i remember the day i was born
     all bright light and handshakes

it felt the same on the day that i died

you've got the same gleam in your eyes as god did
     the night before she gave birth to the stars

i often times get distracted from myself
by the person i like to think that i am

she's a ******* catch
     a cash-in-hand
     done-deal find
worth every dime

i'm tangled up line
     woven into the creek-bed
that couldn't even catch the sunlight

but it's alright

     i got a few coats of gold krylon
hiding my rust from the mirror

a heavily decorated door creaks open to disturb the silence-
"why don't you turn on the light?" he asks her,
but she likes the shape of the night;
the way the sky hugs close to the earth and resembles the bell of a glass cover over a cake on a bakery counter.
"life is sweet like that..." she sings,
"like a pastry on display,
something sweet that we can taste."
there's a certain way of looking at it.
your eyes half closed,
one hand high on a hip and the other clasping a cigarette.
"yeah,
i mean,
i guess that makes sense..."

"one ******* roll!"
of the drum,
of a car,
of our calendar.
things have changed.
the universe is stretching,
the earth has grown;
and so has she,
into a species of flower that can't be grown indoors no matter how many lamps you point at her face-
she needs the sun...
and the wild.
let her grow free in the sun of foreign hillsides,
by a creek in the meadow she's dreamt of for years...
with the fruit farms.
"yeah...the fruit farms." she smiles.
she's always wanted to sell fruit on the highway a few miles from the farm she'll own,
on land she bought,
in a house she built,
feasting daily upon earthly treasures she grew
in the dirt
with her hands.
let her feed you a story for breakfast;
a picture she'll paint with scenes of her dreams that she only occasionally shares...
when the mood is hopeful and kind and she's not worried about anyone laughing.
listen to her heart;
type-writer keys over the hum of radio space.
rest your head-
ear pressed to her chest;
listen.
like curious neighbors in the backyard in the sleepy hours of the weekend between breakfast and lunch,
coffee and cartoons.
let her show you one of her dreams.
a prized,
***** pebble she keeps cradled in a pocket full of lint.
she's an old soul...
peering through dirt colored eyes just as wide as a child's.

"it's been a long time since i've seen the ocean..."
she whispers to herself under the last drag of her third cigarette.

but she hates the beach,
and the crowds of the vain who gather there to worship starving,
sacred bodies;
she just likes the sound.
the throaty yell of prehistoric waves breaking over zagging shorelines.
she says the sound "helps her dream."
it doesn't "help" her dream,
nothing helps her sleep...
it just makes her think;
of unimaginable beasts that have swam in our seas,
and the shape she's been told that the continents once made.
she thinks of mer-maids and voyagers and the rustic ship that brought her great-grandmother over at age thirteen...
this time she's not dreaming,
just remembering things that she's never seen.
her ***** feet need a stroll through the sands of a pristine scene-
she's heard such thing used to exist.

she mumbles, "it hurts to know that nothing is sacred..."

but she is.
a mess of tangled heart-strings and sentences,
she's sacred.
and so are the four tiny walls that hide her from the world.

my secrets sharpen their teeth as i'm sound asleep

and i still wonder why i wake with sapling scars

"you really are beautiful,
in your own kind of way",
he says
     as he spits through his teeth

in what way is that,
i wonder?

in a way that can't be crammed into a size five dress?
in a way that isn't actually aesthetically appealing?
in a way that's too intelligent to find your misogynistic outburst colored flattery?

he pushes the wire-like hair away from my face
and wipes an angry tear from my freckled cheek
     "see, all you have to do is try."

oh, boy
try
yeah,
     that's what i'll do
so i can catch another in a long line of "men" who think i COULD be beautiful

as if beauty is only one color
     one size
     one shape
as if it can truly be measured with a bathroom scale and a hand-held mirror
and can be purchased at a costly brand-name outlet in a shopping mall near you

my mother's mother has an affinity for referring to my twenty-three extra pounds
in a way that one refers to the neighbor's busted-down ford that needs towed away
"oh, catrina, you really could be so gorgeous,
     if you'd just get rid of some of your fluff."

she pinches at my sides
     and the backs of my arms
     and the little curve at the tops of my thighs
          just below my ***
like i'm an over-stuffed pillow on her antique love-seat
that's about to burst at the seems
     should the seemstress not pull out the threads with her teeth
and remove the unsightly over-fill like black-heads from a slender nose

everything she buys me comes from a plus sized store
     and wears a fat filthy double XL on it's tag

considering that i factually only need a large
i fight back my plump tears and wear a cheap smile
as i give thanks i don't mean
and kiss her on her heavily perfumed cheek
     "oh, such lovely lips
     why not a splash of lipstick?"

as soon as i'm out of her home state
i take the clothes back to the "big-girl" store
and trade them in for pizza and beer money

the girl behind the counter ironically weighs ninety-two pounds soaking wet
and that's only if she's still got on her padded bra
     slender
     starved
     sickly
     and supposedly ****
since when were curves a curse?
and who the **** decided it was a good idea to pattent worth with a lipstick shade, anyway?

no
     no way

i am beautiful without having to paint myself that way
my existence is not defined by the shape i take
my flaws and imperfections can't be remidied with any myriad of poking and plucking
     nipping and tucking
and all of my greatness and wonder sure as **** outweigh a tiny bleach-blonde *****

oh
*******
     and that pretty little pony you rode in on

i refuse to be pressed against a rubric and graded like a show-dog whose owner will only settle for best-in-show
     and kicks his failure of a companion sharply in the ribs when he doesn't bring home another ribbon

this obsession of society's is making us sick
  
we don't teach our children compassion and empathy
     we instead instill their heads with talk of thread count
     and color schemes
     how to brush on blush
     and how to pick a suit
cute won't save the world

i beg you sisters
     please
let us not give this disease to our daughters
let us not allow our sons to carry the gene

together
     let's put to rest the ill-concieved notion of our beauty residing without us
          rather than within

let us never again bow down to the revlon gods of vanity

together
we are Woman
     and we deserve to finally soar

she sat in the kitchen
   frivolously underlining passages in her brand new bible
      nodding her head
      occasionally pressing her hands into her chest
"yes" she'd whisper
   with her blind eyes shut

         every ******* needs a crutch

every hour or so
she'd leave her hiding place
   to shove her misunderstanding in my face

"god only loves us if we ask him to"
"you're a sinner. your sins can only be cleansed with the blood of christ"
"our lives gain their only meaning when we ask christ into our hearts"

oh yeah?
   is that right?
      how'd he find any room in yours
      when you keep it bound up like a hostage?

i tried with all my might
   to remind myself that i am a spiritual being
   that i want no one to hurt
      even those who waste their precious seconds plotting ways to hurt others
   to craft everyone their own kind of pain that they can name
      and later
         help you look up a cure in a little black troubleshooting guide

but i cracked
and i snapped
and i didn't feel bad

don't you get it?
are you paying attention to what you read?!

the whole ******* story is about LOVE...
   about loving everyone
not only under certain circumstances
   but every second of every day
the same way we're told that he loved

calling yourself a christain is the farthest thing that you can do from actually being christ-like
  
he was a good guy
      like robin hood
         not oprah
   you won't get a free car
   or fleeting fame
      all you'll gain is peace
      and clearly that's what you really need

but you also need to remember
   that if he's watching everyone's every move
      like you say
   then he too sees you going out of your way to ruin someone elses day
he sees you ignore the hungry man asking for change
he sees you preaching things you've never practiced
he sees you looking for ways to bend the rules without breaking them

if christ came back
   he wouldn't be the sharp-dressed man seated up front
      whom you try to charm the pants off of with your faith every week
he'd be the homeless man outside sitting by the steps in silence
whom you marched right passed
   without so much as a glance
      or a simple hello

         he'd know you misunderstood the entire message
         flash a toothy grin
         and go right back to spitting prophesies into his brown paper bag
             
            but most importantly
                  he'd never rub it in your face that he thinks you've got it **wrong

my DNA is a self-made daisy chain
strung together with the best of intentions
and a few yards of dental floss

it's always getting tangled up in moon beams
and boot strings
     tugging me in one thousand directions at once
like the sea pulling at the limitless shorelines hem

i am magic

my flesh reflects the hue of the desert dust the winds bathe me in
speckled with freckles that occasionally line up with the stars

what a fool i'd be to paint myself into obscurity
with make-up brushes and lipstick hues

          no

i choose me

excessively sensitive to the energy of all other living beings
always feeling everything
all the pain and happiness
love and fear and angst
     at once
          lumped in with the leaves of my tea
destined to forever reside within
     me

the high-priestess of the immeasurable things
the guardian of treasures unseen
     constantly filling my sundress with ***** pebbles
     broken feathers
          and all the stardust i can find

i've spent the last one thousand life times
being everywhere at the EXACT same time 

you should know
     you were there

     and oh
such love i've found
hiding in the shallows
in the mud
     and under the edges of your finger nails

even in the darkness of the vast
and ever-stretching sky
there is so much light
so very many precious gems
hoisted into timeless settings along the milkyway's head-dress

          i promise
where i am right now
is the best place to be

and if you don't believe me
     crane your neck towards the stars

.    ironic
really

          the brain stem controls involuntary movement
     and lies just inside
the flesh that i can't help but check
for the glass and pebbles
     you left behind

i'll leave behind a legacy of lengthy love poems
so that no reader could ever tell
     that i've never loved a heart who loved me back

i'll ensure that my body leave behind no bone unbroken
so no anthropologist would ever guess
     that i spent my entire life scared to death

and i'll fill each dusty corner of my tiny little house
with plants and books and trinkets of memories forgotten
so that the coroner could never publish
     how empty i really felt

oh-
          of all words i've ever spoken
    i pray that these will never read broken:

*i will sow this great earth with ideas for blooming
each incapable of death so that no child ever guess
    that i didn't live forever

it was warm and dry last summer
so i painted my face with mud and stain
and set out to find my own space of the earth with my name on it
somewhere i'd finally fit in
i never did find it
instead
i tattooed my skin with road maps to memories that i can't quite get back to
i still can't get back to you
so i picked up a lost boy on the side of the road
with a lying smile and deceptively blue rain puddle eyes
he dosed me and broke me
lifted me up with ***** hands
and set me atop a psychedelic pedestal that he could pull from beneath me
to watch me fall to the ground and writhe whenever he liked
he liked to do so often
he broke me
he did
like an empty bottle once containing bitter beer thrown at a door
so when the rain came to the plains
i dropped him off in the next state
and hurried home to gather up what pieces of myself still remained
i made me from scratch with my own hands
to suit only my own standards
but still
maybe now you'll like it
soon the leaves began to fall
and i got lost under their burial mounds
shroud in the season of decay
i saved a breath to weep for my own death
but it didn't last long
i got over it quick
crawled out of momentary depression just in time
to see the tulips die and the skies ignite
with winter sunsets and nightmares
i felt like things were changing and so should i
so i set aim for the skies
spread my arms and hoped for flight
even just a tussle of warm breeze to liven up my paper sails...
just something to pull me out to sea
to sky
space and waves
it's all the same
i just wanted to get away
all i gained was new callous and a few second-hand paper-backs
i didn't get much farther than a couple states away
but any sky tastes great when all you're craving is some change
the days got short quick
and the warmth ran away to play
while i stayed behind to hold down the fort
and hopefully to set forth to find whatever it is that i'm constantly searching for

i share my name with a hurricane
how fitting

a set of bruised shins in running tights
who can't get much of anything right
and still hasn't remembered where she set her drink

that's me

i sometimes think they should've named me tiffany
or brittany
or stephany
something pretty and normal

maybe then i would have been a ballerina
instead of just a mess
in a second-hand dress

sometimes i swear
the wind calms when i laugh
and the thunder cracks
when i finally let go
and let myself fade
back into the sky that shaped me

i make it rain


some things never change
not names
or headstones
or birthdays

and some things always do


the sky shifts slightly
setting a yellow kite to sail
and a pair of hawks to soar

maybe they named the storm after me
so that i could see
how beautiful turbulence can be

maybe i just wasn't looking right

besides
a rose by any other name
wouldn't seem as special

i've spent my entire lifetime running
running away
running in circles
running myself into the ground

it isn't fun, anymore
my feet have gotten heavy

i remember that night you drove **** near 100 miles
so we could go to the park and play lava-monster
i didn't know the rules
you were patient

there
in the decaying fall air
with your news-boy cap pulled down over my eyes and my arms stretched out into the darkness
searching for you
i felt right
for the first time in my life i felt fine

i haven't feld good, since

i wish i knew then what i know now

that i may likely never see you again
that you were leaving
that you're a runner too

i guess it is true
you get what you give

my feet have become granite
stones not meant to be resurrected from the earth
my globe's nothing but a paper-weight, now
the atlas is never cracked
because i can't find you on a map
and your arms are the one place that i long to be

silly, really
the way the head and the heart are incapable of speaking to each other honestly

now and then
the wind rests
for just a moment
and through the dry wyoming air
i catch your scent trail
like a glimpse of heat-lightning in the far horizon
but just like you
it's gone in an off-set heartbeat

the tumble weeds sing your name as they slink across the plains
stirring my insomnia into a craze
that can only be calmed by night-sky air
i search for your face in the shadows of the moon
as my calls to you rise with my steam-heated breath
and disappear into the stars

i wonder if you lay awake all night
swearing that the constellations are all begining to align
with the sole purpose of pointing you towards me

"i just wish you didn't hate me." he said,
exhaling the first drag of his fourth cigarette
since we began our verbal wrestling match
two shots earlier.
his eyes always seem to look the most sincere
when i know that he isn't.
as green as the river that delivered me,
perfect.
i make fun of that **** leather jacket that he looks so handsome in
and ask to borrow his handkercheif
so that i can fill it with snot
and spite.
i hate this "talking" buisness.
it's more like a contest to see who can make the other hate themselves first.
he always wins.
and even when i want to drink his existance into submission,
i still just want to grab him by the face and kiss him...
right on his filthy mouth.
"obviously, i don't hate you," i finally reply.
"i just hate that i give a **** about you."
his silence speaks volumes.
unfortunately,
they're penned in a vernacular that i've never understood.
the air gets busy and heavy,
alive with the charge of confusion between insanity and ****** frustration.
the steps to our ****-show waltz are well rehearsed...
we slide over each others jugulars gracefully -
nimble -
on both the tips of our toes
and the tips of our tongues,
crossing lines in the sand with tact.
hit for hit.
shot for shot.
we dance,
in the angred space we share
on the front porch
in the light of the moon,
leaving even the moths afraid to cross us.
some people love without looking back,
and some people look back without loving the crack in the wall in which they hid the sour facts.
i guess that's you and me-
filling the cupboards with what's already rotten,
in hopes that what we don't acknowledge won't be a problem.

i sat in the back
and watched you crack yourself in two on a well-lit stage
like an egg in a skillet
          the sound was comforting

and there beneath the bell of cascading light
you writhed
and fried
and your secrets splattered on to the backsplash
like words upon a page
half-hearted lower-case fossilized in the tile grout

i gathered up the crumbs
with an anxious stomach
and a wet tounge

      oh
          how i lapped it up

let it soak in
and stew in my belly
until the steam swelled
and was forced to be expelled
     the feast i've with-held so long

it's the heart song of the kitchen timer
signaling my turn in the frying pan
     my time to climb up into the spotlight
          and squirm through my own confession

        i made every sound from scratch
               just for you

it was i
who gave to my telescope
the gift of animation

she relays my pulse to the stars
     slingshotting binary christmas cards to the carbon that i borrowed from

and some nights
     i wake to her breath along my neck as she studies life
and what it means

then
     come morning
she kisses my sun-stained synapses
and reminds me that my body's a testament to existence
          not a mausoleum

i miss your lips
the way they'd smoothly dance
like a genie in a lamp
as you'd sing
and speak

how sweet your memory tastes
though the reality has long since faded

i cling to my effervescent exaggerations of our tangled past
replaying time to time
on the dream-screen of my mind
as i snack lightly on the salty remarks of my youth
and i laugh

it hurts
but it feels so healthy

you fade through the moon-mist
and dismiss your own existence
once again proclaiming that you are nothing
but an extension of it all
a fingerprint of the wilky-way
just a strand of DNA
swimming through the wake of infinite expansion

i miss it

the beer-breath incantions you'd softly slur after dark
the kisses you'd plant along my edges
like the vines that trace the hedges
in the front lawn of that dusty place we'd fake our love

nostalgia always begins so inviting
untill you're finally feeling sea-sick
from the over-ingestion of false sweets
and pure imagination

now we're so far gone
living in a different reality entirely
i don't think i'd even know your face if i saw it
i know you only by the way your shape fits in the frame
another handsome man
trapped forever in the reels of film of my mind

but i'll remember you
you're woven into the wood works
    
     drunkenly dancing through a serendipitous sea of names
     stands the lamen's term for your current shape
your birth-given name
credited with a handfull of scars
left behind by a man who forced me to grow

i can't wait until the day
i wake up
and realize
     i've fallen in love
the same way that dusk falls
onto the skyline

     it's an obvious thing that you don't notice
until the sky lights itself on fire
with the last three drops of light

i want a voice like the heartbeat of the metra tracks
     as it shakes its way into your brain
while you're half awake
and daydreaming
     'bout something sweet
     something that means nothing to me
but it's cute
     see
          
          the way you can't help but smile

i want to be that cringe of excitement in your skull
that you can't stop daydreamin' about

  and...
if you could find yourself fascinated by my freckles
     and my flaws
     and the scars all over from all of the near-fatal gashes
     and the heaps and heaps of stardust rusting to my eyelashes
     and the fact that i'm always talking about love as if i'd actually had it
          i promise
i'd never say you were a fool

i could wear you like split ends
or a crooked grin
     a handsome pair in inclement weather
     somehow better together

not two halves
     of one whole

two wholes
     thriving on each other
      
          cigarettes and coffee
          whiskey and beer

mmhmmm
     we're in the clear from here
nothing but salty tides and starry skies
          straight on 'till morning

i want to douse you in the muddy water
of the balckfork's patient trickle
     at the crest of spring
and baptise you as mine to keep

     my own semi-precious stone to bring to the table

let me carry you around in my pocket
like a bottle cap
from the last bar you sat at
     while you were day-dreaming of me

          some treasures are far too great
          to try to hide from the world outside

          and more often than not
     a good bargain
isn't what we bargained for

arts and crafts and kids on drugs
dream catchers and storytellers
in tree-houses and sheds
bare feet and bare legs

magic

let me share
i'll cut you a slice of the skies to keep in your eyes
so you can always see beauty
and learn to accept it when it's lying in front of you
remember how gorgeous life is

sunsets and fire pits and tents pitched in the mountains
solar flares and lunar eclipses
in telescopes lenses and lovers eyes

this IS profound
and we SHOULD take note
the universe bares wonderful gifts
and we are fools to let them slip so quickly through our hands
we've been here before
and we've known each other for eons
don't go forgetting

lava monsters and yellowing pages and smiles recognizable for miles
sage brush and card games
with cowboys and poets
cheap-seat prophets bound by collective conscious and some kind of mysticism

two-track game trails and smoke rings rising from the west
find your way home

i'll hide behind my sunset eyes and river-bed curves until your return

i found the secret to life
scrawled upon a crumbling brick wall
all those years ago
in a down-town pub house bathroom stall
and i wish i'd never read it

some things just can't be erased
not with paint thinner
and not with the sands of time

no
some things stain
some wounds scar forever
leaving cursive reminders of fights we've survived
and nights that parts of us died
to make room for something bigger

sometimes you have to paint the walls
in an attempt to silence the stories they whisper
recalling all they've seen

all that we've witnessed
and wished to forget

all the one-liners
and fist fights
and nights that should have never happened
those foggy moonlight memories
of evenings soaked in adrenaline highs
and cigarette smoke

sometimes you have to demolish the walls entirely
burn the structures of your nightmares and your fairy tales both
and spend more of your nights
with nothing
in between you
and the stars

i watched raven pull the skirts from the rose's hips
and smear lady bug guts across her grin
     like garden-grade lipstick

i asked her what it means
when she hovers in my dreams
but she just laughed

and on her way back to that highway in the sky
she craned her neck just enough to throw me a whisper

"your wings won't mean a thing
     if you're too afraid to fly"

is it possible to feel more than the tepms built
     the night that you ignited
and illuminated my brain
as a shape
human hands can't recreate
         that hearts can't fake

     a space we dream of inhabiting when our souls create a safe place

     just something we cling to
when we learn who we are whist we scream
and cling to the images we sling
as we clutch each other's bodies

     a heart-felt blockade between who wish to be
          and who they see

at birth, they tried to swap the stars in my eyes for dollar signs-
but the operation didn't take.
so for years, i felt oddly compelled to fake it
until i finally couldn't take it any longer.
keep all your shiny, broken things...
i just want the trees.
and a breeze,
and the pebbles,
and the rain.
i'll stick around to love all of the beauty you've forsaken.
i just want the things that no one can keep.
an intellectual alien,
trapped in a generation bringing nothing
but plastic beads and decoder rings to the table.
faint, fickle beings,
painting their faces
so that they can all look just the same.
sometimes it's a blessing to feel out of place.
so, i'll wisely spend my time stuck under a bad sign,
and continue building things that can't be touched,
and treasuring things that can't be held-
just felt.
i wanna feel it all.
i want to fall madly in love,
make masterpieces of my memories,
and hopefully,
turn other peoples memories of me
into one of the most beautiful things they've ever seen.
i'm going to be good,
and kind,
and light,
and keep my fingers crossed that others i encounter
will finally decide to let go,
and enjoy the ride.
to surf the tide
rather than struggle and squirm in the waves.
what gorgeous creatures we would be
if we could finally see
just how hideously we treat other beings.
stop thinking about "ME",
and start worrying about "WE".
because we,
as a whole,
are in some serious ******* trouble.
so please, stop.
stop running, start dancing.
stop screaming, start laughing.
and please,
for the sake of all existence,
stop buying in to all of this *******.
life is not an endless quest to acquire the most over-priced garbage,
it's a journey through time and space to make yourself,
to love all that surrounds you,
and to learn to value yourself more than you value your brand new pair of perky ****.
we weren't sculpted of plastic and silicone,
we were forged of raw stardust.
it's time that we rise to the occasion of being bodies of light,
and make the darkness of night seem at least a little less lonely.
"the things you own end up owning you",
and i refuse to be enslaved.
i long for the days when free-thinkers were the cream of the crop,
now, they're lining up the firing squad
to mock and gawk at those too brave to "baa" with the rest of the flock.

i remember your voice
     the way that you'd articulate in coffee-table-cursive

your words dripping from your lips
like honey from the comb

i remember me
dropping to my knees
     to lap up the sweetness
like a beggar in the street

how does this heart of mine
     fit in to my earthly equation

          does the salt water in my body
     prove me
     the undisputed daughter of the sea

can you hear me
          god


i'm listening

you got this rattle in your chest
like the timing belt in your heart's been limping towards death since birth

it always hurt to listen to

so here
     here's the message at the bottom of the bottle
     you spend so many nights studying
as if perhaps
          you might actually remember what it read when the sun assaults your head come morning

here's what you been begging every fair-haired eve to whimper
as you slip her a dose of your hand-crafted love-sludge on her boyfriend's couch

this is the truth i learned about you seven years ago
while you spilled your guts on my favorite boots
     you really were cute
all campfire-light and anguish as you visably contemplated introducing your hand to my chest

you're different
not just from me
     but from everyone you meet in every pub on any street
and for some reason
     you seem to think that means that they don't see you

          they see you

you're scared
     not of dissappointing onlookers
but of disappointing yourself in some manner you can't help
so you help yourself to whatever opportunity you can find
     to exhibit boisterously the ******* you think they see you as

          you're too smart to be so stupid

and you're hurt
i get it
     i've heard your monsters howling through your head
     everytime you ever used my bed to rest it
but that's not an excuse to pull the dumb **** that you do
that's not a reason to abandon whatever sense of self-worth you once grasped

oh
     handsome boy
          the wounds of your past are not handicaps
     no
pain catalysts enlightenment

and i meant to tell you that night
     'long the river in the fire light
that you're going to be alright
          that you'll survive
so long as you give up the act that you're the only one who's ever felt like that

hurt just proves you've still got feeling

an aerosol angel with college-ruled wings
and paint stained fingertips
stranded in a sea of pigmentation
lately, she's been feeling out of place
not all compasses point due north

a parrot in a sea of sharks
who's never learned to sail

they're selling tickets to the ****-show on the shore line
catch the half priced sunday matanee
save the date

a trapeze ******* with a choke hold on the universe's coat tails
tap dancing through star charts and love poems at the pace of lightning's strike
some failures just have to be public
if lessons are to be learned
the prettiest ballerinas aren't afraid to fall

she's learned the hard way to find beauty in skinned knees
strength in stubbed toes
and faith in a broken heart

no point in dressing up, honey
prince charming doesn't frequent freak shows

he's an arrogant flake, anyway
her best bet is a strong man
or a fire breather
when looking for a boy to bring home

one man to bare her burdens
and another to scortch the wreckage of what's left
careful what you wish for

butterflies the size of funnel cakes shake her rib cage to pieces
silver confetti on pitted pavement

he looked so handsome beneath the neon lights
horrified and ecstatic all at once
like a lost boy in neverland

scanning the crowd of strangers for any possible princess tiger lillie's

someone to ride alongside on the ferris wheel all night
untill the sheriff shines his flashlight down the path that points them home
alone

but handsome boys know little about matters other than themselves
so she's gotten good at feeling bad

it's time to find a man
someone who can build things instead of just break them

wearing your brand-loyalty like a politcal campaign t-shirt
cute
you almost seem proud to be so very confused
walking to the beat of the same **** pop-song that every ******* radio station's been blaring for months
designer cup of sludge in hand

and the billboards tell you that you might be pretty
maybe
some day
if you drop thirty-five pounds and buy an over priced bottle of this seasons heavily-scented false sense of "belonging"

that outghtta do it

tuck
lift
plump

fake it

cash in your mail-in rebates for another hunk of junk with a heavy price tag
determined solely by how badly sad saps like you
will want what the magazines say that others have

how sad

you lost sight of yourself years ago
somewhere in the housewares section of the Elmhurst Target

you drifted off near the alarm clocks
whilst day-dreaming about wall-paper schemes
and zebra wood cupboards
and an apron that would match your sunday dress

you got it mixed up

worth isn't measured by cost
beauty isn't measured in inches
and wealth most certainly isn't measurd by a bank statement

but scoff
and laugh me off
like i'm some kind of eccentric fool
rendered maladjusted after years
of steady
concious
thought

leave me to squelch in the riches
of my own cosmic existence
penniless
and proud as a king

leave me to find the mountain's top
and ocean's floor
and black-top's end

leave it me
to be me

i'll go ahead and leave it to you
to be them

for the past few weeks,
my daily caloric in-take has consisted of nothing but caffine,
nicotine,
and a good bit of ****-
if that counts.
i've been bogged down by a few pounds of literary build-up,
clinging to my cell walls.
characters and commas,
just pleading to be plucked from their scatter-brained current state of nothingness,
and be re-arragned-
brought to life by a breath of structure
and fore-head kiss of charm.
writer's block.
an itchy wool blanket of complacent composition blues
draped over my freckled shoulders,
in hopes of sheilding me from a down-pour of inspiration.
i never asked to be pretected from my own thoughts,
so stop,
fickle whispers of failure.
i'm on the rise.
i close my eyes and plunder my brain for the misplaced directions
to the exit of the ball-point duldrum,
i know they're around here somewhere.
i've got thirty three trash bags of pointless memories,
and not one of them can help me.
so i hoist the sails
and viciously exhale,
sending myself out to sea
where i'll be free to raise the nets dragging on the floor,
and sort through the mooshed-up words
to turn them into something more.

i 've got a soft spot for the smell of tobacco and the taste of whiskey
and the voice of boys who claim to miss me

i long to get high
high up in the trees
in the hills
along the ridges
     i live to pierce the atmosphere
and note the lack of sensation as i plummet

oh how i love it
     those cheap thrills of the fall

a candy apple red heritage soft-tail classic
on a rusted dirt road
i am built of where i've been

the mango groves
the east and west coast
and every camp-ground in canada
this map is my home
let me tuck you into the folds
and sing you to sleep
some place sweet
where the air smells of earth and rain

don't let the concrete tame you

the road under foot is not measured by the steps necessary to travel it
but the way one migrates over the breaking soil
resting between where we are and where we'll be
when our dreams run free
and the tent's set in the pines

barefoot
running shoes
doc martens
thumb to the sky
pack on my back
black top under bridgestones

let us fly

let us soar

s'go

i'll take you with me
like my sleeping bag
and skinning knife
and canteen

be the water that i drink

fuel the fires that propel this engine
drive me to the end of the road
where one can only go by foot
and feather
and foolishness

let's disappear in the fog of the north
the mud of the east
the heat of the south
the haze of the west

let's find ourselves in the topography of folded bodies
tangled up in a flesh scented tent

i can never find my drink
     it's not so much that i forget
     it's more so that i'm never around long enough to circle back twice
but that's alright
     i can always find someone's

i talk to myself
**** near constantly
     i'd like to think it's not to hear myself speak
     but to let myself think
the only time i get the chance
to say the things i've always longed to
is when i'm the only one around to listen

     i love to listen

i also love to eavesdrop
just to see how others talk
     when they're expecting only to be heard

i still don't believe in hell
     not as a destination
hell is some place within me
i dredge through it daily
and not a soul can save me
     guess that's why i've never feared god

no
     not god
but **** near everyone else

i've got this ******* anxiety
just welling within me
and what's worse
is that no one can see my crazy
     no
     just me
but it pecks at my brain
and howls at the moon
and consumes my thoughts whole

     i'm afraid of everyone
     always

i'm the most afraid of me

i'm afraid of the things i see in the mirror
     i fear for myself
that i'll never really grow up
     just more scared
     and angry
     and bitter
i'm afraid of my heart-rate
     climbing higher than your balcony
     until it factually breaks

but i somehow know i'll be okay
i feel it more and more each day
     because somewhere
     in my static-charged skull
     and double-time heart
     there is at least a little balance

     see
     i've got something that most people don't
          i really only know one thing:

if i ran into the six-year-old version of me
if we passed as strangers on the street
     she'd smile
and think that she'd like to grow up to be just like me

i leaned against my mother's kitchen sink
crying
          six shots of whiskey deep at half passed noon

     and both mutts came running
leaning their limber legs against mine

a heart-felt interspecies hug

ready and willing to catch my salty tears
upon the bridge of their snouts

     so this is true love

i stay awake late
contempleting the possibility of decoding the illustrative lyrics
      spoken between my head and my heart

my wheels keep turnin' circles

     still
it's a start

i still stretch in the morning
in hopes i can someday make myself
into the shape of the hole
at the center of the universe
     and become the glue
     that keeps magic in its place

almond shaped eyes
     the color of fertile earth
           deep
deeper than marianna and her treacherous trench

i fall deeper into your magic with every glance

     the mere thought of your existence sends lightning bolts through my bones
you give me butterflies the size of ostriches
     and someday soon i'll take flight

astronauts and the smell of stardust

      nasa
           here we come

i can hear the static pulse of the universe in your laughter
     you leave solar flares in your wake 

you take my breath away
     a presence as heavy as the vacuum of space

not burdensome
     but welcomed
like an egyptian cotton blanket over bare flesh
     or the pressure of the lakes surface on my naked ribcage
          an embrace
with god
with darwin
with satan
and neil pert

it hurts me when you frown
     deep
          deep down

i drown in despair at the earliest glimpse of your discourse

     but when you smile
hot ****
          that smile
i shiver and shrink 
like a scalp in a glacial pool

you're strong as a sequoia
      proud as an ancient peak
yet for some reason
     you see me
in a far more flattering light than i view myself

i wanna take you
     far
          far
               far away
and make you stay forever mine
forever perfect in my eyes

poetic strengths
prose-like down falls
     and it all reads just like Rumi
classic
     timeless
          true

i can't wait until the day you admit
that you can't wait
     to be tangled up in me
          and the sheets
          and the seams of the fabric of time

somewhere within you
i had once noted a celestial gleam
          you bought me a pair of dime-store shades in reply
     and i wept
     my entire walk home
for the sincerity present in your lack of articulation

as much as i loathe the familiarity of your frame
i can't help but be mesmurized by your face
     the look of your lips and the shape they take
as you wrestle the bottle to death


     i confess
     it's something i dream of
as the nightmares change their shapes

a devilishly good looking man once told her
that her hair was like a waterfall of the colors of all the best beers

if she'd had another shot of whiskey in her
and there wasn't a hardwood bar crowded with regulars between them
she'd have grabbed him by the face and kissed his shoes off

it's funny
the things she considers sweetness
she's the bar keep who slips anyone nice free pints
just because it's almost friday night
all she wants is to see everybody happy at once

the last time that she went to the bar
the boy that she smiled at all night
slipped her a cocktail napkin that read,
"just because you're breathing,
doesn't mean that you're alive."

she still isn't sure how to take it
but she still knows that he's right

i fell in love with you
once
long ago
with my eyes closed
and the dream-screen drawn

we danced
like music notes across their barred landscape
we danced
the loveliest late-night lullaby

you became my hiding place
lilac and lace linens
stretched over a lumpy matress

my indiana jones
waiting patently and poetically
in a long-lost temple of slumber

you come back to me in waves
softly and subtly
while i'm half awake
you're kissing the broken down shorelines of an insomniacs holiday

i wish i could keep you
like an empty bottle in the window-sill
or a heart arrhythmia
this lonely romantics cardiovascular waltz

let me snag you up from my dream-dust
and stitch you to my sole like a lost boys shadow

let me find you in my reality
tip-toeing over an underlined paragraph
of a beer stained paper-back

i'll find you
someday
after a long-over-due nights sleep

perhaps in the guitar strings
or type-writer keys
or at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey in the ever-humming freezer

be mine
evasive valentine
i'll even let you hide in the curls of my hair
or under my fingernails
i'll keep you
if you'll let me

just don't forget me
come sun-up
when you gallup away
from my sub-conscious escape

take my heart-rate with you
tucked into your breast-pocket
like a floral handkercheif
or a photogaraph taped to the dash

come back
to the grey matter kingdom
tucked behind my eyelashes
i'll meet you in the idiosyncrasies of my synapses
writing love stories that never once happened

in her dreams
she sprouts like fresh seeds pressed into fertile dirt
she's constantly stretching farther and farther
in a futile attempt to finally reach the sun

she closes her eyes
and sees rows and rows of lemon trees and strawberries
mango groves and avocados

she loves to feed the earth
to give birth to something living that's incapable of denying
or betraying
her love
she wants to feed almost everyone she meets
set them down and wash their feet
fill their cups and watch them leave

she hopes that one day
someone will ask to stay
a boy whose heart is in need of mending
or a man with hands that could move mountains
maybe
one day

she wants a farm
a limitless garden to stretch as far as her eyes will let her see
maybe just a bohdi tree to sit beneath
a place to stay and wait to be buried by the leaves
just for now
anyway

she needs a home where she can be by herself without feeling alone
she needs somewhere that she's meant to be

supposedly
dreams are things we chase down dark alley ways
only to watch them escape us

she damns every man who says so

she's determined to catch up with every one of her dreams
yeah
a dream catcher of sorts
she puts on her gloves and steps out in the mud
ready to catch whatever the universe tosses her way
or even just the ripe fruit falling from the trees in her dreams

in her dreams,
she sprouts like fresh seeds pressed into fertile dirt.
she's constantly stretching farther and farther
in a futile attempt to finally reach the sun.
she closes her eyes
and sees rows and rows of lemon trees and strawberries,
mango groves and avocados.
she loves to feed the earth,
to give birth to something living that's incapable of denying,
or betraying,
her love.
she wants to feed almost everyone she meets.
set them down and wash their feet,
fill their cups and watch them leave.
she hopes that one day,
someone will ask to stay.
a boy whose heart is in need of mending,
or a man with hands that could move mountains.
maybe, one day.
she wants a farm-
a limitless garden to stretch as far as her eyes will let her see.
maybe just a bohdi tree to sit beneath,
a place to stay and wait to be buried by the leaves.
just for now, anyway.
she needs a home where she can be by herself without feeling alone.
she needs somewhere that she's meant to be.
supposedly,
dreams are things we chase down dark alley ways,
only to watch them escape us.
she damns every man who says so.
she's determined to catch up with every one of her dreams-
yeah,
a dream catcher of sorts.
she puts on her gloves and steps out in the mud,
ready to catch whatever the universe tosses her way...
or even just the ripe fruit falling from the trees in her dreams.

thoughts of you come in pairs
     like stanzas of the most beautiful poem ever written

yes
          you

you read like an open book
tattooed with elloquent confessions
and articulate interpretations of the thrum of existence

i'd trade any gem
from the shelves of my library
to be able to run my fingers down your dusty spine once more
     and read your vertebrae like braille
my phalanges eagerly slurping the sweetness of your flesh

oh
          you

sole proprietor of the laylines of my fingertips
     well versed in the science of touch

the world-class professor of the art of feeling
     you taught me to feel everything
in a blurb of sunlit hours

ah
          what i'd give
          to be a page-number in your story

the pendulum princess taps her pen on the desk
as the dogs whimper in their sleep
and the trees wrap themselves in the witching-hour starlight

the silence suddenly seems so frantic

i swear
i can hear my skin shrinking

the wind slithers over the roof
whispering through the moon beams
in hopes of finding someone to snuggle up with

at least i'm not the only one who's sick of sleeping alone

my body no longer feels like home
my bones creak like splintering floorboards under stubbed toes
my head's busy running in circles of constant contemplation
     am i awake
             or am i dreaming?
        was that a sigh
                or am i screaming?

buzzing like a firefly
trapped between a ***** countertop and a frosted beer mug

three weeks of bed rest
(and counting)
and all that's grown stronger
is my understanding of exhaustion

the worst part about people
whom understand nothing about themselves
     is their incessant need to pretend
as if they can see so clearly
through the dusty corners of each other's secrets

the way that your hands fit into your pockets
makes it seem like you've got secrets
hiding in the creases of your palms
i wanna unravel your white-knuckled fists
and read the braille of your fingertps aloud
to a crowd of strangers

let me type my philosophies out
along the margin of your spine
in morse code

i'm the best story i've ever told

i can hear the strength in your voice flex when you laugh
something about that giggle of yours
could iron the wrinkled mountains down
and lie them flat on their backs
along the hem of the sea

i'm uncertain if your eyes are blue
or if they're grey
either way
i have to try my damndest not to climb inside
and hide
tuck myself behind your irises
and watch the gulls go by
from that distant shore

the thought brings me terror

i've had so many nightmares of being
crushed by the ocean's mighty limbs
lost forever
broken
at the bottom of a beautiful abyss

i wake unsure that i was even sleeping

       ...i found you on the dock
whistling sailor tunes

i'm doomed

the train whistles lull me to a dusty sleep
     an ancient sleep
primitive and timeless as the sage
          it tastes like rain
          and reads like a folk song

and when the engine songs are gone
the interstate strikes up it's serenade
     flooding my heart valves with gasoline
     and valvoline
     and the smile of what i can only hope to imagine are young lovers
with a fiesty case of wanderlust
and a puppy in the back seat
with a wagging tail

"happy trails" i whisper
and the stars flicker
and i smile

the walls let their secrets slide while they sleep
     all those restless memories they keep for themselves
floating around
and settling in the parlor dust

they trust me just enough
to let me cradle them in my chest
woven between my rebar ribs
and my flat-tire heart
     thud thud thudding as it speeds off into the distance

the dogs rustle the sheets as they rise
     just long enough to sigh
          dance a sleepy circle and a half
and put themselves back to bed

i finally crawl out from inside my noisy head
as the boy nestles up to my neck
and traces my clavical with his humid breath
and ropes me in closer to his chest
     with his big bear arms

his heart sings like a fire alarm
stirring the brave to save me from the shadows
     and chase the ghosts from my gallows
          and he even lets out puppy snores in his sleep
the tune that finally pirouettes me towards my dreams

where the birds sing like drunken sailors in the mango groves
and the rows and rows of lime trees
     my heart and mind innertwined to paint me a scene i've never even seen
          not with my own eyes

it's so nice to think it's within me
and not without me

yes
     for every sound, a source

soft spoken secrets slice through the silence
     like coffee-breathed cannonballs
sent shamelessly into the space between
          who we are
               and who we will be

the smile in your eyes makes it seem
as if you really see me

pinned beneath a perfectly blue egyptian cotton sky
     and a lake-shore brown box-spring earth
          you stretch yourself thin
     thin as eyelash lace across a freckled chest
     thin enough to let the sunshine gleam through
          through all your light and magic
               reflecting pure stardust onto my my blank screened flesh

i've never felt as beautiful
as it is to be tangled up in you

extremities snagging one another
     in a devine blend
          of feverish feinding
               and something far more freeing

     i'd trade my unsteady pulse
     for every day to begin this way
drenched in poetry
and morning dew
and crazed, excited grinning

how about you toss me a post-card
     through our dreaming
     one of these evenings

          yes

my heart strings are singing

     this is the beging of a story
that i quite like