When the universe
And all her baby stars
Souped down
In clotted clumps
Tightly wound in
Golden-plummed roses –
This is when the sea
Ascended, and all your
Mother’s tribes descended.
(In a pop,
Not a bang.)
“Red paint and crushed
Blackberries will drip
Like plasmic syrup
Down your arms and
Into your bellies.
You will hear the Earth
Sing a lullaby,
Soft as clouds making love.
Our canyons will rupture
And we will bathe in the gush
Of purple-blue paper water.”
But then the sky exploded.
And pellets of dusty snow
Climbed down
And pierced my flesh,
Froze my core,
And numbed my Native voice –
Hushed my sweet mother,
Dyed my ancestors’ blood
To match the soiled snow.
Nov 13, 2014
Nov 13, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
there was a blanket made of rust
spread on the couch made of stone
that was when i had no flesh
back then i was made of glass
and my bones were made of blood
you can imagine how ridiculous i looked
but that's how things were
i watered the plants
he picked the weeds
that evening, i developed a callous
on the insides of my palms
the glass melted away
the blood hardened and i was born
the king gave me his crown
the water turned to vapor
there was an orange light on the wall
it reminded me of your *****
and the way she talked about Vermont
no, i have never been to Vermont
no, i have never seen you as an animal
no, i have never been alive before
you are softer than the sound of the shofar
when i woke up in the rain-stained parking lot
and saw your knees in a puddle
there was a blanket made of teeth
spread on the couch made of sand
how was your trip to Vermont?
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:30 PM UTC
i can still remember what your
distressed denim
jeans felt like
beneath my
beating pillow
fingers and how you swore
you saw the Moon
in my throat
you said you spoke to Him
when you kissed me deep
and He told you
that even a great white shark
has a great soft heart
and that even a lion
will bleed when it is met by
a twig
but not even the Moon will tell
you that when i felt your leg
and touched your mango
knee I fell in love with the
tree that beared your fruit
so sweet-nothing salamander
when i see your sweet-nothing
smile i will count sheep in your
teeth and pull the hairs
from your chinny-chin-chin
and i will huff and puff and
blow your ******* *************
house down
and i will plant a mango tree
in its place
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 1:24 PM UTC
I. Constellations have gathered
about a point
of implied dexterity,
within which they drip
through a cerebral fissure
and onto the summits of
Spanish hills and the young girls
teetering
in red lace gowns.
II. Sun drops have gathered
into a morphing of
hallowed radiance,
into the glitter
sprinkled
on the tabletop of the ocean,
and gently caresses
the face of the oak leaves
while asking if they will dance
just one more time.
III. The nightingales have gathered
around the bottom
of the brightest sycamore tree,
and here they whisper,
pleading
with the Earth
so that She may recede,
to present fresh soil
from which they came.
IV. The bricklayer has gathered
in front of the fireplace
as the shoes on his feet
pierce the carpet with crumbled dirt,
he is a man of very few words,
they say,
but as the firelight twitches
and scatters
within that artificial cave,
he has found the words
to ask himself:
how long will the fire burn?
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 7:25 PM UTC
call me when your flight lands in Munich
and we can discuss
how the cinder blocks
standing stationary in the walls
like cold queen's guards
meet so seamlessly
they touch so cleanly
never a crack, never a pore
call me when your flight lands in Tampa
and we can talk about
all of the clothes on the floor
folding and crinkling
discontinuing continuum
they haven't been touched since July
and when you call,
we can talk about how they
make my room smell like
gasoline
let me know when you land safely in Munich
and I'd be happy to go on
about the smell of the parking garage
equal parts old rain and new exhaust pipes
and the open air
underneath the moon; so close
that I will grab it out of
the closet sky
and give it to you instead of saying:
I'm so ******* sorry
let me know when you land safely in Tampa
and we can assume the position
of conductors
of a grand orchestra
of lost crickets and cracking bones
of the dogs barking at
spilled black ink
and chasing the painted Sun
and maybe when the song is over,
we will clean up the mess
and be able to fall in love
with nothingness
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 12:23 PM UTC
make love to a poet and you will feel
everything
all at once
as if the earth’s core
has shattered
and all the planets have been stretched into
long ropes
and intertwined
along the milky way
make love to a poet and you will feel
as though each verse
is inside of each panting moan
and as though each rhythm
is within each twisting ******
and your body will become numb
as it contorts
to turn existentialism into a heart beat
make love to a poet and you will experience
every word ever created
by each mouth brought to life
grazing your bare flesh
with each centimeter of their fingertips
meeting the quivering abdomen
and although every word is with you in this moment
you will beg the universe
to let you speak them
because when you make love to a poet
you become one
with a language
one unspoken and one the vice
you will melt into song
when you make love to a poet
all the love that ever was
or ever will be
becomes trapped within a single drop of sweat
and all the fear
that was summoned for the world to share
becomes confined within each sharp gasp
make love to a poet and you will feel the
creation of a galaxy inside of you
the stars will cling to your veins
and they will dance in your blood
and the planets will be caught in the gravity
of your lungs
and so you will breathe in moons
and breathe out aries
and asteroids will blast through your throat
for the rest of your being
if you make love to a poet
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 11:14 AM UTC
How wonderful it is to know someone twice
How beautiful it is to remember that twinkle in their eye
Or that song in their throat
And how lovely it is to have a second chance
And at the frame of the daylight,
How amazing it is to already know the mouth and the nose
Of someone so familiar
Because in a world so unfamiliar,
How wonderful it is to have company
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 5:16 PM UTC
And I will sit on this bench,
With needles in my brain
Dancing like they are knitting a scarf in your favorite color,
I will sit in the same place
Where you used to have your midnight cigarette
Where I had joined you
And the harmonies of our voices colliding in external thought
Made Beethoven rise from the grave
And while I sit here
I will wait for you
So that I may fall in love with you for another twenty-four hours
And we may return to our midnight cigarettes on the bench
Aug 24, 2014
Aug 24, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
Why do we say we love the sunlight
And the way it bursts through a window in the morning
But we choose to stay inside
And ignore it
Why do we say we love the rainfall
And the ripples it makes in small puddles in the driveway
But we spend all of our money on umbrellas
And raincoats
Why do we say we love the flowers
And the scent that drifts from them,
Using the wind to hitch a ride
But we step on them and rip them from the ground
Leaving them to die
Why do we say we love each other
And each other’s voices and mannerisms
But we leave each other and let strangers be strangers
We ****** and **** count our fallen as forgotten
We put ourselves first
Why don’t we love
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC
Drink caffeine-free tea
Take deep breaths
Know that you are beautiful
Know that you are important
Remind yourself that you have stardust braided into your flesh
And so does everyone you have ever touched
Speak this mantra to yourself:
I'm okay, I will be okay, it's okay, it will be okay
And never let anyone tell you who you are
Aug 4, 2014
Aug 4, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC