i remember you
you wore your smile the way a traveler wears a pack
it was everything

your eyes were bright with adventure
glaciers tucked into the folds of the rockies
blue
i'm blue too

i thought i lost you
four years ago today
the phone rang like funeral bells
i answered like a murderer expecting to find a detective at the door

the hospital still makes me sick
i can't forget it
all of your friends who always seemed as strong as sequoias
strewn across the floor
faces painted with snot smears and tear stains

i thought i lost you
under sagging soil and a painted headstone
there in the pines above the river valley
laughter traded for the footsteps of the saddest parade
i tried to say goodbye

but i found you
there in your sisters smile
and in the movie theater aisle
and parked in a little rusty black truck in front of my parents house

i find you everywhere
while i giggle
and sing
and tell the people i love how much i do love them
you're there

doing the chicken dance behind the arresting officer

thanks for reminding me to smile

frank sinatra still sings me to sleep
the same way that you'd shake me from a nightmare
     it's soothing
yet somehow reminiscent of chicago's smog

i wake half-shaken
and half ready to light up a spliff
right where i sit
     wherever it is that i'm sitting
or am i standing?

and is it too demanding to ask
that you laugh
when you've got a cameo
in my drip-stained dreams?
     ****
all i'm asking for is a laugh
     anything
          really
other than a gap-mouthed gasp

that's all i ask

well
there's that
    
and...
          maybe you could show your face
          for just one or two milliseconds longer

"just think of  all the things
that the whales and dolphins could teach us"
     she says
ashing her cigarette
with a cheeky grin

happy mother's day

pizza and beer and tequilla
and all that i can think
     is how proud it makes me
to know that she's the home i came from

i want to tell you all of my secrets.
i'll write them down on the back of a torn up map,
and cram them into a jar for you to set atop your desk and ponder.
something about the way that you speak
sounds an awful lot like all of my walls tumbling down to the ground.
i'd even let you pass the guards,
if you'd just ask,
but you won't.
maybe we could make a trade;
you could carry around my burdens for a bit,
and forget all about yours.
and in return,
i'll hold you the way that your rib cage cradles your heart-
intently,
and with the sole purpose of protecting something important.
at least,
i think you're important.
if only i knew what you think.
but you keep those prized gems to yourself,
thrown about your head in a "shouda-coulda-woulda" past tense.
i just hope you think of me.
as a face with an identity,
and not just as a place to fall asleep.
i'm only boring when they expect it of  me.
so how about we try something new?
let's cut the shakespearean bull-**** and jedi mind-tricks
and just tell each other the truth.
**** poetic justice,
let's cut to the chase:
i'm done chasing cars whose traffic boots have begun to rust.
so dust off your unravelling heart-strings and strike a chord within me,
and maybe then you'll be convinced to sing along.
see,
love songs are for the birds,
love poems are for the lost,
and love itself will always evade me.
prove me wrong.
lace up your boots and run for once.
prove to me that YOU like the hunt,
and that i'm worthy of your crooked arrow's fire.
take my breath away,
with the intentions of leaving it that way,
instead of in hopes of a few hours of restless companionship.
despite popular belief,
worth isn't proven between the sheets,
that's where it's meant to be honored,
addressed,
nourished.
a woman of intelligence is far more exciting
than a dolled-up piece of meat,
and all it takes to catch a good one,
is to try.
i know **** well that i'm worth every single one of saturn's rings,
but i guess i'll wait
and see what you think.

perhaps
if there were spaces
     gaps left in the english language

places meant for characters left to be invented

maybe
if there were phrases
     and definitions
yet to be coined

i could finally tell the whole truth
about me
     and the monsters in my head

she'd weave secrets the size of osiris
into her honey-dripping locks
while watering the lawn
     beer and juice in the same glass that i first drank from

who'd have guessed
that all "growing up" meant
     was accepting the fact
that our parents made masterpieces in their sleep

another year older
but it feels as if a life time has passed since i last stood in this place
my face hasn't aged
     per-say
just changed

there isn't a **** thing that stays the same
these days

the boys are going grey
the girls have all run away
and those who haven't
     stayed behind to master the art of procreation
we haven't been bright eyed kids
for quite some time now

we cry now
twice as often
and thrice as sly
our eyes stay dry in the daylight
for the sake of acting strong for those we love
but we'd love nothing more to unwind
to hide behind the curtains
     and watch our sorrows flow downward
forever pirouetting towards the sea

happy birthday to me

birthday cake taste like a musty wake
when layered with day-old whiskey breath
and somber advice for the future
shared by older souls
     my best-dressed celebration turned death-day contemplation by the ill-fated sands of time

hot ****
     i'm getting way too old for this ****

i spent twenty years day-dreaming of a love
that i finally found
     when i found you
and it's true
          love hurts

but what's worse
is holding on to a kite's string
     long after the kite broke free

you're not coming back to me


     so this is what letting go tastes like
               whiskey and salt water

i lick the rain from my lips
and kiss the moon goodnight in hopes of tasting the stars that you dream under
when you're lucky enough to sleep beneath a clear sky
and for your sake
i hope the clouds will always part for you come nightfall

and i wish the sun to dance across the apples of your cheeks as you smile
as sunbeams dot your face with pigmented music notes
and constellations waiting to be named

i hope you're smiling now
and day-dreaming
of rugged landscapes fading to rust as the thunder whispers the blues through the stillest night

i hope you smile when you think of me

seated around a cluttered table with extension cord lighting and a cheap beer
or rambling down a dirt road
or a metra track

don't forget that i'm magic
and that you are too

i hope that your favorite flowers bloom in fragrant plumes wafting high enough to cross the heavily guarded walls you've resurrected

i hope you won't spend a single second scared
or lonely
out there in the "great wide open"

but mostly i hope you'll never forget the road back west
to the desert dust i flourish in

i dreamt of bathing
in the condensation pools
left spilling onto car-door handles
by words we half-whispered so many moons ago

i imagine it felt an awful lot
like the way you felt
when you were eight years old
and your mother's minister
lowered your head into that stream

     something you'd thought you'd wanted
until the moment showed it's teeth

back to the days of dandelion dreaming
     tasting the sweetness at the center
     and squeezing the sap from the stems
onto our dirt dusted hands
          frantic finger-painting on the cement dance floor that we bloomed from

back to the sage-dressed lake bed
     she laughs
and boasts silently to the sky of her emerald depths
     i laugh
and boast ineloquently to the bottle's neck of my mermadic swimming
          always got my head beneath the surface
     but this isn't suffocation
               no
          just transformation

i am on the rise

back to the nights of meteor showers at the top of the world
from the hood of my car
     sharing candy bars and over-ripe secrets
it's the browning fruit that tastes the sweetest
          so freedom must be the color of garden soil
     or maybe just the same shade as your eyes

back to the laughter
erupting from our child-like bellies
like hot water
     from granite springs themselves
remember?

back to the tents
     and firepits
     and unmapped road trips with no end in sight

back to the chapter
with the "happily-ever-after"
     and the monsters under the bed packing up for a holiday in spain

back to the light
that's how i'll survive

the moment that i laid eyes on you
     time simply ceased to be

the globe stopped its spinning
and the lights started dimming
     and the heathens began their fevered singing
          and i forgot just who i was

the instant that your eyes fell upon my frame
     i got thrown back into reality again
          and i crash landed feet-first into a chair

          it was fair
     we both had to stifle our giggling

you spoke smoothly
     almost orchestrally
some sort of poetic sing-song
          heavily laced with the accent of the place that i hope to someday find you

               "chicago, chicago, that toddling town..."

i hope i find you soon
     wearing that same sleepy looking smile
     and your news-boy cap
     and that shoulder strap sack that i'd like to think you kept stuffed to the brim with college-rulled ball-point ballet

but that was years ago
     now there's more than just arrhythmias and murmurs and excited flesh between our heavy chests
now there's lines drawn between our toes

lines scratched into the sands of time with the force of lightning's strike
          
          worry lines
          telephone lines
          state lines
               lines that furrow across the face of the map

     things tend to fade out like that
the way the last track on your favorite record fades slowly to the sound of a skipping needle
          
i'm still unsure if i imagined you into existence
     or if you only existed in my imagination
either way
          i wish you'd have stayed a while longer

it's all faded two-lanes;
cracking blacktop winding from high hopes to low lives,
the question is: what we're seeking in between.
it's strange to me,
how many days are wasted by the thoughtfully confused
waiting around all day to see what it means...
it doesn't mean anything.
unless you make it.
so climb back into the saddle with your heart set ablaze,
and tear it all down.
shred the scenery to scrapbook confetti
and sculpt the life you've always wanted from the raw earth yourself.
make yourself proud.
and gracious
and elloquent
and kind.
decide for yourself.
rediscover the truths you held dear when you were young,
before they taught you what to think and how to feel.
revert to your innocence and follow your heart,
and the feeling you've had in your gut all along.
paint your own sunset
and moon rise
and everything in between.
make yourself a masterpiece.
be who you've always wanted to be-
**** the social blue-print.
the only expectations you should ever feel obligated to meet
are your own.
make yourself proud for once,
who gives a **** about the crowd.
plow through the rust coated foundations
and bathe them in gold spray paint.
turn your life into the taj majol.
make your heart into the lourve.
and let your soul defy all definitions-
be as free as you've always wanted to be.
you are the gorgeous by-product of thousands of millions of years of evolution;
start acting like it.
ignore those sharp spoken whispers of doubt that flood your mind
at any given time-
you are priceless and magical,
mystical and strange by definition.
welcome to the human race,
but first,
stop running.
park your *** in the fresh cut grass and just breathe.
deep.
smile hard,
blissful and honest,
until your face gets sick of it.
just smile;
it feels so wonderful to be happy.
say thank you,
for EVERYTHING,
and mean it.
who you were yesterday is gone forever,
but who you were today decides what shoes you'll be walking in tomorrow.
be good,
and happy,
and honest.
life itself will return the favor.

i find myself
     fly-bi-nightly
dancing a razor thin line
between hating myself
     and giving you the blame

it's been so long since i last slept

so here
     this time i brought something for you

          take it


i made it for you
from scratch
     and i wrapped it in the flesh of that lone oak
     that you'd thoughtlessly carved our names in
          outlined in a school-boy heart
     coupled with the word "forever"

silly little man-cub

     always raising your voice over terms you can't define

i tried to write you a letter
     once
but was unsure of the address for the heavens where you shine
     not "Heaven"
          per say
but the stars that gained your carbon as you selflessly gave it away

          turns out celestial bodies aren't listed in the yellowpages

i tried sending you smoke signals
     twice
but the message was so **** long
  and it read more like a song
    and you never much liked my lyrics anyway

i moved on to morse code
     spent night after night lying on my back with a flashlight
dripping ceasless patterns of dots and dashes into that murky blue puddle of midnight sky
     as if maybe you'd reply
with a simple "hush"
and a shyly sigh

          it finally dawned on me that you probably couldn't decode it
          that your parents probably never made you learn
               i cursed them for not teaching you how best to reach me

now
     i'm getting older
and colder
and alot less wide-eyed and hopeful

now
     i just hope you can hear me speak

the click in the back of my throat that comes with trying not to cry
the sincerity in my 'love you's
  and my 'miss you's
    and in my uncensored ungaurded love that i ash onto your headstone from the end of my pregnant joints

now
     i just hope you can taste the beers i bring to share with you
as i'm rambling along the rails of my de-railing train of thought
and ripping through that sixer i brought
          you and your cheap taste in beer

i hide the bottle caps in those little metal vases that your mom keeps filled with florist foam
     and different colored silk lillies
          they always look so nice

now
     i just hope you can read me
better than you ever could before

i hope you've decoded the lines in my palms
and the ***** of my feet
and the cracks in my nicotine teeth
     as i'm smiling wildly at the earth that keeps your ashes safe
          close to her breaking heart

i hope you can read the quotation atop your grave
     i'd have never imagined that the one permanent thing i could ever give you
          was the last line
          of the last text
          that i'd ever send your way

i meant it back then
but now
      it means so much more

"sleep sweetly, philly, you will never be forgotten"

i still can't write when i think of you
     my mind becomes clouded with scenes of the rearview
and of your freckles, too
and hidden hazel curls tucked beneath that dusty wollen brim
          
     oh, how i long to be the feather so lucky as to live above it

but sometimes we feel things
that can never be taken back
     not for a refund
     and certainly not for exchange

sometimes our hearts know more than our heads ever could

and your pulse should no longer be on the tip of my tounge
or the wheeze in my lungs
     though i'm starting to think that you'll always be

four years of scribbling nonsense
     and you're still the well that my pen tirelessly drinks from

the wind stirs her from her sleep as it tap dances through the leaves,
and once again she finds herself with a hastily rolled joint on the front patio at two a.m.
maybe tonight she'll finally make sense of something.
cursed to the perpetual contemplation of theories she can't even pronounce,
her gaze is fixed to the lights of the night sky.
she want's so badly to join them.
a child sculpted of raw stardust can't rest due to obsessions involving her ancestry.
so the match is struck 
and the dark loosens up 
just long enough for her to remember she's still stuck to the ground;
it's enough to make any celestial being feel worthless.
but she's priceless...
she just doesn't know it yet.
sometimes she swears she can feel the force of the entire universe's sway
tugging on her heart strings,
pulling her in synch with the pulse of all of existence.
she often just dismisses it as vertigo and takes another hit.
she doesn't get it.
the stars burn in the static hum of limitless outreach and await the painstaking instant that they'll finally collide,
maybe even just scrape against one another...
it's lonely up there in outer space.
the planets space themselves strategically to avoid the tug of one another's gravity,
aiming to dodge the speeding bullet of affection and the promise of separation it inevitably brings.
but she's out there in saturn's rings adorning herself in comet's tails and waiting for a show...
stubbornly certain that she couldn't possibly be alone.
not forever, anyway.
she hopes.
telescopes lenses eventually shift,
distorting our self-made image of reality...
we can't place bets on much of anything, anymore.
there's so much to be left invisible,
and mystical,
and made up as we go.
we may be going nowhere,
but we hitch our ride in style.
pretty painted marbles spinning circles on rutted sidewalks dance in tune...
side stepping around a bright star at center stage.
she thinks of herself as just a flea in the wardrobe,
maybe things will stay simple that way.
the roach scorches fingertips,
and she hurls it toward the earth...
drawing her attention back to the ***** parking lot beneath her feet,
and the promise that sleep will bring something new to dream.

how could i ever expect to believe
that you understand
when you and i both know
     we see the world through different eyes

you don't see the monsters
who hide beneath my eyelids
you don't hear the things they whisper whilst i sleep
     you don't see my ****** up dreams

and yes
     i'd love for you to stay
and i do taste your flesh
          in the way you say "i know"

but
     no
you don't

so
     know this

this is why i rush you to leave
why i won't let you say "need"
     why i lock the door

this is why you DO want me more

          because i like you too much to break you
     and i'd hate to share with you my shadows

the snowfall came tumbling down
   resting sweetly on my eyelashes and toes
like the feathers of one million unfortunate doves
     that dad popped in the chest
     with his pellet gun

once upon a time,
a doctor told her that her heart was broken.
a war drum with a worn-out head,
just waiting to bust.
now her nightmares of heart-attacks haunt her at all hours;
she hates knowing that she's destined to beat herself to death.
she's never felt this worthless.
lately,
she's been wondering what drownding feels like,
she never thought it a topic to ponder,
but the water makes her feel so free.
she'd so much rather rest beneath the waves
than sit and wait for her engine to fail.
maybe she should fly more often,
tossing back tiny bottle after tiny bottle
of six dollar whiskey,
fingers crossed that they'll all fall down into the sea.
she'll sink if she tries hard enough.
a heart condition translates directly into
"incapable of loving, or ever being loved"
in her eyes,
so why ******* try.
now she burns bridges like roman candles
and shells out all her cash on any day that rent isn't due;
no point in holding on to what you can't take with you.
she stains her flesh instead.
words she only wishes you'd have whispered in her ears instead of stuffing them into envelopes,
her favorite flower,
and a hawk feather,
for whatever luck she can get.
sometimes,
during her morning cigarette,
she laces up her sneakers and bolts,
as fast as she can in any direction,
just to see if her heart can take the heat of her heavy feet skimming over the street.
the engine in her chest revs loudly,
like the car of a teenage boy.
they're all little boys-
she's a woman.
she's pretty positive that everyone cries at night-
even the dogs and the crickets and the birds.
we've all got nightmares,
hers just happen to seep out and taint the daylight.
what she needs,
is to befriend the monster under her bed.
he can feed on her inner demons and stitch up her heart with his glaring smile,
and hazle eyes.
in turn,
she'll share her bed
and now and then,
he can rest his head on her chest and translate the siren songs of her unsteady pulse.
she needs a ******* friend.
one who always cares instead of a good few who only ocasionally pretend to.
someone who's more than willing to walk a few blocks to dollar beer night,
and braid her hair for her while she yaks in the trash out back.
yeah, something like that.
it's her heart,
not yours.
or yours or yours or yours.
but her's,
and it hurts.
it races all night like nascar rednecks who pointlessly drive in circles for hours.
don't tell her how to fix it,
or not to worry,
or that everything is going to be fine.
it's not.
it's her heart,
and it hurts.

an eastern mystic
peddling medicine in the west
pouring holistic healing over sun-soaked lips with every word
magic

fare-faced grinning boy with the same broken heart...
i wanna fix it
with little calloused hands
and miles of fading blacktop dressed in laughter

deliberate steps
forging a trail straight to the stars
built of mead compositional notebooks 
and sentences tied together by hand
a literary fingerprint on a freshly cleaned pane of glass

stardust prophet
moon-beam traveler...
translate the fault lines into tangible fact
fill my flask with daylight dreams 
let's split a glass of imagery and toast to roads yet to be traveled

you are lightning
ripping through the sky at the speed of light
as you tap-dance your way through tall tales
of cowboys
and of hit men
and of strangers faces painted familiar by the dark


they say that time repeats itself
like an unintelligent little girl babbling in the mirror
only so many moments pass
until you're destined to hear the same futile points
for the forth or fifth 
or sixth time

...i've never been like "them"
i say time removes itself from the equation completely
when hearts skip beats to the same rhythmic pattern
of line breaks and voices rising behind a stale microphone
on a dimly lit stage


never fool yourself into believing 
that you were getting what you deserved
when forced to taste the dirt
you are meant to feast on sky
and sky alone will grow you wings

never settle on a good thing when the stars themselves wish you the best

i still see you in my dreams

     you come and go in flashes of raw and sacred light
like heat lightning
     a mile and one half downstream
from my not-so-secret hide-out
amongst the limping cedars and smouldering sage

          and i?
i am the thunder

tap-dancing my way
through the ill-reviewed chapters of your life
     the same way that your nothern lights glow
through every lifetime of mine

          i found you, once
          and i'm miserable at letting go

for, oh
     you move so slow
          yet you're somehow far too hot to trail
like a commet lusting after its own tail
lacing our solar system
with the whimsy of wishes to throw in the air
     or the well
     or at the man in the sky
          who promises to keep us from hell

     it's just so bizzare
          how i find your missing heartbeat
               in every stray that mine picks up
and the way that you're stitched to my sole
     like my shadow's lone companion

some women call their bodies home to something greater

     me?
my body's a burial ground
for dreams i found
     and lost
just as quickly

i'm a canvas
void of my own expression yet riddled with scars
left behind by precious little ghosts
     and their lack of confession

there are nights where your absence chokes out my breath
and the only way i can finally rest
     is to heavy-handedly pull at the tides of my brew
          the way you'd paw at the hips of my skirt
          silently signaling you'd finally had too much to drink

your lack of grace illuminated
in whiskey-breath
and neon jukebox glow

so off we'd go
     leading the liqour-lust parade
     trailing downpours of drink chips in our wake
and you'd take up my hand
in your forklift phalanges

such a prideful little man-cub
with a puffed out chest and a leather vest
     only softening your edges in the sanctity of my lumpy bed
     when you've got the chance to rest your noisy head atop my naked breast

oh you rusted demi-god
though i do miss the struggle
and the snuggles
and the ***
          i'll be just fine with my growler of stout
          and your leftover whiskey in the freezer
forgetting what i'd learn
during our staggered steps home

the clouds are breaking
slowly
and sweetly
and just enough to let ribbons of sunlight splash down on our faces

let's play today
let's fill the car with gas
and beer
and horseshoes
and disappear for a few hours on end
further south
on the lake shore
let's run rampant today
kick off our shoes and paddle over the cracking pavement barefoot
at full speed
and full of laughter
let's jump in the puddles
and build in the mud
and dance in the wild flowers like we used to
before we learned that others may be watching

let's fly a kite
unfathomably high
upwards enough to tap-dance through the rings of saturn
and scoop us up some treasures-
astrological costume jewelry just waiting to be adorned
let's sing like we aren't afraid
snap our way to center stage
and bathe in sweltering limelight for the world to hear
we'll sing away all our blues
and the rest of the world's blues too
let's jump off the high cliffs
in our steam pressed sunday best
to show at least ourselves
we're all we've got to impress
and as we're weightless and pressurized
beneath the surface of a glossy green lake
let the buttons
and cufflinks
and pearl earrings fall away
so we can see ourselves some clean way
again

let's forget
let us never remember being scared
and lonely
and lost
at cumbersome crossroads of the past
let's rebuild ourselves from scratch
press stardust and dirt
from the ground up
to make us new
and real
and something we can finally feel proud of
let's be magic
light in the dark
and love to the lost
we can heal hearts
we can hold hands
we can be friends
and be happy

let's play today

the morning after always hurts the worst
hazy brain
summersault stomach
and where in the hell is my car

i want a pizza
or two

it was nice to see you
i've missed your smile
and condensed stare
and the shape that your lips make while you confess your love to the beer bottle's neck

that explains the jameson
and all the beers at the bar
the beer bongs at the after party
and why i could stomach the strippers

it was all you
so nice to see you

why do i always feel guilty when the sun comes up

no one got a black eye
i didn't grab the mic
and my clothes stayed on until i was safely home
although
the cab driver may have caught a glance

to think
i'm "all grown up"

i'm not at all sorry
not for the whiskey gut
or the fire i'll throw up
or the kisses that i didn't plant along your collar
i'm still the same floral-print ship-wreck at the bottom of the bottle

my mother once said that the only people worth clinging to
are those who see all of your greatness outweighing your flaws

you still see the holes in my tights
and my falling hem line
not the honey sweet legs they shape
or the hips and thighs that the denim hides
i'll be just fine as the german genie in the bottle of irish whiskey

witty
and slack-jawed
and ready to kiss the lips off the face of the clock
and two shots away from dancing with the cops
i look great in hand-cuffs
i'll whistle the whole way to jail

small victories weigh the most
and right now
i feel like muhammed ali

thanks, babe

here's two asprin that glow better than your eyes
and they're mine
waiting to chase away the pain that came up with the sun
here's to endings that aren't a safe bet
here's to sleeping alone
here's to new mistakes
just waiting to happen

*water never tasted so good to me

i found a weathered love note pressed into the breast pocket of a second hand wool coat...
the year pre-dates my existence,
but it's addressed to me and signed with a moon beam.
it reads like a perfectly orchestrated symphony of strings of small silver bells swinging from the trees in a breeze,
and a melancholy hum of distant thunder as her luminous soul mate tap-dances his way through humid states in flashes of raw,
and sacred light.
it reads like an epitaph-
a stumbled upon testimony to the life of a stranger that makes you fall to your knees
that simply begs you to weep...
and to wonder;
if you should have said goodbye...
or if you could have locked the open door long before the sweetness of life you so surely insist that you've found fled through it.
it reads like a note taped to the bathroom mirror in the handwriting of a concerned friend...
reminding you of your likely survival,
of the possibilities of each and every sunrise,
and of dollar beer night down town.
it reads like the author had meant it.

"my dearest stardust," it begins,
"how forcefully bright you are destined to shine...
you are built of light,
of ancient celestial wisdom.
you're a beacon
a light house on a foggy shore guiding lonely sailors back to where their hearts belong.
your heart-songs are the articulacy of a thousand life-times forgotten.
each note flies from your lips as you forge them with force...
like speeding bullets sent out into the universe destined to slay the way we fear ourselves.
don't let the darkness find you;
never let anything thin out your glow or drown out your melody.
you are magic;
the type of thing we cling to-
as children and as dreamers.
you are a mother to every orphaned flight plan and exit strategy...
an escape artist painting door frames on surfaces not meant to be defaced.
you end up everywhere,
and you have everywhere to run.
you overflow from poorly stretched canvasses,
to broken spines of dusty books,
and back into the heart of a lonely traveler's compass rose.
let your self be magic
be aqueous
be fluid and refreshing like the rain-storm that you are.
you're the desert
the sands of time
you're quickly fleeting and quick to run.
you're a dying breed.
and we,
the lights of the sky,
treasure you.
we remind you of this in every comet's tail and every clear wyoming night sky.
all of our love."

and i can feel it
flashing before me in every stranger's eyes
it is real...
we are magic.

he whispered secrets in my ear
as i'd weave tall tales in his chin hair
     and still to this day
          we each swear
there was nothing there

other than the static charge in the sexed up air
and the moon beams
     tangled in our thunderstorm breathing

a light breeze stirs the tops of the trees into a tantric dance
in a section of the sky i've only ever dreamt of thriving in.
magic stirs the dust...
and it coats my eyelashes and the undersides of my finger-nails,
and falls from my skin softly-
the way stars descend through atmospheres.
there is sweetness in the air.
moon-beams basket-weave through night-sky hair
and tap-dance their way around my neck,
adorning me in their celestial secrets.
i create and name my own constellations
from the vantage point of a little girl beneath a big sky,
connecting distant points of light with nebulous-lassos flying from my fingertips.
i am golden.
in this moment,
i am beautiful...
if only i could remember.
preserve this feeling right now-
scoop it from the encroaching dusk,
and trap it in a glass bell jar like a firefly,
and feed on its light forever.
if i could remember that i do love myself-
maybe i'll survive...
perhaps even flourish.

rebellious song birds whisper through the night-
accompanying the melody of breaking waves-
a lullaby from the universe that only i will ever know.
i hum along in thoughtful bliss.
this ends the separation-
from myself,
from loving,
from FEELING;
right now i feel everything.
love,
light,
warmth,
beauty,
and the courage necessary to finally acquire a sense of freedom that can never die.
i am living,
to the very best of the definition...
that's got to be enough for you-
for ALL of you-
because i finally see that it's enough for me...

and for the stars.

he used to range off-key
on nights he'd sing to me
          and i?
     well i'd fake a smile
and pretend to not account for
the fire running my spine
that never let me whisper to his lobes
     "you're doing fine"

i just couldn't lie
to a face like a shelter dog's

and he'd lay next to me
     sawing logs
as if he couldn't even be bothered to dream
as if all screens are unwelcome
when what you're trying to stitch is a sail

     another night time nice guy
with a needle between his teeth
faking bonds between the bed sheets

          those sheets though?
          those sheets got me

if my whiskey breath meant
that my tounge was slinging poetry

     how many sonnets
     are you yet to hear me speak?

i broke my teeth
on the secrets you keep
     and you swear that i'd died in the morning.

if simplicity was what you'd wanted
     i'd have adorned myself in complexities
and have finally learned to dance

i still leave you love poems on crumbling walls
     like rust-stains on canvas yet to be stretched

there isn't a message yet

but in my dreams
you somehow see it all for what it means
following the commas and line-breaks
right back to where you left me
     and we finally allow ourselves
     to share the light necessary for life to grow



i awake in the morning with whiskey breath
and aerosol stained fingertips

     *can't you hear me slinging siren songs
     across the distances we keep
          while fast asleep?

i wish i were a sea shell

a perfect spiral fit to be cradled in your palm
something for you to focus on
when the noise you've spent so long focusing on
becomes too much to interpret

i wish i were a sea shell

a direct line between you and the cosmos
the etherial red phone
you press to your ear to hear what your heart already knows your brain needs reminded of
     the swish of blood and grey matter
that steadies your flippant pulse

i wish i were a sea shell
deemed too relevant upon your moment of discovery
to leave at rest with the other detritus
exposed at low-tide

i fall in love a dozen times a day

with lips as they dance on a down-turned face
with the wilting words they say
with that same face
     when it takes the shape of a reaction

you'll get distracted
     when our eyes cross like sci-fi light beams
and it will seem as if i'm looking at you the same way that i bat my lashes through the telescope's lens

          it doesn't depend on much

just that we so happen to share the same space
     and an eerily simular pulse

sunrise sounds like the earth itself is waking

crack the back
     and rise

i lick the dust from my lips

     the taste of iron
     salt
          stardust

communion

this dirt is my altar

     the flora
my patroned saints
     the fauna
my goddess in swing
     the wind

my baptismal cleanse


     oh

and i

the wide eyed game-trail wanderer
     child of mud and snow
it's of the earth i'm crafted
and back to the stars that i'll go

he always insisted
i needed something to believe in
     yet he scoffed
          attempted to laugh it off
when i promised that i built stonehenge
     and the great pyramids
    
     ground his teeth as i whispered
that the world found cuneiform by my hands

     and he dropped me off
when i elaborated on the day
i walked away from babylon's tower


so
     off he galloped forever
          destined never to understand the factual weight of one's dreams

if i could write the way that you'd speak
my days of slinging beer would be behind me
     and i'd be sinking my teeth in to my third or fourth release

i just can't remember your voice

but i do remember your eyes
and if i could paint anything as gorgeous
as the way that you saw the world around you
     i might finally understand what you were always trying show me

i'm miserable at sorting through clues
     though i have been spending nights on end
sifting and measuring the magic of you
that still can't evade me

we spoke through the silence of shadow-puppets
on a borrowed brick wall stage
     we'd made our home

we'd whisper secrets to each other
in the same morse-code voices
     that flashlights use to speak to the stars

i guess you were right
you really could fold space like a map
and you really did punch right through it

we broke the wishbone
you got the wish
i got a splinter

that's how it goes

fare faced grinning fool
     oh, how easy it'd be
for me to be jealous of you, brother
the boy who couldn't be stopped
the man that the wind whispers to

you are magic
you are busy lights on an empty stretch of I80
the swell of drum beats over silence
the giggle-fit tear stains on the universe's cheek

baby boy
wide eyed man-cub

the world tried to steal you
once
all those years ago
and you
you defiant son-of-a-gun
refused to bow to even death
     the laugh lines at the end of a blank heart rate

thanks for never leaving me behind

you take nothing seriously
except dreams and funerals
and the call of the moon

"no matter where you are in life
no matter how noisy it gets
or how badly it hurts
you have to throw on the brakes now and then
just slow down
and turn your eyes to the sky
and howl
like a ravid coyote
howl at the moon"

"remind existence that you won't go quietly"

when i was six
dad told me that he and mom
had made us out of stardust
and magic
and beer caps
and fossils
     that they made us out of treasure

you're my treasure
and the temple of my dreams
you're my map
my back pack
my adventure hat
and the voice in my head that laughs
and calls me a *******

we are not human beings on a spiritual endeavor
but spiritual beings
bound to a human medium

how very thankful i am to be tethered to you

they've been sitting here since the night Christ died
     sharing stale conversation
     and lukewarm beer

her hair is multi-faceted -
it wasn't until recently that she noticed.
one day,
she climbed out of the shower
and looked in the mirror
to see a cascade of the colors of her three favorite beers,
wrapping around her like a robe.
it was the first time in her life that she realized she was beautiful.
ever since,
she's been unstoppable.
now every day is a good day,
even the ones that hurt.
she finally understands that you can't have shadows without the sun,
you can't fear if you've never had fun,
and that it is utterly impossible to love -or be loved- if you don't love yourself.
life is good, again.
she's her own friend, again.
suddenly, she sees everything the way she did as a child.
everything is crystalline and inviting-
the world itself is her own magical kingdom.
with a smile on her face,
she's capable of anything.
she's a true find;
the bar keep who'll keep feeding you drinks long after your cash is all spent,
she somehow manages to see anyone with kind eyes as an old friend...
she feels like she's known everyone for lifetimes.
the only challenge she gives herself anymore,
is to make a smile of every frown.
she just wants someone to laugh with.
to dance with,
to turn everyday into a holiday for.
let her celebrate YOUR life.
and yours, and yours, and yours.
let her make you proud...
to be human,
if nothing else.
let her adorn you in the fractured bones of her oldest stories.
let her weave her favorite songs into your hair.
just stay and play,
at least for the day,
and when she's done with you,
carry yourself a completely different way than you ever have before.
be something new.
try to love yourself even a fraction of how much she loved you before she even knew your name,
and remember to smile.

today
     my father
beneath all his grey hair and wisdom

asked what it says about our world
that we tell our children tales
of masked heroes
     brave enough to face monsters
          of cloaked men who stand up against oppression
          against carelessness
          against greed

why do we teach the youth
that the brave should hide their true identity
     that they should act ashamed of their valor

              
               i hid my face in fear of recognition
                    and wiped a renegade tear

there's something in the way in which grown men cry
          that begs us to fall to our knees
     and weep
for the heart ache that we've given to our fathers

i'm never entirely sure
where my bruises come from
but their presence is strangely pleasant
     like a voice message left by a moment
     so very long-forgotten

i've gotten awful far by going nowhere

just look how i glisten
listening to secrets sliding
through the near silence of no place private
slightly derranged and completely distant
     lovely
and removed from social soliloquies
     to the self appointed throne of thoughtful longing

belonging's just such a bore
     when you're built to scream to existence
     like a super-nova through a telescope's lense

now and then
i catch the dream screen wrinkling
and reality begins thinning
     like the hair on the crown of your head

it's then that i wonder
if we're stationary when we rest
     or if we're truly capable
     of traveling both space and time
     with just the silken strength of our sleepy synapses

do our lines connect
when we're clinging like dew-drops
to the threads of the dream web?

in my head
you hear my voice
     echoing through your slumber
like classical music through a dance hall

but
     maybe you can't hear me at all

maybe you're just as far away as ever

with well worked hands
he pulls on the sea
     like the hem of a pale skirt dancing 'round his lovers hips

it's what she loves about him most

the way that the tide ebbs and flows
     with the rise and fall of his sun-stained chest

seashells
and gull feathers
and bits of fishing net
     woven into his hair
like the threads of canvas sails

aqueous thunder-head eyes
look like they've seen the fall of every empire
      and soon
they'll witness the fall of ours

he smells of salt-cured wood and the sun
and it's the kind of smell you'll never forget
nor properly describe

he moves like magic

     like waves
          lapping at the shoreline in the calm of dusk

with an anxious tongue
and an appetite that's never satisfied
     he licks the wounds of any heart
he's strong enough to bare the weight of any burden
          of any trash barge or sea ferry

ear pressed to his chest
     like a conch-shaped vessle
          the labor of his heart valves plays like sailor songs
in an empty cabaret

     nerve-wrackingly beautiful

i used to lay next to you while you'd sleep
and wonder how you could possibly have more secrets to keep
than you've got eyelashes
     you've got more eyelashes than there are tulips in holland
and even that was never enough to keep me from wanting more

it wasn't my excitement that would keep me from my sleep
     it was just that you snore
          that ******* snore
and in my wormy brain
it means that you were subconciously bored
          i always failed to work the whiskey on your breath into our amorphous algorythm
     no real measure for our frosted-glass-pleasure
     just bruises left to treasure
          on our hearts
          and necks
          and spirits

we got good at it
     spending every night
with so much left unsaid
that it was almost as if i could hear it
with my ear pressed to your ribs
     like post-dated reverberrations from all of our forgotten arguments
     echoing through the void of our emptied bottles
     and in the cherry-pits of our chests

it was all just a long line of tests
measured pressures
and recorded reactions
     it was an intellectual's game
     who will be the first to break?
in retrospect
     i think we took turns

and as much as it still burns my eyes
and breaks my mind
to know that there are tears left to cry
     it feels alright
i guess that's the part i always liked
          that ache left in the morning

sometimes i blame my parents
for letting me believe
that love was as simple to understand
     as the plot of a disney flick
they should have told me the truth
     that it's really just sick
     twisted delusions of our infatuated brains
and that the more we try to change it
the more it stays the same
     that the more you say its name
     the less likely it is to show its face

i'll never know if it was love
or insanity
     either way
s o m e t h i n g still remains
and all looks pretty much the same
from this side of the window pane

i'm unsure what i miss more

     you
          or the excuse you gave me to be insane