reaching for you
on the other side of this bed
shouldn’t feel like reaching for the stars
trying to fit orion
in the palm of my hand
and yet
my arms stretch
and my fists
close over nothing but air
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:46 AM UTC
i left
a candle burning
in the window for you
come back
when you're ready
but know
the wick will burn out soon.
Apr 12, 2015
Apr 12, 2015 at 6:38 PM UTC
A moth flies into a podiatrist’s office and says,
“I hate my wife, my son, and myself.
I can’t look in mirrors anymore. Please help me.”
The foot doctor tells him, “I’m sorry
but I can’t do anything for you.
Why did you come here?”
And the moth says,
(this is the punch line)
“Your light was on.”
Everyone laughs.
I leave out the parts about
moths flying too close to the light
because they don’t know it will **** them,
how they flit through open windows into our bedrooms
because they are following something beautiful,
because they don’t know that they’re lost,
that we find their tiny corpses
in the corners of our homes
and behind our beds.
I’ve always looked in mirrors too long.
I stare at the dark circles under my eyes and think,
“Please help me,” and my reflection says, “I’m trying.”
I thought about killing myself yesterday
and didn’t tell anybody,
not even my foot doctor.
No one laughs,
because that’s about as funny
as a suicidal moth turning towards the light
because he has nowhere else to go.
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 12:27 AM UTC
your knuckles
when they’re lined up next to mine
our hands laced together
the one dimple in your left cheek
that only comes out when you smile
really, really big
your moles
and how i’m sure they’d form a constellation
if only you’d let me see them
long enough to connect the dots
i can find stars elsewhere i suppose
starlight, star-bright
will you be my home tonight
your knuckles
how white they are
when you grip my hand too tight
my bones creak
i squeeze back
Mar 15, 2015
Mar 15, 2015 at 12:09 AM UTC