Thursday, February 27, 2014

you can drift, for a moment, i'll be the
dock holding your rope, making sure you don't 
get too far

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

i compared myself to light coffee once, to
two creams and two sugars
sweet enough to leave you shaking all day and just warm
enough to drink
and boring

  i think i have begun to burn, evolve, emerge from the ashes with
hard hands and anger,
desire, lust, i feel like the warrior that i kept
hidden for all these years.


i think i am smoke
i am tectonic plates 
grinding, last night i dreamed of all sorts of
horrible things and i refuse to turn a single frame into
words, knock on wood
this is an unfinished poem, i am scared nearly
all of the time.

Tuesday, February 4, 2014

there is an envelope addressed to 
Mr. Ken Sunshine
on my desk, stamped
return to sender
because he probably moved to Westchester or Nebraska or the other places people
go to die.

i will finish this poem before calling my therapist and telling her that i want to move to
Westchester or Nebraska to be with Mr. Ken Sunshine, my one true love. 
i want to paint my body with
return to sender and crumble back into a 
zygote, curled and warm and small inside of my mother's
resentment
["i could have been a star"].

Ken is
brave and smart and owns his own consulting business[apparently]
i'll call him up and say
"Ken, how do i make my neighbors stop playing 90's rock and fucking against our shared wall? Ken, how do i fill out a FAFSA form? Ken, i wrote you secret messages in the binding of the Annual Report and you never even
opened it."

there are 27 inches of snow scheduled for Sunday and i want to
stamp return to sender,
go to work and check to see if i have any more letters from
Mr. Ken Sunshine.