it's at this time
my thoughts find you
inevitable as water that runs
through cracks, leaking and
filling and eventually,
drowning
they find you where I no longer can
they find you in happier places,
doing normal things like
taxes or sleeping in
on sundays
I cant claim to know you now
I'm sure time has shaped you
and you have outgrown
this empty space
after all, what is a goodbye
to someone who has long since
closed the door
on an empty
house
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:46 PM UTC
I will remember you fondly;
like a sick dog
and I will visit you there
in the dirt where I left you
and the flesh of you
can feed what’s left
of what remains
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 10:53 PM UTC
the sun breaks through
another night and I have dreamt of you
now I'm not so sure--
of the shape of your face, your voice
a heartbeat underwater
your body
a frankenstein
stitched loosely with memories
of closeness
when the brain unclenches
its invisible fist
slowly, in defeat
all I have is my imagination
and a better girl
is fixing you now
The sun breaks through
and this time last year
I was in love with you
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 6:41 AM UTC
I have dug
a hole
near the house
where you live
and lifted
the veins; daffodils
surgically
from the soil
they watch
from my window
so tall
and so yellow
Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 11:01 AM UTC
endless flesh searches
jumping between beds
pretending the floor is lava
you're rummaging through piles
of bones, fingers
slipped under the mattress
and behind the headboard
hoping to find something
you can't see at the bottom of a shot glass
or the stub of a *** end
Dec 16, 2016
Dec 16, 2016 at 6:12 PM UTC
His forehead was a fissure caused by an earthquake
and his eyes rolled like eggs in a pickle jar
and below were bags like basketball hoops
and when he cried it was tar
And his teeth were eggshells in a tomato soup
and his mouth was a mine where canaries went to die
and his tongue rolled up like a terrible salmon
and when he spoke he sighed
And his neck was a spring with a tennis ball on
and his chest was a coffin with a soft voice inside
and his lungs were spaceships lost at sea
and with every breath came the tide
And his arms were shotguns with the ends sawed off
and his hands were tables scratched in with a compass
and his fingers were toes that screamed in the dark
and everything he touched turned to glass
And his legs were pylons standing in water
and his thighs were two balloons rubbing together
and his knees were hot twisted car steel
and he drove with one foot on the wheel
She was an apple with the core cut out.
And like a blackbird, he'd eaten the seeds.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 10:19 AM UTC
There was a snapping sound from within as every taut string that had been holding my heart for so long flinched away, and the red thing dropped like a stone.
I felt my hands. They were cold and wet. Like a small ocean pebble, I lay there and waited for every shuddering wave to gently wash over, numbing every inch of me that had once felt so warm.
Dec 15, 2016
Dec 15, 2016 at 10:15 AM UTC
small acts of vandalism
tapestries on the back of blue bus seats
like plastic scars
and half moons
carved into my palms and cheek
and the cold glass
like a peppermint slap
reminds me of your breath;
chew, blow, snap.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 11:52 AM UTC
As the night leaned close and killed the birds
I couldn’t hide; hide or see
a box quite big enough for two
so you could hide with me.
Oct 7, 2016
Oct 7, 2016 at 8:37 PM UTC