he had
been a
pretty
thing.
i got my
own to
keep and
he’s got
his own.
we ain’t
got no love
to make.
when can
we learn to
live without
touching?
he had
been a
pretty
thing.
we crawled
in the back
seat of my
car and i
pulled mine
out first.
i came
on his
*** and
was proud
for it.
i know he
won’t need
me again.
i got my
own to
keep and
he’s got
his;
we gather it
together
under a
dying
sun.
Apr 12, 2013
Apr 12, 2013 at 9:29 AM UTC
when you
thought i was
sleeping,
i was pulling
the breath
out of your
lungs.
scaling your
throat, deep
into your core.
the rope strains
and breaks
between your
teeth.
you feel it
and remember
the way god
feels in your
stomach,
the fear of hell,
and of waiting
rooms,
the thought that
someone out there
had, at least once,
thought of
you.
this poem is
for the dreams
you’ll never
realize.
this poem is
for the words
i want to shove
through your ear
and into your
heart.
this is for one
night, a thousand
miles away
from here,
when you
say good night
to a man you
can never love,
force your head
down on your pillow
and remember
that you had been
loved at least
once.
you are
the only
science
i’ll ever
know,
the only
pieces i want
to add and
subtract.
connecting
the arms,
the head,
the ****
the heart,
and breathing
what life i
have left
into you.
i hope you
remember
how that
feels.
Feb 26, 2013
Feb 26, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC
i had a *****
when you left
which subsided
in the fifteen
minutes it took
to realize you
weren't coming
back.
when i couldn't
write a poem
about you,
i realized what
you'd done.
"you son of a
***** i yelled
as i walked into
the bedroom,
where we'd once
made something
of love.
knowing you'd
never hear it.
knowing that,
of everything i
had given away,
you had taken
the few words
i had kept for
myself.
read the following
under a false
pretense:
i am the bird,
you are the plane
that swallows
and hurls me
back to the earth
again,
to discover
myself one
more time.
i have your
memory,
your smile,
and your
silence.
and i intend
on being selfish
with what i
earned.
Oct 8, 2012
Oct 8, 2012 at 6:00 PM UTC
it is
nothing.
the parking
lots and the
schools are
empty today
and tomorrow.
we decided we
didn't care
about it,
at some
point. we will
all wait here.
it is
winter
and it feels
like spring
before the chill
of god's wrath
sneaks up on
you. whenever
the weather
suddenly changed,
my mother swore
up and down that
the world was
going to end.
i wanted
nothing to do
with it. but this
is where it's
come: the empty
spaces in our
conversations
when we run
out of ways to
tell people that
we love them,
when their eyes
lose the thing that
made your stomach
turn, when they get
bored with you and
throw you away.
it is
nothing. the day
is someone's or
no one's at all.
i, myself, will
wait out
another
cold
night.
Feb 13, 2012
Feb 13, 2012 at 9:15 PM UTC
what is death? a
middle-aged man
in a volvo, collecting
payments and
favors?
i met him once on
his road trip from
new york to
california. i imagined
death streaking across
america, the way the
ground shakes and
swallows its people.
i didn't ask him anything.
i was afraid of his answers
but he keeps files on every
living being and sorts through
them when he gets bored,
picking people off like flies.
i figured he had heard
about the likes of me
before.
is death the object of a
mid-life crisis for a god
who got a little too
close to the sun and
got his feelings hurt?
maybe that is the
answer after
all.
he left me at a truck stop
off the interstate
in anniston, alabama.
i didn't catch his name,
but i think we'll be
introduced again
real soon.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 6:39 PM UTC
broken as it was,
we had tried to
fix it. you said i
was your first like
it disappointed you
to admit such a thing.
would this be worth
it? my heart sighed
no.
but the body,
entangled in yours
as it was,
kept fighting its
own battles, waging
its own wars with
destiny and with
your eyes and your
legs.
you told me not to
speak to you, as if
i was the only one
doing the hurting.
but would you mind
keeping me, once
again,in my own
dreams for awhile?
the heart says stop.
the body says go.
turn on, turn
off.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 2:23 PM UTC
as we dissolve
into the ages,
i will only have
these things
to remember:
your messy hair,
your easiness,
your voice,
your embrace.
when i drove
through the
last exit, i saw
a plane speeding
through the
cosmos.
i think
we are all
crossing some
distance.
Dec 11, 2011
Dec 11, 2011 at 1:28 AM UTC
there was this
guy, probably
not a day over
40 or so. he
looked like
everyone had
envied him in
a past life.
people at work
would just ask
if he was tired.
and he would
nod, knowing
that it was yes
and no at the
same time.
after he spilled
his brains out
in his wife's
beauty salon,
telling her he
was tired of
waiting on
everything,
they said she
went home and
put on a new
dress and that
was that.
when i heard
about it, i could
only lift my hands
in some prayer
to no one in
particular
that wherever
he was going,
someone
would ask how
his day went.
how final is it,
(i thought)
eternity?
i refuse to
believe it is
final enough.
after we have
accounted for
all of our steps
and have said
everything we
ever wanted
to say.
it is here,
after all,
where we
begin.
Dec 5, 2011
Dec 5, 2011 at 9:23 PM UTC
across the
room the
door serves
it's purpose
as a reminder
of being forced
in and out of
them, shoved or
carried. you didn't
want to go, none
of us did. we left
the lights on
as a reminder,
peeking under
the cracks in
the bottom
of the barrier.
the light was
a reminder
of a purity.
this girl is just
a prototype
of another
one and another,
i reasoned as i
nudged you
outside into
the cold and
lightless world.
your eyes kept
their pleading,
as a reminder
of innocent nights
sneaking into your
bedroom hardly
breathing and
knowing nothing,
holding her
head there, i,
i...
Nov 19, 2011
Nov 19, 2011 at 10:28 PM UTC
digging in,
the way your teeth crawl.
and latch onto my heart
or my hipbone, when we
do our thing. digging in,
like the first shovel into
the earth when burying
someone you love. you
remember how fresh
the soil is, and you think
it's ironic and somewhat
painful. don't think.
don't think. digging in,
and you whisper in my ear
like you're telling me something
no one else knows while you're
having your way with me, or I'm
doing something to you. don't
think. don't think. forget digging,
forget the hipbone, forget all
of your common denominators.
don't think. don't think. and
you won't.
digging in.
digging into fresh soil
like there's something
worth finding.
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 8:57 PM UTC