It's 2 AM
I'm propped against the outer brick wall of an abandoned ******* barrel.
I am 50% coffee
40% water,
10% *****.

The sprinklers pop out of the ground and mist the air
In my arms there's a woman I thought I'd never speak too again.
As puddles form and creep inwards,
Stopping just outside our warm bodies.
I'm holding her, puzzle piece, tightly.

She was my first high school girlfriend.

We saw each other in the same place, every year.
Every single time we had heart attacks.
Chanting to ourselves,
"Please don't notice me."
"Please don't notice me."
"Please don't notice me."

Tonight, lit only by the moon light and the lamp fixtures.
I'm holding her tight enough that we look chimera.
Experimental pieces, combined as one whole creature.
Neither of us, want to let go.

Rewind to this afternoon.
She's sitting on the grass next to our mutual friend
I attempt to pass by, unnoticed.
Tip-toe, heart attack.
"Hey Nick"
"****"
The friend jumps up faster than I can conjure words.
I'm trapped in her embrace.
She introduces us.

She thinks... we don't know each other.

A bulldozer hits the brick wall around my heart
That's been telling me to avoid this sweet girl.
We stare at each other like the sky is falling and we're paralyzed.

I kneel down in front of her and look at her like she isn't real.
She's terrified.
"How have you been."
Saying this, felt like a gunshot.

The recoil hits me as she repeats the same question.
Neither of us, have had a great time.

"So much life has happened...
That whatever we did too each other...
Wasn't nearly as bad as now.
If you want to be my friend, I could use one."

She's quiet, all but her breathing.
It gets heavier, and suddenly, the friend rushes to her side.
"Are you okay?"

"If you need me to leave i will, i didn't want to scare you,
If it's too much to see me right now i can go."

The anxiety fills her body like a thermometer.

It turns red and shatters.
She rushes to me and hugs me tight.

Her heart beats a million miles a minute.
She calms down and a tear drips on my neck.
I hold her close to me.

Finally, she manages to push out two words.
"We're talking."

"I know... it doesn't feel real."

"***** YOU!"
She screams, and jumps back.
"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, you needed that."

So fast forward.
It's 2:00 am.
I'm buzzed. and it's freezing.
I've been hugging this girl for roughly two hours.
We both want nothing more then to kiss each other,
But we don't.

Because we both knew,
That was a terrible idea.

I tell her I sang our love song too another girl.
I tell her, I kept the jar of love notes she left me above my bed frame.

She tells me, she reads my poetry.
She tells me she cried, when bapbap died.
She tells me she's sorry, about my job
She tells me she's sorry, about my daughter.

I ask that we not be sorry, for things we can't control.

We remember the good times.
We laugh at them, relive, and enjoy them.

I have so many good memories, that hurt me so badly.
Tonight, I got some of those good times back.
It feels amazing, to just have a night that when
I relive my good memories, they don't hurt,
They Sing.

4/30/17

A cheetah speckled woman
With long curly red hair
Invited me to a bean shaped cushion
In her studio apartment.
her keys jingled in the closing door
Sealing us, a hot red room.

"Love is creepy"
She says, sinking into
Her candy apple bean shaped cushion

I am a watcher.
When We met, She was in her natual habitat.
A coat tail of men,
I admired how oblivious they were
to being faceless goons.
watched her direct them
like an ***** desperate orchestra.
My back against a wall,
Smoking a cigarette.

Now, I'm in this studio apartment
Again, I am a ******.
She tells me stories
Of bad tinder dates
as I survey the strung up Christmas lights
Posters of Marilyn monroe.
Teenage quotes of aspiration.
"Be unapologeticly you"

She smiles at my ignorance to her body.
I am not ignorant by any means
Only respectful
I notice her smirk at me swing around
Leaning into shelves of pottery and art supplies.
flying around with a clipped wing.

"Will I be a poem?" She asks.
"You're right. Love is creepy."

I pull wine out of my bag and place it on the counter, put Chicken and vegetables in the fridge.
She turns on Netflix and asks
"whaddaya wanna watch?"
"bird documentaries"
i say,
an effort to incite her own decision.
domestically,
A bird documentary starts to play.
I gloss over a smirk at my failure
We share wine meditating to the sounds of
Bad Voiceovers and chirping

We are the card dealers of moments
hourglass columns
sand falling where art should be carved.
fractures of timelessness stacked like
Jenga blocks
each sip of wine a ritualistic dymensia
blackjack tables with no dealer
just a bartender

We watch an owl puke up mouse bones
"Owls are Creepy."
We agree.
witness to me, is indulgence
silk strings pull my heart towards exhibitionists
When she changes to A pink robe
Textured to compliment my heart strings
the singsong of birds chirping.
provides an exotic baseline for her sway.

I stare at her body.
"My love is creepy" I say
pressing thumbs to divets in her hips
I am slave on her shadows
My hands trace contours
follow my worship eyes
"I like the attention" she says

In the morning
drafty eyes part

whisper From swirling pink elephant dazes
smiling at me.
the soft moans of her night
the reason I started dealing cards.
an addiction to that moment.
the reason I turn the hourglass.
the wide green foggy eyes
Watching me stare back.
stretching like a cat
who plays with the bird
brings it to it's master as a gift
limp and submissive,
Perhaps she is the bird.
Sunken to the curves of the bed.
a limp beautiful body
the most honest and intentionless fracture
love is creepy.
I am a watcher
ask only that you exist.
Existing is equally as creepy.
we have fingers
thoughts
consequences.
So why not stare at a part you want to keep?
Why not write it down for others to fly?
so many beautiful things are never seen
Oppurtunity wasted for fear of being creepy
Fear of love.
fear of cats
Fear of birds
when I stare I capture
When I write, you stare
love is creepy.
we are creepy.
birds are creepy
be my creepy love bird.
peace dove
fly with me, if for a moment.
and stare down at everything while we can see it
I want to see everything with you
For now I see you in everything.
Photoshop you into my dreams
Imaginary
Love is for the birds anyway.

I convinced a man he could prune his own ****.

That if he spliced it just so,
two little pink shafts would sprout in it's place.
Wriggle themselves growing into two separate fully functional phallus.
And I watched him.
As he reluctantly reached for the shears.
And went through the five stages of grieving.

"There's no way this will work.

******* for telling me this secret!

can't I just take a pill to grow a second **** without having to cut this one off?

I don't think I can live without it..."

but just think, I reminded him.
after you do this.
You're gonna have TWO *****.

"I'M GONNA HAVE TWO *****!"

TWO *****.

And with almost no other thought, reasoning or belief.

He closed the shears



He opened his eyes.

His flaccid privilege laying there.

"When does the growing start?"
He asked me, pained.
His big brown eyes swelling.

"It doesn't."

"WHAT?"

"I lied to you, it doesn't grow back."

"It doesn't grow back? Not even one?

"Not one, not two,
no **** for you. I lied."

"Lied?"

"Lied."

it was easy,
to convince him.
Just had to promise he'd have two times the power in the long run.
If he risked it all right now.

She said "I think, I'd be coffee."
I had asked her:
if your personality was a beverage,
what beverage would it be?

I reply,
"No. You wouldn't be coffee.

I wake up to a cup of coffee every morning.

If you're going to be coffee you need to have somehing else to you.

Be sweet and cheap with tons of sugar if you have too.

Or more preferably, be locally roasted with high notes and low notes.

Or be dark, bold and roasty.

You can taste like anything!
bing cherry, citrus, earthy, chocolate.

You can't just say coffee.
Coffee deserves so much more explanation than that.

I had coffee brandy once.

I woke up to her every morning and I got drunk off of her.
If I ever stopped drinking water i'd throw her all up and feel sick.
but I would never drink water.

Every morning After I drank her I'd walk down the hall and find a sippy cup full of milk.

Even she was not just milk.
She was strawberry milk.
She was coffee milk.
She was my little coffee milk.

You are not coffee.

I had coffee before and it's gone.
You are water.

I don't wake up to you every morning.
I don't need you to get through my day, yet.

But run you through my filter enough times.
Soak up all my grounds.

Maybe one day,
You can be my coffee.

Orange haired casino brokers set
Blue stages
Pink legs pole dance to
Purple music notes floating vibrations across faceless crowds.
You are among them.
Staring at the pink womans
Black stilettos throwing
Green at them.
Hoping they don't throw it back.

Let's go on a date, eat some
Food, drink some wine.
You'll tell me your flaws, and I'll
Show you mine.

I whisper, that you look like a swan today.
Then you tell me that I was your favorite lay!

Now I'm not telling' you, that you have to move on,

But I don't want to be with you for very long.

And I know I should try, to remain by your side

Just so long as you've got the love to provide,

But don't cry, I'll be here for you.

Just make sure you want me too

'Cause I'll be here as long as you want me baby.
As long as you want me.
As long as you please me.

You're right,
I don't have a mind and I don't have a heart.
Because it was broken five years ago by some other ****,
And I've been trying' to learn a million different names
To forget all the
Pain... and the
Love of those days.

"you aren't gonna just like... pick one?"

"Y'know... Christmas is gonna be real expensive."

"You're gonna **** someone nick"

"You're bi? sweet me too. wanna hear about the time..."

"What if she says she didn't consent and then goes to the police and shows them all those bruises. you're gonna be ****** Nick."

"Jesus christ nick."

"if you are under this roof you say he, or you say she, THEY doesn't make any ******* sense."

"nick, you don't wanna start smoking."

"nick, quit while you're ahead that ***** addictive."

"you don't wanna adopt her nick, trust me. you'll regret it. you're gonna break up and you'll be stuck paying child support for a kid that isn't even yours."

"Nick, that's a bad idea"

"Nick, don't forget the money you owe me."

"Nick you don't need ******* pills, they're just making you worse."

"Nick, get off the ******* pills, they're making you crazy."

"Just stay home, it's not safe to drive"

"Nick, it's a blizzard. just stay home."

"he does what he wants, there's no sense in convincing him."

"Check your oil when you gas up"

"remember to lock the front door, you're gonna give your grandfather another heart attack."

"Soooo which one is your girlfriend?"

"so like... which one are you gonna have kids with?"

"This the new one?"

"Nick, you're gonna **** one of these girls and regret this ****."

"that's ****** up nick. you shouldn't like making people cry"

"that's ****** up nick, don't cut people"

"that ***** gonna bite you in the *** nick. karmas a *****."

"nick you're gonna **** yourself."

"are you eating?"

"are you sleeping?"

"whens the last time you slept?"

"you need to get some rest Nick"

"Nick wake up"

"Nick wake up"

"Nick wake up"

For the low low price of just being within' earshot,
the conversation analyst will run a full diagnostic on your conversation.

You know how that perfect comeback
feels, three weeks after
You didn't say it?

In training, representatives for Inbound sales listen to recordings of their own phone calls and critique them like Art majors in a studio class.

Our conversation analyst.
Looks at you like a shoe on the wall.

Unlike the psychology major,  the conversation analyst will never share his results.

He'll just judge you.
Silently.

He doesn't speak.
His fourth grade english teacher taught him that the carpenters house is never finished.
She was referring to her husband, the carpenter, not finishing the renovations on their new home, but the conversation analyst heard it as a metaphor, and adopted it as a universal truth.

Much like a painting controls the path your eye travels the canvas, or the scientific process that goes into composing music,
the way you build rapport is one of those things that people don't realize can be an art form until they wittness it professionally.

Our conversation analyst considers himself  Socio-passionate.

Which amuses him, when he deducts points from your conversation for not empathizing correctly.
Or not giving effective compliments by asking a relevant question afterwards.

The conversation analyst is not always mute. On special occasions such as first impressions he is a fine conversationalist.

You can meet the conversation analyst for the first time, as many times as you want.

If the carpenters house is never finished.
The conversation analyst
exemplar at listening,
Will never hear you.

tattered flags, wedding dress trains
white fringe, cached in dirt road
like baggy jeans, converse worn like religion.
Stockholm syndrome, always ran away

never left home, delicately telling
time wearing, down eight years
down in the basement, duct-tape cuffed
to a chair, bandage torn off slow

like a drag, on a thick cigarillo
from fat lips, fat teeth
fat, you know the drill
ear didn't clover though, despite her Irish eyes

she isn't lucky, enough
to have scars, that we can see
green with liberty
she is tall, held fire until it shattered

in '17, now she has flash backs
when men in black, held a pen
to her nose and clicked, now
she's just a rumor,

"I hear she used to represent freedom"

"I never knew her"

I believe,
if the statue of liberty had a voice;
and she does...

I believe,
if the statue of liberty had red heels;
she could run...

I believe,
if the statue of liberty was a mother;
and she was,

she would have died,
a loud, running, mother,
too young.

In the audio recording you sent me
An hour of touching yourself
punishment for misbehavior
you giggle and cry at the same time
With a trembling whimper

It's too late now, for a confession.
We were never so honest, as our ***
Violent, passionate
suspending reality momentarily

Life's one true sin, objectification.
And now, you are a recording.

Your eye begging Me, The Cuckoo Bird
To Free you from your own fingers

like the cuckoo bird
My religion
Only gave me one hour
To howl, at passing time.

Two weeks after the breakup
I watched my reflection
******* trace a puffy purple bag.
under my eye, A smirk sprouted
A loud Sargent boomed in my skull

Dear Maggot,
As we march further
Into the territory of single life.
We, The voices in your head
Have voted unanimously
Thumper, The results.

Sir yes Sir.
Nick your descisions
in reguard to relationships
Were convicted of self-destruction.

Here is some Dating Advice
From the voices in your head.

1.
Don't Stick it in the Crazy.

2.
I'm serious nick. Stop sticking it in the crazy.

3.
Although ******* inside a woman
Whom loves you and wants a baby
Is a fulfilling, Romantic experience.
With Tinder dates this is no longer Routine.
******* inside a first date
Behind a lighthouse
Without a ******,
Should not be
YOUR FIRST INSTINCT
FOR ******* IDIOT

4.
Remember it is okay to **** your friends.

5..
remember it is not okay to Rebound **** your friends.

6.
Having *** with a new gender
For the first time
Is exactly like losing your virginity
All over again.
You have no idea what you like anymore.
Why isn't this working?
That doesn't go there, Oh
My god,
Please put that there.

7.
Some of your ex's
Will start talking to you again.
You should still probably not sleep with them.
Okay once, but now no more...
okay seriously
STOP SLEEPING WITH YOUR
...Oh never mind.

8.
When a girl reaches for a 2-liter of soda
After having *** in the backseat of your car.
Do not assume she's thirsty.
She may lift the soda bottle to her ******.
I know what you're thinking,
Yes it's that bad.
Watch!
As the soda.
Magically disappears!
When she spreads her legs and says:
"Drink from me"
...and of course when you say:
"No"
She will get extremely upset at you, and
Scream at how terrible of a person you are.
While squirting
****** coke
All over the back seat of your car.

Please be very clear
About where you stand
On drinking ****** coke
From the beginning.

9.
Just because someone is in a relationship,
Does not mean they won't sleep with you.
Asking if the boyfriend or husband is okay
With you guys.
Is a good first step to taking the higher ground.
Asking during ***
Might **** the mood.

10.
eat plenty of Potassium.
foot cramps ruin everything.

11.
Listen here maggot,
When a girl leaves something behind,
She probably wants a second date.
Even if what the woman left
Was ******* ****** coke
All over your brand new leather seats.

12.
STOP.
STICKING IT
IN
THE CRAZY.

13.
Some of the people you sleep with.
By some miracle,
Will still want to talk to you.
You crazy *******.
They might make amazing friends.
You might even have *** again.
If you're lucky,
They'll teach you something

You might ask a clocksmith
how to fix your broken hands
Or you could keep the ones God gave you.
Small, clumsy,
Great at golf.

You say you have
Glitter butterflies
Tinglies in there
Oh, you've evicted the butterflies princess
Those are storms coming
This is the eye of it
Wait till your captain steers the ship
Towards that looming dark cloud
You will beg me for butterflies little bug
You would beg for a swarm of bees
In exchange
for the beating you've earned

From me
then your captain

In an oversized denim jacket Stands
a girl who treats kisses
like handshakes.
She's young.
With makeup done perfectlly
hidden beneath a baseball cap.
I wish for her to treat I love you like thank yous
so that she has her heart broken less often.
So she may pay attention to what all the men are thankful for
So she can hang on to one that's thankful for more than just
She treats kisses like handshakes.

Knows how to dress you.
He knows how to undress you,
with a seem ripper.

no suzie, you can't sit next to Thumper.
you're my dolly. You sit where I want you to.

look at those fluffy ears
I don't trust 'em suzie.
he's a creep

Thumper stop looking at her like that.

Thumper, let me sing you a song
so you understand.

This is my dolly
You can't have it
This is my dolly
And *******

this is my dolly
You can't have it
This is my dolly and
*******

this is my dolly
you can't have it
this is my dolly and
*******.

*Stomp stomp stomp *
"What are you singing?"

Nothing Daddy!

"If that is what Nothing sounds like.
You will sing for the rest of your life loudly,
Do you understand me?"

yes daddy.

"I don't wanna hear nothin' ever again.
where did you learn that song?"

Mommy sang it
last night
turned the shower on
she thinks I can't hear
if the waters running
it doesn't work though,
the way her voice cracks
when she sings
I can tell shes crying.

"Oh...
princess...

you misheard...

last night,
mommy sang:

This is my body
You can't have it
This is my body and

Well that last line...

...that wasn't singing

Daddy just desereved that.

You know, it's funny.

you and I...

...we got the same word wrong."

you, lips sewn shut
learned from it from your mother
raised a bible thumper
she loved her Jesus
you followed right behind her

one day you found
the man who unwound you
with his seem ripper hands

where did all your thoughts go
where did all your jesus go

stuffing covers the floor
soaks up all the blood
pour some more wine

might as well take communion
while you drown.

In a Somerville coffeeshop, waiting for his single origin light roasted Pour over,

Frankenstein reads a philosophy magezine, seductively planted by the lounging area.

"One lives two lives."
The magezine reads,  
"That which one spends in their physical body,
and that which begins the moment one leaves that body,
lasting until all witness to ones first life has spoken its final word".

The baristas eyes widen when he sees Frankenstein,
The barista says nothing.
He knows better than to raise the dead.
Frankenstein is often confused
for his monster.

Condensation rises between crocheted mittens, Frankenstein Lingers on the Cherry notes in his Coffee, while it combs icicles into his snow white mustache.

He likes this new version of an afterlife. It empowers him to take advantage of the time he has now, to make his second life last as long as possible.
He's in the middle of this thought
When his face slams against ***** snowbank.
Dog **** mixing into the icicles of his moustache.
A familiar mob of torches and pitchforks only see the monster.
They take turns kicking.
Kicking
Frankenstein wakes to a lynching.

When he lives
He is not a monster.

the gate locks behind us as we scuttleunder snowfall
bundled in peacoats and scarves
Coffee in our hands, so that they may not hold each other.
Gloves that hold no warmth, so we couldn't touch, in case we did.
We want to hold hands, but we're too happy with our coffee.
playing chicken, who's gonna be mentally stable first
driving cars at each other seeing who will turn.
but the roads long.
we pass open fields of ex-lovers
mountainsides of therapists
what started as a race, seems ike a leisurely scenic route now.
our white knuckles loosening,
Our manic tunnel vision, fading as we become narcoleptic
nodding off slightly as the cars pull closer.
Whenever we take our gloves off,
We'll be lucky not to have driven off road
collide with another field or mountain.
because we couldn't put down our coffee.
afraid of falling asleep
what if our eyes are closed, and we can't decide to be brave.
What if one day we made up in a hospital, in the same bed
two broken windshields.
Crashing, only when we fall asleep.
can we truly call it a conscious decision?

Can't remember if
My family knows I'm gay and
Polyamorous

Perhaps my story
Loving him and his wife was
Misinterpreted

When you spent so much time
at work and school
social activities and non-profits
doing art and homework and making money
And wondering what sleep feels like
that you don't see your family for like a year
so when you see them on Easter
You are neon pink amd pistachio cream
in a sea of Blues and greys
Everyone is polite and lovely
You want to blend in
But Everything you say is out of context
Because %75 of your lifestyle is based
In being REAL gay
and you aren't sure
if they remember
You are REAL gay.
Or Polyamorous
Orthat when you say you were beaten that's
A GOOD THING
so you kinda just watch everyone else
And hope nobody is offended
By you smiling at them.

Elder cocoons
Crysalis Hospice
Heaves pounding war drums
Fables of eternal bridge
Bingo and television
zombie horde lunch hour
Tennis ***** play race car
down halls tarred with lost children
Abandoned wither liver spot wrists
Silk wrinkles
Pull like neck folds lifted
newborn simba kittens
casted into this kingdom
scientists culture control

climate but not the yellow wall
It's too high for a fit cyborg
intravenous barbed wire
Cathader Penetrating
illusions of escapism
except the prison wealthy
classically conditioned

trading ice cream like cigarettes
trading blood diseases like ramen packets
There is no planned parenthood
in old folks homes
There is no distribution of free condoms
In a facility where they without medication
When you're about to win the lottery

His last day requested to bed Nurse Christine
Wheelchair ridden fumbling to open
A shaker of Mrs. DASH
I reach to help him open the spice.
Growling and Sadistic he festered:
"Let the little boy do what he can do."

I sat down in my chair.
he had his nurse ala mode.
no one will fund a ****** dispensary for old folks home.
they wouldn't use them.

"There's a whole new world here,
and you're trying to debate who God is
Ignoring all the growing plants
And animals feeding on them
Turning a blind eye to the hunters, gatherers, and civilizations.
Look at the tadpoles

Watch how the blades of grass bend to the windchime lullaby through mountains like passengers on the T in
Boston

Witness detail before you try to figure out some black and white
yes and no answer.
Try empathy.

Discuss common ground
on where the rivers are,
which spiders are poisonous
which sliders just look that way.
Don't ever decide who gets to name
god.

Decide who gets to name the blades of
grass.

Agree on who names the spider.
You can name the trees.
I'll name the oceans

before you know it
this new world
has a place for both of us

and isn't that world more beautiful?"

Erasure & Found Poem from
"On Photography By Teju Cole in april 16th new york times magazine

--

You were The fast moving disaster of a tsunami
added to the slow motion disaster
of a nuclear calamity

Towns flooded
Infrastructure wrecked
Forests splintered
more than 15,000 people dead.
earthquake cut off
my external power supply
Floodwaters damaged my backup generators
Disabled it's cooling system
Overheating ensued
Fuel in three reactor cores melted
Releasing radiation

Everyone saw The water coming in
The roads swept away
Towns and harbors destroyed

Extensive documentary work
was undertaken by photographers
Of the ruins,
Debris,
Cleanup and relief operations

The gut-wrentching scale of destruction
The professionalism of the emergency crews
The fortitude of the survivers

The extreme uncertainty I feel
in our current political moment
helps me understand for the first time
the curious twinship
of mourning and premonition.

Information
about the tragedy
Sorrow for the suffering it caused
Gratitude for the work
that makes sorrow visible
Foreboding about the future.

An alert flashes
your phone
Something terrible has happened
Far away, a flood, an airstrike,
Soon, there's footage of people picking through wreckage
what used to be their homes

It is easy to pity them
Difficult to imagine this will be you
Suddenly bereft of a solid place in the world.

Listening to anything
that touches on the sublime
makes me apprehensive.

Like The silence that greets us
waking in the middle of the night

How like my father
To turn to religion
Like an heirloom
One of the two things he left me
Faith, and
Cologne

The professor said
"Family therapy is like a Pie Graph
Everyone in the family contributes their own piece of pie.
When people leave
there's a chunk of pie missing
and the other members of the family
have to take on some of those roles to fill the pie."

Here's my theory:
Everyone in the family has their own whole pie.
Categorizes each housemate as a piece of it.
how they view them in their family.
how they relate to them,

Imagine a home
Mom and her four daughters.
Step dad, his daughter and son.
imagine three bedrooms.
The adults taking up one of them.

let's look at the Mother,
Her four daughters
all with different fathers
she knows how to raise children.

The daughters all know how to
Be
Children, be
Sisters, be
older or younger than each other.
The step-father knows how to have
A Wife,
One Daughter,
A Son.

Well Step-brother leaves the house.

Susie has a child at fifteen.
what does
her pie look like now?

She used to have a boyfriend,
four sisters,
a mother, father.
Now lost a brother
gained a baby.
She only knows how to be a child.

let's look at the mother.
She hasn't learned: Grandchild
but she knows how to raise a baby.

lets look at the step-father, lost his son, gained four daughters,
what's another one?

The sisters, lost their brother, a role model.
Exchanged for this this new baby.
another sister?

everyone's pie is empty in some parts.
judging by some other
dead white guys theory
when who you are doesn't line up
with who you see yourself as,
that's when people develop
Mental illness

Well I wouldn't call it ill, but let's count the bruises.
That baby is going to grow up as her mother's sister.
Suzie is going to seek the comfort of men.
Her sisters are going to constantly fight between calling themselves auntie
and Big Sis.
like tossing themselves on either side of the barbed wire fence is cause for death.

The farther we go back in each family member's backstory
the more slivers of pie we find
Georgia has autism,
Carley diagnosed depression,
Rosie an abusive relationship of 10 years.
Clover is quiet.
The Brother, schizophrenic, autistic, bipolar.
Any number of names they can slap on him.
He doesn't live there anyhow.
isn't human.

Muffle the sister that says she miss him.
hit her, cut her, lock her up.

This was a case study.
I lived with this family for four years.
unintentionally filled up parts of their pie.
I was Son.
Older brother.
Boyfriend.
Father.

When I stopped being a fly on the wall
Stopped seeing how their story was developing.

I didn't have any pie left.

Last week I got an urge to lay on a rooftop, and drink ***** under the stars,
so I packed an empty backpack with svedka, a notebook, and a cellphone; and went on a mission.
I spent an afternoon looking around.
Taking notes on how in the hell, I could get up to a place that was flat, a roof, and could see the stars.

As it turns out,
the rooftops are not a place Freeport wants you to be.

in fact, one staircase directly leading to the top of a building specifically said
"No Trespassing"
Keeping me out with a locked metal door.

so I kept adventuring.

It did not occur to me until after I had already spent quite awhile scribbling down notes on locations of
milk crates I could use,
ledges low enough to grab,
dumpsters I could maybe move over just a bit,

how illegal it may be,
(I'M still not sure)
Or how dangerous it may be
(probably quite very)
To go on this adventure.

I texted a beautiful girl and asked if she wanted to drink ***** under the stars.

being the suave romantic that I am,

Having spent my whole morning surveying different routes to the rooftops.

Having planned out such a storybook evening, obviously her answer was,

"nah, I'd rather stay home, smoke ****, and watch the new season of Orange is the new black."

*******, Ruby Rose...
Stop. stealing. my dates.

After introducing myself to a handful of other potential candidates, I finally find a woman who believes climbing onto a rooftop and drinking ***** would be a swell time.

By the time I pick her up and get back to the spot,
it's late enough that Freeport is a ghost town.
We run down the middle of the street, me dragging her, doctor and companion style towards the first flawless plan:

Milkcrates behind linda beans.

We stack them up like steps and walk up to the top of a metal ceiling
Affixed perfectly above a flight of stairs that leads to the top floor.
I thought, "maybe we could climb the metal ceiling like a ramp."

it turns out
that not only is it
incredibly difficult not to
fall off of a slanted flimsy ramp
with no handles. But it is also: Terrifying!

Eventually I make it to the top and realize:
"****, There is still a tall ledge I have to hoist myself onto"
I look down to the short brunette quivering
on the ramp's lowest tier and decide that there is no way either of us were going to make it.

"Hey rose, " (That wasn't her real name)
Let's try a different way up.

attempting to crawl down slowly,
my **** scoots forward, hands behind me,
I slip and start gliding down like a children's slide.
flailing and attempting to catch myself before
falling off the edge and plummeting onto a dumpster.

(Whistling noises)

Thud!

She screams.
I laugh uncontrollably.

She slowly descends our statuesque landmark milkcrate staircase.
Like an angel coming from ghetto heaven.

I lift myself up and hop down off the dumpster.

putting my backpack down,
I check to see if the ***** bottle is okay.
It's fine.

"Good job, *******."
"We're fine."
"You're an idiot."
"I could have died, don't I at least get a kiss or something?"

She gives me a disapproving look, then kisses me.

eventually we did
make it up to a rooftop,
Where we laid and watched the stars.
They were warm, distant, and beautiful.

I liked feeling their glow on my skin.
But I loved taking the journey to meet them.

I found gods voice
In a clocksmith in Rockland.
I asked him how to turn back time

He said
"Careful use of your hands."

I smashed clocks like pills
credit card scraped sprigs & sprockets
into lines of chalk powder.
Just to hear more of his gospel

His shop closed.
Rain washed pink pastel rivers
down my childhood home
street gutters like blood
Glitter became shattered glass.
That same chalkdust
fashioned into A body outline

Ask a child
"What is your favorite creation?"
Witness the passion of a thousand poets.
Fade with age
Hands stretched out for paint
Handed pills.

He said sprig sprocket dust

"What is your favorite creation?
I can guess your mother's."
Took her 9 months

Timeless old crinkled construction paper
colorful paints in the shape of your fingers

I Cover my hands in blood
From the shattered glass
Press my fingerprints
To the timeless colors
I've forgotten
Where to place my hands.

Clumsy with time
Leave ****** handprints
On my mothers fridge
My lovers

Face down in sprig sproket dust
On my final tick
I hear a clocksmith tinker
One last lullaby

"when you run out of canvas
You will stop drawing blood
you will still leave fingerprints"

"What is your favorite creation?"
Was it worth the time?

You ******, exotic,
Beautiful creature.

I could not be more intrigued by you.

I drove,
46 miles,
just to meet you,
you screamed at me for being late.
I wasn't.
I just live farther from your perspective than you can imagine.

I saw your face,
then I saw your eagerness,
Then I played this game,
Where I googled every word you said,
became an expert on it.
Throwing back refferences to things
i've never seen.

When I rolled in with my cigarette lit,
Sporting my badboy leather jacket,
you asumed I was this rebel.
This dangerous,
adventurous,
amazing creature.
Dropped onto this earth to entertain you.

Today.
That's exactlly what I am.

I'm 46 miles away from my home town.

My foam swords,
magic the gathering cards,
Dungeon and dragons playing self
Packaged tightly in the lockbox at my bedroom door.

The daddy, I became years ago
because I wanted too.

The lover I was raised to be,
watching nothing but romantic comedies my entire childhood
like some sort of propaganda to be the perfect boyfriend.
Tucked crisply into my bed.

My smolder is a gas mask.
you are the poison gas.
It was invented specifically for me to survive when I'm in the trenches with you.
My attitude is an army.
I hold myself like a commander shouting orders at my mind like it needs a leader.

“Stop calling her beautiful, maggot! She wants you to take charge.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

...So uh...
What do you wanna do today?

“What do you think you're doing?
Don't give her options!
Tell her where you're going!”

“Sir, yes, sir”

We're getting coffee.

We go to her favorite coffee house, I guessed.

She gets a nutella mocha.

I get a 16oz almond milk maple syrup latte

She calls me a hipster,
I laugh, I don't disagree.

I give her the radio,
“You pick the music”

“What do you think you're doing maggot!?”

“trust me,
we need to find out what music she likes before I play my music.
It's very important.”

I can pull brilliance out of any genre,
bands she's never heard of, but she'll fall in love with.
She plays show tunes.

Oh...

... Jackpot!

I start the conversation, you ever heard of Rocky Horror?

You ever hear of
Doctor Horribles Sing Along Blog?

You ever hear of
Little Shop of Horrors?

You ever hear of
Repo, The Genetic Opera?

You ever hear of
Hedwig and The Angry Inch?

She has.
All of it.
Every last word.
And she knows all of the words.
In fact,
every song I sing,
she sings along.
Word for word.

I  crack the whip,

you ever heard of Bo Burnham?

She has.

This girl might be the one.

“What do you think you're doing maggot?
Don't fall in love with this girl already,
Don't fall in love with this girl at all.”

“Sir, yes, sir”

We walk the beach,
Singing,
Dancing.
Every word of every song either of us start the other knows all the words.
She's breathtaking.
I can't believe it happened myself.
We chase each other in the sand.

I confess.

“You're actually the first person i've seen in real life from tinder...
I hear all these stories of couples meeting people for threesomes online and then murdering them.
I was half expecting you to **** me.”

She says:

“Well we didn't get to the end of the beach yet.”

I laugh.... wait... is she serious?

She laughs. “No really, i'm a sociopath.
My boyfriends waiting at the rocks down there and when we
Start to **** he's gonna jump out and slit your throat.
The redness of your blood spilling on the rocks is going to make me so,
*******,
Wet.”

This sounds like a great Idea.

She texts her boyfriend and asks if it's okay to kiss me.
When he doesn't reply she spams him.

Babe.

Babe.

C'mon Babe.

Really, Babe.

Babe.

Babe.

Babe.

It starts to rain,
We stay and get soaked together,
We don't care that we're wet, we keep singing.
The rain stops.
We get in my car.
I drive her to portland,
We park in the parking garage,
because i don't understand...
Signs...

I buy her dinner,

Not because it's the polite, gentlemanly thing to do,
I'd do that without the leather jacket, no.
because her sugar was low
she was having a panic attack
her boyfriend and her were probably breaking up and I felt bad.
Her boyfriend finally texts her back.

“Yeah, do what you want.”

I kiss her.

She asked me too before he gave permission, and my colonel said to do it

But I've been on the otherside of that text messege.

And even knowing what she wanted, I was waiting for that reply.
I don't know that boy.

But he deserved that

We go back to the parking garage, and she does not waste time,
My belt undone,
Her mouth eager,
Did I mention that this was the mission?
After awhile She asks to go to the back.
We do.
She removes the leather jacket.
this is her chance to wear
The leather jacket.
I make her ***,
I have this brief thought that maybe she faked it for me, but then
I can taste the truth,
I'm proud.


“Good job, maggot.”

“Sir, thank you, sir”


I drive the 46 miles back to kennebunk to drop her off.
She keeps my shirt.
I get home and find her phone charger in my backseat.
“Looks like we have a second date,"

I text her. “you forgot something, beautiful.
And I think you might want it.”

You ******, exotic,
Beautiful creature.
I could not be more intrigued by you.

I drove, 46 miles,
to be screamed at for being late.

When I rolled in with a leather jacket
my lit cigarette,
you asumed I was this rebel.

Dangerous,
adventurous creature.

Dropped onto this earth
for your entertainment

That's exactlly what I am.
46 miles away from my home town.

My foam swords,
magic the gathering cards,
Dungeon and dragons playing self
packaged tightly in the lockbox
at my bedroom door.

Today, I am a persona poem.

My smolder is a gas mask.
you are the poison gas.

It was invented for survival
in the trenches with you.

I hold myself like a commander
shouting orders at my mind:

“Stop calling her beautiful, you maggot!
She wants you to take charge.”

“Sir, yes sir!”

...So uh...
What do you wanna do today?

“What do you think you're doing?
Don't give her options, Maggot!
Tell her where you're going!”

“Sir, yes, sir”

We're getting coffee.
her favorite coffee house

She gets a nutella mocha.
I get a 16oz almond milk maple syrup latte

She calls me a hipster,
I laugh, I don't disagree.
I give her the radio,

“What do you think you're doing maggot!?”

“trust me,
we need to find out what music she likes."

Show tunes.
Light bulb.
Rapport jackpot.

you ever heard of Rocky Horror?
Doctor Horribles Sing Along Blog?
Little Shop of Horrors?
Repo, The Genetic Opera?
Hedwig and The Angry Inch?

“What do you think you're doing maggot?
Don't fall in love with this girl."

“Sir, maybe, sir”

We walk the beach,
Singing showtunes
we know all the words.

“You're actually the first person
I've seen in real life from tinder...
I hear all these stories
couples meeting online
Getting murdered
I was half expecting you to **** me.”

“Well we didn't get to the end of the beach yet"

.... wait... is she serious?

"My boyfriends waiting
at the rocks down there
when we Start to ****
he's gonna jump out
slit your throat.
The redness of your blood
spilling on the rocks
is going to make me so,
*******,
Wet.”

"... I
.."

She texts her boyfriend
asks to kiss me.

Babe.
Babe.
C'mon Babe.
Really, Babe.
Babe.
Babe.
Babe.

I drive to portland in the rain
We park in the parking garage
There was free on street parking
but I don't
Understand...
Parking Signs...

“Good job, maggot.”
“Sir, yes, sir”

I drive the 46 miles back to kennebunk to drop her off.

She keeps my favorite shirt
because it smells like me.

when I get home.
I find her ******* in my backseat.

“You forgot something, Maureen"
when do we Tango again?

"When you pay my Rent,
You smug *******."

5am wakes a blinding bright orange sun
Standing out against the pale grey sky.
Below, a cityscape of grey.
No cars and few people move this early.
Portland, like most of us, is having a foggy morning.

Two bodies fade to color on a rooftop.
Their crusty eyes
Crack to vibrant orange light,
Half expecting search helicopters
Or seagulls pecking at their limbs.
Praying, for ravens.

They only find each other.
A beach towel beneath them
Half a bottle of ***** beside them
Next to their backpack and undergarmets.
It almost resembles a prayer circle.
Kicked blanket at their feet,
Brazier overhead,
Belt and trinkets to the side.
Lord knows what they were summoning last night.
They sure as hell can't remember.

They only remember touch and smell,
Light lavender hips,
Big Bourbon chest,
Fingers tracing artwork in the dark
Admiring both
Memories and their permenance.

Unfortunately,
This wasn't permenant.

After they climb down it's
He to a hospital.
She to a husband and child.

The orange sun coo'd too early.
Just two hours of freedom
Before the goodbyes and consequences.

A short glimpse of another world.
Hoping for closure.
One step forward.
Three steps back.

When their bodies left the rooftop.
They held hands.

I came across a chimera yesterday.
It had the legs of a beautiful egyptian *** goddess

She covered them with pants she had bought that morning
My favorite color,
Pistachio cream
She had no idea what my favorite color was,
luck should have it,
She's perfect.
Her personality had traits of every woman
I'd ever fallen in love with
Alphabetical From

Anxiety to
Brand new
Comfortable
Directionally challenged
Embarrassed when I caught her smiling
Flirtatious
Goregeous
Home schooled
Intelligent
Jealous
Kitchen working
Lavender loving
Mistake making
Neglected
Open hearted
Passionate
Queer
Religious
Self-analyzing
Takes off her wedding ring
Understanding
Venomous
Worried about everything
Xerox'd onto her
Yeilding Body.
Zodiac stamped

Like she was made especially for me.
she wasn't...
She belonged to somebody else.

~~~~~

She told me I represented the end of the world.
We saw shooting stars and the only thing we could wish was
"Please let this night last forever."

Because once we climbed down our milkcrate staircase
We had to deal with the consequences.

Our lips were so close that I could tell her breath was sweet,
like poison.

She gave me her body.
Pressed it against me like we
Were one whole creature.

I love making woman glow.
Love seeing woman cry.
Not for some sick sadistic pleasure
because ironically,
I hate lying.
When you're glowing or crying
At least you're real.

She was so...
Real...
Just like the rooftop we layed on.
The shooting stars,
The kiss.
Her begging me to hate her.
Touches and moans.
Warmth and the softness of her skin.

Now, I'm just a name
On a list of regrets
That she passes to him
In her worst nightmares.

Before her I thought I couldn't love again.
Broken to the idea of relationships.
Meaningless pleasure.
At least now
I'm broken for a different reason.

Won't feel him stay
start to change
Just a poster taped to blame
Only see him float away

Good luck trying to play nice
It doesn't seem very likely these days
With all the kids pop lock and dropping dead
gunned down un a club
Astronauts getting high
The worlds gone to ****.
This post apocalyptic monstrousaty we call mother earth
a flea on the cat of perspective.
Projecter onto a sphere we call planet
Every tree a hologram
Color refracted light
Light my cigarette 
see a small spark of reality burn out.
Inhale some air that has no color.
Proof of it's existence
Blocking the color shot at your retnas
Burn your retnas.
Burn them On the sun
stare at it till you blind yourself
Take those happy pills
Don't ever forget the days you don't  remember
quiet warm days,
sounds but never understanding
just blissfull floating
lit until you pop and cry.
Don't let yourself pop.
Stay curled up
Sleep.
Sleep.
Sleep.

******* google plus.

I spent days deleting pictures of them off my phone.
Click update profile picture, and suddenly,
There's a beautiful girl standing at an ATM through a window covered in raindrops.
a little girl with smile wider han galaxies pulls the last jenga peice
Maybe I don't want to look at the three of us snuggled cozy smiling.
Maybe i don't want to see my old phones wallpaper.
That i changed to forget this happiness.
Maybe the hearth of that home burned ob these photographs.
On barbie doll soap opera ******
On match box car roller derbie.
On film strands ripped from the winding projectors of playground games and princess dresses and faces covered in cake.

******* google plus.
you didn't even ask if I wanted to save those memories.
or at least when you did, I had a different answer.

I was friended on facebook by a stranger.
Usually this means I went somewhere and inspired someone with my
Personality or
Flirtation to look me up,
Or maybe a friend, of a friend, of a friend, thinks I'm cute and
Stalked my profile.
Maybe, I'm just an attempt at a ******* to this person.
Which I'm normally super okay with,
But here's the thing.
It was a man.
Now, this is not an issue to me, specifically.
I am in fact bisexual, but that's more of a title,
I mean, I've never been
Penetrated, by a man before.
N-not that I wouldn't be.
But we don't call virgins asexual because they haven't had *** yet so,
I just say bi.
Anyway, this man starts the conversation: "hello! with a smiley face."

I over analyze this: "hello! with a smiley face."
What does it mean?!
I stalk his profile.
Is he cute? Not really, but he isn't ugly.
I've never been attracted to men physically anyway it's always the
Personality,
Or icy blue eyes that pull me in.
And this man wears drag and rocks it so I will probably like him.
I don't know why, but I have a thing for lesbians and
Lesbian like things. It's really....
Destructive.
We have a little conversation and It's fairly innocent
Until he hits me with this line:
"Pretty boys down on their luck, is a sight I am unable to stand."

There it is!
I knew it!
This man is flirting with me!
I could smell it from a mile away.
I know this game.
I've been on
His side of this conversation a million times.
But, i've never known what it feels like to be here.
In this weird space, on the other side.
Getting complimented.
I never get complimented!
At most I get a half-hearted handsome after I
Confess my addiction to a woman's beauty.
Never, am I put on such a pedestal.
I mean, this stranger clearly wants their ***** inside of me.
I can think of no higher compliment.

Things escalate very quickly. Too quickly.

"I have a big bed, and I'm ready for a night of boys, *****, and another B word."

I, an idiot, honestly can't think of the third b word.
"Uh... bacon?
Backrubs?"

"No sweetie, *******."
"*******!?"

What did i get myself into? I had
Absolutely no intention of seeing this guy
EVER and now he thinks I want to come over
TONIGHT for
*******

How did I get myself into this?
What did I say?
What possibly could have made him think i was interested?
Is it just because I haven't bluntly said no?
I scroll up and search for an answer.

"You're pretty cute yourself."

****...      
Yup, that'll do it.

He says:
"Mmmmnfff, You're adorable"

These compliments though! I get
Tingles every time he says something like that to me.
It's so nice that it's entirely worth just
Dealing with the creepiness to hear it.

And then I realized....
That this is what it feels like.
This is how woman feel when we ask to
**** before getting to know them.
It's dangerous.
Like jumping off a cliff and hoping for a trampoline.
It's almost, always,
Rocks.

He says:
"Are you familiar with what consent is? because
I've had issues with that."
"Are you going to be one of those straight boys who are just
Wasting my time?
I hate having my time wasted."

I, realizing now what I'd gotten myself into, say:
"As a matter of fact, I am...
Sorry to have wasted your time, but at least I told you now.
A lot of girls don't"

Told at age 18 she's gonna go blind at 26
Wrote it down in her notebook
Tucked it away in a junk drawer
full of glass eyes
one for every outfit
pearl for the wedding
Ebony for Halloween
Nine to five on Saturday
She rents out the left socket to local businesses
sold that part of herself to make a quick buck.
Quickie
Quickly get his fix
sting
Won't feel him in the morning.
doesn't feel anything anymore
Epidural
Gave her spine away too
replaced it for a zipper to better access her marionette ribcage
thought she could cut out the strings
left a scar so big it needed more then buttons and thread
goes by cupcake
puts her frosting on every morning
has to taste sweet
boys like the red dye
dripped into batter
battered
almost without notice.
Nobody will notice
when it goes off
comes out
Red dye blood splotch
the epidural
won't feel anything
doesn't feel anything anymore
sting
a part she can't even feel
the wedding dress she still hasn't picked up
or canceled
paid for
By renting out space.
white with ebony lace
beautiful pearl jewelry
like glass eyes
drawers full of glass eyes
she plucked out so she didn't have to look
watch it grow
the hospital didn't reimburse her for this feeling
they didn't warn her about the ticking clock
screaming mothers
mirage houses with white picket fences
only barren desert wastelands
tumbleweeds taunt her in the worst of nightmares
Screaming churn crying soft
Cribs and cages
Marbles clinked as she pulled out the junk drawer
rolled past the frosting colored pistol
around a notebook
the notebook she wrote every picture she didn't want to see anymore down in.
the notebook she picked up first.

Glass trees

Princess pajamas, tippy toes,
an ice scientist smiled from her window.
"You are beautiful" she whispered
I watched silently from the doorway.

The ice scientist kissed her friends goodnight,
Then giggled at her sloppy lipstick stain.
soon, a flurry of more kisses painted the window.
I let out a chuckle.
This jumped  the ice scientist.

"Poophead Dada" she glared at me
Through a face of lipstick kiss smears
"I love you, too" I knelt
took wet cloth to her face.

"Dada?"
"Yes, Poophead?"
"What temperature does love freeze?"
We stared at each other.
Her blue eyes sparkled with a single blink.
I did not expect this question.
nor did I expect,
the extent to which
we would find the answer.

At goodwill Buy the Pound
every day is black friday
Hundreds of soccer moms line up their
white sneakers on a black and yellow caution tape line
zombie over it streching for yu-gi-oh cards
wait for hazmat suits to wheel out eight bins full of trash gone treasure.
When the bins are locked in place the hazmat suits go back to pack another load

The air horn sounds.
You do not want to be anywhere near that caution tape line when this happens.
At goodwill buy the pound
If you're not part of the fight,
you're part of the floor.
They need to find their
puzzle peices lost in cat liter
Johnny really needs
every single nerf dart
DID YOU TAKE A NERF DART?!
WE TALKED ABOUT THIS JO-ANN
THOSE WERE FOR JOHNNY.
Johnnys grandma is not the only elder throwing elbows
varacose veins are curb stomping dads hauling consoles to make a quick buck
Skinny College aged video game collectors swim through the mom-pocalypse
raid the stashes for disguarded NES cartridges
Jo-ann grabs a twinky boy by the black graphic hoodie.
Tosses him back into the horde
lunges for a barbie doll hidden under some wires.
This is not a place for nice children.
If you aren't willing to push around some nanas
you will leave covered in nike prints.
This place turns people.
Ever look at someones mom and think
She looks like she's always wearing a mask.
She is!
Buy the pound is her natural habitat.
One grandma keeps so many cats, her living room is a Petrie dish
I think she just wants to be in charge of a small third world countrey.
Granny needs to go rally up the soccer moms at buy the pound.
To lead those cats into a mother thirfting revolution
These woman leave feeling like they saved their family a fortune
Dumpster diving for sport.
Every tossed or trampled stranger
One flip flop closer to
feeding their children
clawing through poverty

When that airhorn sounds again.
They scurry back to their carts.
Tell their children
"Make sure nobody steals this"
as they line back up in haste.
Touch their all white nikes to the caution tape line.
Hold their family close like brass knuckles.
when that airhorn sounds.
It's time to fight.

It is a four way intersection
With no street lights.

An unlit cigarette

It is a car
with no headlights
No taillights
No signals at all

It is a hearth
with no fire.
It is no television

It is a chruch
with no windows.
An unlit candle

It is a stage
with no spotlight
It is a rave
with no lazers

It is an uncharged cell phone
It is never having a cell phone

It is crowding to watch an aura boreailois
With nothing in the sky
It is starless nights

It is a storm
With no lightning
It is a ship sailing to land in a storm
With no light house to guide them.

It is naked and safe
It is surrounded by dark
Surrounded by snow
Surrounded by spirits

It is grey eyes
that don't look back
they look through you
Into the light.

Gwar'th, a scranny peasent boy
from Deastbhillow
Frequented the tavern to hear the local bard play
Enthralled by stories of shipwrecks, cataclysms, Corpses rising from their graves.
He begged the bard over and over.
"Please! take me on your next adventure?"
Gwar'th locked eyes with the bard
Gave him every bit of attention.
The bard always declined,
"it's too dangerous for a child." He said,
"But I'll sing you a song.
The tale of the Red Metal Lute."
~~~
The sky was black
pouring buckets.
You couldn't see but walls of rain
you couldn't hear a ****** thing.
Not even each other speak
Until A loud wail rose from the sea
shattered every window and bottle on board.
In the distance, a figure
unwaivered by the storm.
A ghostly figure,
with a red metal lute
Seemed to fly,
Loom on the rain.
the figure plucked a single string
wailing screams from years of forgotten dead
some sailors on board went mad
The woman and children ran inside.
The captain headed out the cabin.
Grabbed his lute from off the wall
Walked right up to the ghostly demon
Challenged him to a duel.
"I win, you lure me the biggest fish
inside this ghostly sea
Once we haul it back to shore,
you let my sailers leave."
The ghostly demon preached back in wail
"My spoils claim each drop of blood
left upon your ship,
you'll join all the eternal tongues
wailing from my instrument."
They played their lutes so hard that storms whipped bruised wailed and brown
Lighting struck, fire popped and squeltched under the heavy rain.
Not a soul on board could hear the music, for they all deaf from the banshees wail.
But one small float snuck cloaked in shadows from the duel above the sails.
It had a mother and a brother
a baby in the mothers arms.
They made mostly to shore.
The oceans trials took all the family, but I, the baby,
A boy.
I don't know who won, the Captain, the Demon.
But I know one thing is true.
The power that lies within' an instrument
is more then anybody knew.
~~~
One foggy night in Deastbhillow
Long after the tavern closed
The bard was packing for a 'venture
loading up the partys caravan to head out of town
Gwar'th snuck on behind the treasure chests.
It stopped in front of a cavern
Five adventurers stepped off
A knight, a priest, a bard, a Clairvoyant
And In the shadows,
Gwar'th.

Down in the belly of the cave
Past the bones and the torches
there was a red glowing from the end
THE RED METAL LUTE
Gwar'th, excited, lunged from the shadows
Alerting the party.
The knight drew his weapon
The bard struck a chord
The priest prayed
And The Clairvoyant read the boys mind.
Together They killed the boy in cold blood.

"What did it look like to you?" Said the Preist
to the knight who slaughtered the boy.
"A beautiful woman.
What did it look like to you?" The knight asked the priest.
"My god."
"What did it look like to the boy?" The bard asked.
"An instrument," said the Clairvoyant, "A powerful instrument.
What did it look like to you?"

The bard looked down.
"The boy."

Have you considered being a *** worker?
You have a body.
I know you never sleep there,
spend less time breathing than associating with your own ribcage.
You're an actress
no script, just a character summary.

Limp, age 12, non-verbal marionette.
Snaps her strings when forced to dance.
Clings to the ceiling tiles, like the shadows she hallucinates.
Let's the puppet fall numb under strangers.
Ragdoll to be used for kindling.

When you play your part
You'll inherit enough money to afford a studio apartment
in Washington, or Las Vegas; anywhere with men paid large enough salary to afford your vacant body,
three phone plans,
a hotel room for you to stay awake in
Listening to dull thuds against your wrongfully warm corpse
Invited hoping the stinging could form tendons
adhere together like rubber bands
Snap you back into your skin.
You cling helpless to the ceiling tiles
Watch the ragdoll make mistakes.

"Have you considered being a *** worker?"
A homeless woman asked me,
*"Unoccupied bodies should start charging rent.
Let a man who can afford it pay for utilities.
You might be homeless
but you won't be wasted space".

I spent years of my life in a fantasy world.

waters inhabited with murlocs
Forests with centuars and unicorns
I had badass armor
Spellbooks, Abilities, Charisma modifiers!

When you live in Dungeons and dragons you finish quests, unlock gods,
Slay Monsters

When my DnD group broke up

I didn't lose a group of friends.
I lost a party of adventurers

Their eulogies pronounced at the end of that final nat one
Will never be forgotten.

Portaits carved like improv comedy routines.
Characatures of our ideal selves
Bound, sealed, stuck on a book shelf
We deserved another sequel.

When the party healer crumpled her car against a Concrete wall at 70 miles an hour
It made sense nobody else knew how to cast raise dead.

In a world that is supposed to play out our ideal realities
it was no question her charecter lived eternal. the way she would have wanted.
The way we wanted so badly to be true.
Nobody felt right taking over her charecter.
And nobody wanted to **** her off.
So we wrote her story.
Every die she had tossed this whole adventure. Each murloc she ran from, each unicorn she rode, etched into a leather bound tome.
Placed Right on the same shelve we kept our pathfinder books.
Her headstone.
We never played after that.
But she did.
When we placed the novel next to the flowers her mother left.
We felt her cast healing song
one last time
And that night
We got a full rest

Heirlooms

Jun 2017

One day, parkouring through my uncles two story apartment,

I was drawn naturally to his desktop computer

upon which I found his OkCupid Dating profile.

I don't remember his username, Or anything about the site really,

But I remember the head-shot of a beautiful woman

framed above the desk

the sterile grey Rubbermaid totes behind me like caskets, 

How they made even the hardwood floors

look like they were holding in the dead.

For my Grandmothers birthday

my family gathered at Captain Newicks

her favorite seafood restaurant.

My uncle flirted with the waitress.

I don't think I've ever gone to a restaurant with my uncle where he

didn't flirt with the waitress.

Captain Newicks went out of business shortly after that dinner

followed shortly by my grandmothers life.

the relationship between my uncle and that waitress expired well

before both my Grandmother or Captain Newicks.

I remember asking my grandmother about my Uncle.

Tarots Fool would have predicted

my grandmothers eyelids

a silent prayer before her words.

He had two children by his first wife,

keeps a portrait of her above his desk.

She was a blessing on the family

Selfless amd loved by every one.

She took her own life

Spread her wings to break free from the cage He kept her locked in.

He buried his heart in her casket,

motorcycles, empty bottles

had a third child by a second wife

who buried her heart in drugs and strangers.

Amanda was 6 years old when her mother died.

my uncles wife. Her brother josh was 3

when she died my uncle wanted to put them both up for adoption

he didn't.

Their mother died on the 20th of September

a week after her 25th birthday.

their mother once bought a bunch of carnations

with a dead rose in the middle

and said "it looks like I'm dead".

she took a bottle of pills before going to a chinese restaurant

went out as a family

and collapsed at the table.

she was rushed to the hospital

she didn't make it.

their mother wasn't happy

her and my uncle were getting divorced at the time

lived in the same house that I grew up in.

when my uncle told the kids mommy wasn't coming home

my mother was 17 

and there to see all of it.

When my mother was 17 

she had to watch her baby cousins be told their mother had died.

When my grandmother passed.

grief bounced off of my uncles callouses

ricocheted to my cousins, robbed 

twice now of a selfless mother.

The tragedies in my family

have always enthralled me.

like shakespeare sonnets

I breath them into my faithless nights

tap an extra dream-catcher on my bedpost

in space of a prayer.

When The hearth-fire of our family dimmed 

a tealight in my grandmothers eyes.

grayed, Glossed.

she could no longer crochet 

one big dysfunctional quilt, 

together from our families yarn.

without her needle, 

I was determined to watch how our life spun forward.

The next time I saw my uncle,

He offered me a job.

Thick mosquito blinded us as we carried our sweat 

with Rubbermaid totes into a blue two story home 

deep in the evergreen thickets of Maine.

a tall white fan rotated slowly back and fourth 

Cooling the wet patches on our T-shirts while my Uncle 

flirted with the landlord

I still remember when my uncle tossed me the truck keys

the look of terror I gave him

How easy it was for him to trust

I guess when your heart is buried in a casket 

you stop worrying who has your keys.

It makes me remember

when my daughter asked for my keys 

I would sit her in the drivers seat

watch her pretend to drive.

I loved imagining her free

living how she wanted.

I still wouldn't give her my keys.

she would turn my car into a casket.

It makes me remember

when that little girls mother asked me to drive

My words spun portcullises

prison bars forged in anxiety

scaffolding out of latex secrets

Glued with siren smiles, pacifier kisses

denying cigarette smoke on her breath

fueling infernos in my head.

when my uncle handed me his keys without hesitation.

my religion was insulted by his tough skin.

I felt his simple kindness 

like a splash of holy water. 

saw in me, the devil 

caging a woman like property

holding her hostage 

out of fear.

And yes 

when She could drive she left me

And yes 

when she left me she took her daughter.

every morning 

cereal bowl of pills, I **** myself

keep a poster of my mothers face 

covered in bruises 

behind the tiny orange bottles 

to remind me why I do it.

wake up twice, 

first as Phoenix, dying

second as a watcher, writer and admirer.

callouses are not to protect us from the outside at all.

Callouses harden our bodies into caskets.

Hold in all our dead.

Finding that balance between what feels good and what you need is harder than picking out an outfit in the morning.
Unless those outfits are all pretty slutty.
Then it's about the same,
the main difference being there's no real good solution.
Just a bad idea,
and a worse idea.
A low cut dress with no bra
Or a ruler width mini skirt over a thong.

I have always been a fan of extremes
so, I guess, between what I want
And what I need.

I'd wear the same outfit every day until it ripped,
got lost
or didn't fit me anymore.

And then I wouldn't wear anything.

I love like every tree leaf is a miracle.
I love like when leaves fall, If I look away they will never have been there.
I love like the ground doesn't exist unless I love every blade of grass that tries to catch the leaves.
I love like I am allergic to grass
I am allergic to grass.
I love like I worship each pill that stops the itching.
I love like the Itching is self-inflicted
poison which I am responsible for
finding the antidote.
I love like all leaves fall,
but only because I watched the first leaf fall.
I love like this is my tree
but not my leaves.
I love like I hold piles of dead leaves in my hands and cry
I hold piles of dead leaves in my hands and cry.
I love like there are particles of dead Leaves in everything.
The wind.
Herbal tea
I love like I need to find a leaf that will be an herbal remedy for my allergies.
I love like I found that herbal remedy and Sit by her tree all day.
I love like This tree loves it's leaves
letting them go, Growing new
Providing shade for words to be read while it lives.
constantlly Growing taller
Telling stories in it's rings
Only to be read when it
is Chopped down.
But I will watch it fall.
Or I'll never leave this spot.
Where it grew.
I'll rest beneath my pile
Of dead leaves.
Leave particles of myself in everything.
The wind.
This Herbal tea.

Under her left eye.
It had turned Black,
baffled the doctors,
But the fortune teller knew exactlly what it was.
she Told her it represented death,
Something precious.

doctors said If she let the mark sit any longer
She would've been cursed with
calloused eyes.
gave her ten years to see.
nobody can explain where it came from.
But By proxy she blamed god.

she traveled 6 months later
Against her will blinded by city lights
and lost more than her eyes.

No stars
Cracked like an eggshell
On the cold table.

Drove back broken and tired to
find not a man, but a theif.
With a manic smile,
blood glowing in his eyes.

she was so worried
about losing her sight.
she didn't see his spell.

he told her to choose
And when she chose him,
When she Limped into him, vacant and afraid
He left anyway.

I promise you.
every day.
I will describe the stars to you.
Paint every dog in the street,
pile of leaves, with my voice.
I will keep writing you poetry,
I'll bring your eyes around with me.

I wish I could preach the world was clean.
But you love
how human it all is.
you wouldn't let me lie to you.
about the constellations being out every night.
you know that sometimes, clouds play blanket for the stars.
the cardboard signs, on commercial street.
you always said they deserve to be read.
as loudly as any grandfathers story so i Will read them to you.
"Homeless, anything will help.
i Quit gambling, but I bet you can't hit me with a quarter"

But lover, you will never be blind.
You are
My oracle, feeling tarot in your heart.
guessing each card by the vibrations
three of wands, two of cups, the fool.
even now, when we can't see a future together.
you will never be blind
I will keep writing you poetry.
until I run out of blood, or ink.
and even in that silence.
if you listen closely
You will hear everything I see.

because when I'm gone, lover.
i'll find her for you.
tell you how beautiful she's become.
Tell you
How she has your eyes.

If I had a pill for every time I looked at your photograph
I would finally be as numb and blind as you were.
You pulled veins through me
Chipped tunnels through my mountain wrists
Said: I won't give you gravity
you gotta pull that **** yourself
I did, pull blood through my own veins
I couldn't just let them collapse
It takes a lot of effort to scalpel a nervous system through solid ice
you wasted so much time numbing
when I always had frostbite
but snakeskin makes a great sleeping bag
and we left plenty of it around.
shedding epidermal scales can only get you so pink though
I confused the tiger stripes from your daughters first survival
with the lines left over from your last.
they tasted the same color of beautiful when I kissed them.
I still can't decipher the difference between Honeysuckle and venom

Honest John waits In his car.
peaks through his rear view mirror at the glass door. watching.
The engine is off.
cold air nips at his nose and ears.
ice caps cover grass.
the night pitch black
No moon in the sky.
few stars due to the city smog.

A Dim glow from inside the restaurant
Casts shadows in the parking lot.
She hides in them.

Rolling carts march uniform right on schedule
hauling trash to dumpsters just outside.
Honest john watches her slip on a Latex Glove.
*** a cigarette.
She doesn't want honest john to smell the cigarette on her hands.
He doesn't know.

Honest John's Phone buzzes.
He answers.
Told that "work is going late."
She "won't need a ride tonight."
"Won't be home tonight."
Honest John asks where she's going.

"oh, out with my lady friend.
Sarah, haven't seen her since high-school"

"Alright." Says Honest John.
"Have fun." He bit his tongue for the sake of not seeming Crazy again.
It wasn't very honest of him.

She climbs up into red Truck with
The man.
smoke billows out the windows as they screach off howling in the rearview mirror.

Honest John has always hated her lying.

John Loves Crying.
It's honest.
Not just his own tears.
Being the shoulder to cry on is johns momment of ecstasy.
Tears are Beautiful on everybody.
Nobody cries without a reason.

Alone John Smokes Djarum Blacks.

They're the most honest of cigarettes.
Don't paint themselves White
Try passing as innocent or pure.
Just Blatantly say
"Hey, we're way worse for you then a normal cigarette.
"This is slowly killing you"
John appreciates that
even though they're slowly killing him,
At least they are honest about it.

John speaks his mind.
Just as he beleives it.
won't risk leaving words
unsaid again.
but there is one word
he's troubled being Honest about.

Love.

Everytime he doesn't say it.
It kills him slowly.
which would be fine,
if love didn't lie.