what did i used to do before you occupied every fold of my brain
i never felt incomplete skating between days
what did i give up to make room for you telling me you loved me
that i didn't even miss until you left
Nov 8, 2016
Nov 8, 2016 at 4:54 PM UTC
my feet had barely greeted california
when my face matched the new summer,
cheeks blooming uneven,
eyes green as moss
and every face i glared upon
avoided looking too long.
walking through my least favorite airport
chin high, silent and ugly and wet,
i grieved for myself, i pitied my future, and mourned my past.
something lodged in my throat screamed with more assurance
and clarity and confidence than i have ever known
"this is not where i belong!"
i cried for my feet no longer squishing silica on white beaches
old skin disappearing in tiny fish
or kissing rainforest mulch, under-dressed in flipflops
taunting flora and fauna and fate
i cried for my skin, abused and bronzed
exfoliated in world heritage parks, the first shower in days
and oiled from water crossings in a run-down four wheel drive
a beard of blemishes i didn't bother to hide.
i cried for my ears, robbed of every accent,
of the crashing waves and roar of waterfalls,
or the same six songs played in every club in cairns
and the pterodactyl screech of flying foxes.
i cried for my hair, for my hands, for my nose.
i cried for my mouth and my tongue and my legs.
mostly, i cried for the death of laughter that started in the
pit of my stomach and rose up like carbonation
to my chest and my lungs and my neck and burst
like floodwaters in dorrigo
the elation and exhilaration and euphoria of being alive
that spilled out of me in screams and shrieks
and bubbled and flushed and insisted
so fiercely so strongly so urgently
that to relent was not even a choice but a right
and then half a year later
i sat dully in a fluorescent corridor at my transfer terminal
feeling my heart retreat, defeated
dreading the long months ahead
promising nothing but drudgery and boredom
letting the tears drip onto my boarding pass
black ink lamenting, too
and not a single person approached
or spoke to me
until i asked to wash away the moment
with a diminutive bottle of ***
a mile from the surface.
Jun 19, 2015
Jun 19, 2015 at 2:37 PM UTC
i only find my solace in half rhymes and soft narcotics
and twice-sung dueled harmonics
keep my tongue between my teeth
and keep my dagger in its sheath
and i guess i should have known
not to let my dark be shown
cause he only wants the light
well i suppose it's only right
nothing grows in darkness
nothing grows in darkness
i can only keep myself contained
in tired metaphors and shame
i just wanted him to know
i could love even his shadow
show my hand and call my bluff
let the edges keep their rough
tell me every single story
spitting off each promontory
nothing grows in darkness
nothing grows in darkness
i'm told that every great disaster
is building up my character
i'm told that every great destruction
paves the way for new construction
but i was never one for artifice
i'm a bare ***** tree as stark as this
i thought you were my home but you were termites
leave me alone and go search for your spotlights
nothing grows in darkness
nothing grows in darkness
Jun 18, 2015
Jun 18, 2015 at 2:01 PM UTC
june is only just learning to walk when i plucked strawberries from my parents's garden
and my second thought was to tell you
that my first thought was to tell you.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
when i wake up without my glasses sometimes
i think i'm still in a tent on the side of a highway in queensland
and the sun coming up starts a stopwatch
t-minus 20 minutes until the air heats up like an oven
merrily roasting the blonde figures
on either side of a slightly deflated air mattress.
if i keep my blurry vision fixed i can hear whip birds
and cackling kookaburras and
a vague buzzing i forget as soon as i shift my attention.
i want to push my too-tanned face through the moth-dotted
10-second-tent ***** and gasp wholly unsatisfying gulps
of petrol station breezes.
but when i wake up with my contacts cementing my eyelids shut
i think i'm hungover in a grimy hostel in brisbane
with a different blond figure gripping my hip
and 29 other filthy travelers snoring uproariously in the same room
and every one of them asleep with stories still pressed to their lips
willing to trade for the thrill of it.
and i know i won't be able to find my keycard in the tangled sheets
and anyway, my bunk in my own room doesn't have a ladder
and there's always a german girl sleeping below
with her underwear hanging from the bars i use to clamber up
so i sigh and pass that problem down to future-me
fall back asleep
and when i wake up i have miscalculated
and somehow i'm twelve thousand miles away already
as abrupt as this
but sometimes for a few myopic seconds, my chest feels light.
Jun 8, 2015
Jun 8, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
january in jersey is painted with globs of oils
all icicles and sharp edges and unmixed colors --
the view from my window when i lean out
to breathe smoke through my oscillating fan
is starker than greek statues (we know now to be garishly painted)
and every fractal dropping on my sloping roof
provokes me to paranoid thoughts of the matrix
and how close to death these dissolving shapes
spun me, sledding in my car, into a ditch off the highway
next week i bid goodbye to the atlantic and chase
watercolor scenery and exhaustively organized color pallets
and every breath that manifests in front of me
reminds me to leave.
Dec 28, 2014
Dec 28, 2014 at 6:01 PM UTC
i can't fathom the depths of the ocean
and i don't know if that's a cliche or a pun or both
but being with him made me want to watch glaciers calve
and count droplets in waterfalls
and wonder at the wonderful
but things on pedestals do what things on pedestals do
now i could throw myself off the side of a cliff on principle alone
and laugh at the bottom
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 11:39 PM UTC
Late at night I mimic the moon
and begin my satellite circuit
from the pantry to the fridge
peering between limp celery stalks
and old jars of cocktail sauce
the same way you **** me
when you're bored and just looking
for a quick fix between
your next game of league of legends.
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 4:46 PM UTC
if every ghost of words i tore in half haunted half as bright as a single dot on your light bright
i'd be giving time square a run for its overpriced roasted nuts and candy bars that fell off the back of a truck
and if every time i dipped into my brain for a distraction and came out with nets full of your name
repetitive as the chord progressions in my favorite songs about being angsty and trapped in jersey
i could scatter it like chum on placid waters and wait for the grandfather of all predators to learn a few lessons from you
sometimes i think you're searching for the moon and i was just an imploding star burning dim
and i can't help but dredge my esophagus with poisons from boys who don't look like you since
i'd sooner explore the ends of sanity and edges of our folding universes than admit that you don't think this was real
i am pulsing with need for acceleration with a big stretch of stalactites beckoning like pussy-willows
but all i can do is Stop.
Aug 8, 2014
Aug 8, 2014 at 2:41 AM UTC
maybe we could take a trip to one of those musical roads
that are cut to hum a tune
let our ears buzz away the dark thoughts threatening
slithering, come-hithering
slide inside my wisdom teeth set on edge
til my voice is honeybees and my throat a hive
now my whole body is a single note i can't sing
and my spine is b flat since
silence used to be my blinders but now it's garroting gas
and you keep telling me
that existence leans towards chaos as inevitably
as the force of crystallization
and the neat order we enjoyed is diffusing
and the bees are disappearing
so let's just be friends.
Jun 25, 2014
Jun 25, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC