Spring: 04.16.2014

Next year I turn thirty,
every day running faster
and faster towards death.

My addictions convince
every cough and sniffle
that stomach, lung, blood
cancer makes sense,
etching my own obituary
and tombstone heading
on my skin for everyone
to read.

How shallow to think,
anyone but those I let
into my life would care,
despite keeping those loved
at arms length.

How shallow
those thoughts trickle
across my tongue.

Solar Sampling

Scream lungs full
until bloodfresh
and raw,
small mistakes
compounding against
a thousand years of
evolutionary bedrock.

We dance backs
turned, hands
holstered vocal
strings deep:
plucking along
offset melodies
with a shared spine,
pretending it’s okay
to fall wingshy
of cloud tops.

I have
bitter blood,
bitter spit,
bitter hands…

Made of all the things
I couldn’t say,
when you needed it most.

Ringing Well

Disappearing act,
to deep black hat
after silk hands
quiver blood from
inner pockets.

This frail complexity
that carries my wounds
after the extra drinks,
fails to carry me to you…
And are you as sick
and tired of me, as I am
sick and tired of you
being sick and tired?

Rambles can only shake the tree into shambles so many times before it falls.

Forget
what your
mother said,
about the length
of hair and the lair
of spare men,
sleeping in your closet-

Our attempt at loving
everyone has an arms
length approach to
happiness.

We are all sick and tired.

Spring: Spools

Nine days
on death watch,
waiting to suffocate
and feel black
tar eat vessel deep
into veins, nerve,
and bone.

Can any,
of anyone
pick up after
being cut from
umbilical melodies,
and mother’s milk?

Couple years
deep skin and being
talked out of happiness,
pursuing four-oh-ones,
encrypted feelings, and
grave-plots under
high rise mannequins:

Dancing
Dancing
Dancing…

Prepare for
final descent
into the core
of the earth,
reclaimed by
the particles
we once were.

Spring: 03.22.2014

Fever dreams again,
deus ex machina
to the machines
growing against the
inside skull
cranium wall, built
with hand-slaves and
a drug sludge mind…
Voices asking to
rebuild, destroy,
rebuild, the clouds
are falling and cracking
the plates sucking
the oceans towards
molten rock spiraling
metal core- Rebuild,
destroy, repeat,
the machines keep
going and drugs
breathing in time
with my lungs,
not drowning this
is flying,
and I’ll wake up soon-

wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up w a k e u p

wake up, you’re dying
building fever machines,

wake up.

Winter: 03.11.14

I want to feel
your rain, the
heavy rush of
lightning strikes,
a calm thunder and
the way dawn breaks
over this thick hush-
Our voices broken
by all the things we
want to say, lodged
in our throats.

I want to cast a hook,
rope thick and knotted
with all of my regret,
feel that tug and pull
against a tide
running against the end-
Our bodies broken
on the shoreline rocks
that dot the water’s edge:

I have to feel a rain
that makes me want
to go outside again,
before a buried past
reminds that love
is expired medicine.

Winter: 03.05.14

Stone valley
dry, ash with
thorn aftertaste
and thick iron
toned skin: desperate
breath, gray eyes,
eager mouth.

This is a thirst.

A midnight
new moon
hangover.

A longing, to
keep guts
lukewarm and
pumping memories,
into commitment-

Remember
being lonely
with four wall cell-
mates, blood thin
simple bone
clock ticks and
a train howl for
a whisper.

Winter: Shards

Emotional
repercussions
thunder between
branches on family
trees, set into soil
without permission.
Roots buried deep,
leaves broken by
howling wind
short on sleep…

No one asks
for construction, or
decomposition,
but we elongate
ourselves along
tangents hoping for
meaning to eviscerate us-

When am I alive and breathing?
Why am I a separate ghost,
each season?

This intricate web
is a dance seldom won,

but we curtsy nonetheless.