with that.
besides, i doubt you'd want a forever with me
anyways

but i love you and 
i started taking vitamins for you, 
which is a lot
for me.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

am i a murderer?

i am guilty of the feigned ignorance of you, 
you; the worn-in sweater.
and i,
i; stoop awkwardly in front of company with a paper towel
to wipe your blood from the kitchen floor because, 
what the fuck else am i supposed to do?
your wine glass was in the sink,

please try to fill it
with something other than a comfortable love.
you deserve fireworks.



and i am terrified by you
darling,
you are the North Korea button, 
my skin is 
yellow soil across the line.

you are some sort of star and your gravity
pulls them in from millions of miles.
i'm a few lightyears away-

my eggs are in one basket and yours
are already fuzzy chicks.

i am as pink, soft, and
weak as the the inside of my wrists
[as outdated as the oxford comma]

sometimes i am as disorganized as 
a half finished
poem-

Friday, April 5, 2013

and you are wearing underwear to bed or you are wearing
nothing at all, and i am wearing my heart on my sleeve or your
mouth on my mouth. 


i tell you of the impossibility of giants, of how the feeble
thin cords of circulatory could never pump fast enough,
of how fragile hair really is and of 
problematic possibilities that a prince would meet a peasant and you,
you tell me fairy tales. 

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

we drank beer at 4 p.m and you spoke about gender roles; 
i felt like a greenbean snapping between your teeth. 

fire escape 04/03/13



sitting alone at night anywhere makes me a bit
uncomfortable. 
there is a 
good woman in bed waiting,
shirtless and
raw.
i'm still wiping flour from my pockets.


everyone told me that new york was loud.
sirens and yowling cats [in heat]
arched backs and garbage lids.
york at 3am;
you were louder.




Monday, April 1, 2013


it's nature for the rain to worry 
that it's too heavy for the clouds,
and it's nature for that
to not matter.
a man told me once that you can love
one two or three women
at the same time
if you pick and choose 
your favorite bits of them.

i don't think i could-
it's not that i don't have enough, not that my adoration is a 
graduated cyllinder, a portioned well, and line-touching measuring cup.
you have no allowance of my affection.
i think,
theres just too much of you
and i can't find a single corner
i'd be willing to cut.