'Taiga" she screamed.
Jumping up on the table; embodying a tree.
She kissed me softly.
Between her eyes, a small metal thing.
You have gone beyond the bounds.
Inked only lightly.
Pretending.
An eye and blueberries.
Drew her name in the sand.

Cobbled sheets and ragged breath.
I picked and picked at the scab between my *******.

And this is the way you survive losing a father.
4am. Icy air. Whispering trees.
And this is the way you drive to an abandoned place.
Eyes swollen shut. Blank Faces. Sleepless nights.
And this is the way you stop listening to all the beeping, the screaming.
To walk into a room without falling to your knees.
To hold a hand of an absent creature.
And this is the way to follow a heart pound.
As if it weren’t the only sign he was still there.
To leave for just a moment.
To cry as you listen to the sounds of someone die.
And this is the way to come back, to a sheet, a face, a slowing beat.

I saw a plastic bag on the ground today and I stepped on it without thought. I huffed and puffed my way down the street in the heat, with my feet throbbing and my arms growing weaker and weaker. I saw myself in the reflection of a coffee shop, faded and grey. My hair fell perfectly at my collarbones and still, I noticed only the shape of my face and the size of my nose. I pressed the elevator button and waited. I closed my eyes and stepped in. The kitchen was empty and when I put my keys down on the table. I swear it sounded like a thunderstorm. I am alone. I danced in my room to a song I hated, but knew all the words to. I felt drunk, and it wasn’t until afterwards that I felt stupid.

The next day I did it all again, except on this day, I felt forsaken. I slumped into bed, and my mind slipped down treacherous slopes. I listened to the rain and heard it falling. I heard my thoughts falling too. All I wanted was you.

was crossing the street when behind me came lights of red and blue. I stepped back into a grass path and let it pass. I had my headphones in and the music droned out the sounds of the sirens. I followed it. Unaware. And found it in my front yard, heading towards the back. I clapped my hand over my mouth in awe and I watched a woman direct it to my sandbox. I tried to stop it, but my mouth was dry and my hair was falling out. I took a sip of water because the air was hot and my ice was melting. The street reminded me of France. And I swear, in the corner of my eye I could see the Eiffel Tower. A man with light eyes (or were they dark?) sat in front of a bookstore and all the lights were out. I thought of a poem I wrote. I waited and waited but he never came. Will he come again? It was half past eight and I was lonely. Waiting for two. Then fifteen. They five. I want to lay on your bed. A dimly lit room. I want to read you something.
“Takes me back to when I went ages without bathing or remembering who I loved. When I slept where I fell. “
Do you remember me now?
Your mother and your father.
Do you have sisters and brothers?
The man stood and sat. With a coffee in his hand. Black.
I want to whisper in his ear.
“We are strangers, but we are here”
I walk around and leave it to the fairies. To the roses and the stone path. To Mother In Law. Painted blood orange, covered in mirrors. I eat watermelon and hope I can always hear.

My body trembles at the sight of shadows.
Fireflies flicker and flash above us.
Burning hands and hungry flesh.
A knocking begins.
My tongue pressed against my teeth.
"Why do we make things so complicated?"
Tangled and messy in the muscles of hearts.
I heave and hurt.
Early mornings. Little sleep.
Is this the purge?
I can’t remember the last time someone spoke to my skin.
Company is expensive. The price of a hot meal.
I ***** the faces of lovers on my wall with needles, and cover their mouths with tape.
Pressed up against isles of DVD’s.
Kiss me until you taste laughter.
I’ve never before felt so heavy.
Lungs shrinking, shrivelling.
Sockets are black holes now.
You never looked like just a man to me;
from the first time I looked at you
I saw poetry.

ONE

It’s not solid.

Solip.

It wants.

It speaks.

To the moon. The sky.  

It’s not hollow.

Where did it go?

It sleeps in me.

Moves to the right.

Clings to it’s neighbor.

Blinking.

Perhaps one day it will crawl back.

Where is it coming from?

Within the tree.

Magnolia

TWO

It’s late in the evening; a waterfall asks “what’s the ocean like?”

He does not stop in shock at the words.

She scraped her hair back behind her ears and raked her knee.

It could be a fine place. In constant motion.

"This could be heaven if we made it such"

It lives richly and goes mad.

Like a racehorse. A river.

It is married to shadow.

It asks for nothing.