i used to dream
of you
bursting into
the hearth
shivering as
i drape
a red blanket
round you.
i used to dream
of you
leaning into
languid
eazy gold warmth
from the
crackling fire built
for you.
awoken to
dead ash
i wished you were
buried in ice.
Apr 6, 2019
Apr 6, 2019 at 10:23 PM UTC
was it for the lichens
growing on my pleached
entrails that you came,
scavenging like caribou
on pilgrimage to the
wintering ground?
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 10:38 PM UTC
last time we
saw each other
we made love.
now we don’t
even make
conversation.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 2:54 AM UTC
white hot ecstasy
molting skins grinding slower,
i puttering to halt.
remember:
the grubby larva
sawing its way out of my
putrid flesh cocoon.
after worms love,
we rotten husks
never know one
another.
silence is all ever known.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 9:23 PM UTC
somewhere
on the isle of my dreams,
under the palm beach leaves,
between the sea, the breeze,
and the golden darts of Sol;
i will find your fingers,
thread mine around them.
stay close to you evermore.
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 7:58 PM UTC
maybe it’s the way you
glued together
all the broken pieces i
would show you.
maybe it’s the way
you shattered them
all over again
and told me
“I’ll be back when you’re whole.”
Jan 4, 2019
Jan 4, 2019 at 10:32 PM UTC
if i have a nature
it is the eucalyptus forests of california,
of portugal. the forest whose burning
seeds and bark fly like spittle from
the mouth of a rabid raccoon.
if i have a nature
it is the trees in central park
living on a token plot in a
jungle of someone else’s design.
if i have a nature
it is the evergreen that
chokes on holly, smothered
by the weight of its peers.
but nature is always changing.
and so, if i have a nature
it is a conifer heaving a gasp and another
despite the hands at its throat.
it is the grass growing in the cracks of
the concrete jungle, reclaiming its home.
it is the flower, clawing through the ash
of those who came before
to turn and face the sun
if i have a nature
it is dreaming
it is pleading
it is vowing
alongside the germinating green
Upright. Upright.
Jan 2, 2019
Jan 2, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC
my thoughts are peanut butter
sticking to the roof of my head
when i can’t find a glass of milk.
my voice is like syrup
sticking in my throat,
never pouring out of the empty cracks
anxiety’s tendrils coil around my ribs
and spur my heart to run another year’s drag race.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:46 AM UTC
I have a smile on my face
and it feels right, too.
A smile so big it makes my cheeks hurt!
A smile I can’t erase
because you, because you, because you
I’m almost always sad
but I talk to you and the world seems brighter;
a world so bright it’s like walking on the sun.
Around you things never seem as bad,
and I feel like my body’s a lot lighter.
Because you, because you, because you
You only see me as a friend,
but I love you so dearly I
kiss you every morning in my mind’s eye.
And every night, I pull my sheets close to me
in crude imitations of your embrace.
Even so,
it really doesn’t matter to me
because the brightness of the world you’ve given me
lives in my body. Dimly, faintly it shines.
It’s you, it’s you, it’s you
The ember of the earth itself
has been placed in my beating heart,
thawing old permafrost wounds.
And thanks to its warmth, the old
buried seeds of my joy have been coaxed to growth.
Because of you, because of you, because of you
As my new feet take root
in the soil of my life, the light of
my love for you makes me a flower
that breathes the same warm, restoring
flame that I tremulously blew from the
ember you gave me.
It won’t matter
if all I have left someday
is an amber hued ashen ember, and
if the fire in my heart burns to nothing at all, or
even if I am lost to glowing light of the world.
It wouldn’t matter if the petals of the flower you turned me to
wilted and fell. Still all I had I would give you,
Because it’s you, because it’s you, because it’s you.
And maybe on that day, I would make you a living, fiery flower too.
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:42 AM UTC
I sit and stare at blank white
what, I wonder, shall I type?
Is there anything that can set me write?
Until static fills my head and
cosmic background radiation drones through my
radio station fingers, I have nothing. I am
nothing.
Why do I have to drink to right?
Jan 1, 2019
Jan 1, 2019 at 1:40 AM UTC