truck-bedded teens smoke leaves above the tree branch cathedral;
treefort,
& fumes from her lips. her lips/
crush me oh my.
climb down to the street.
snap into a slim jim.
smash into a television.

            skateboard kids:
blackboy bent into dust and old motel.
whiteboy with fireworks spitting modern mallrat jazz.
girls of stuffed tiger and bottles shattered,
by blood
by beer
by now. she dreams
of the coast henceforth
& grips glass to imagine it like good futures.
    /****-hit.
    /swallow the pizza.

into the arcade ******,
like denim jackets and the mohawked-heads of foul foolish boys.
like little sister vanished into the music.
she presents her flesh before needled ink in the neon-rung afterlife.
she tongues flame.
she thumbs for fame and a highway to california.
she speaks in tongues to win enough tickets for the big panda bear.
her boyfriends punch faces in parking lots.

their generations gather at the apricot tree.
they pull at the seams of eachother’s tricky slips,
& watch hyenas tear through the trash
in the lawn across the street.

old factory:
old shrine of sky & night & bottles & bottlerockets
& her hair & us.
take the bus, or
walk the paths of backyards, home.
sneak thru the window,
cracked lip and shower.
to appear,
in a sunday dress.

one foot in every world
one foot in every word

prophetess of yore,
foreseeing farseeing,
recoding recording
mundane supermarket voyages,
become paradoxical
holy lover spats

for all of us
become her
become her poems,
travelogues, snippets
of marvel at the DNA
each thinking
wanting to think
tween us and no other

she does not know me
but she has felt my
foolishness here

connecting like no other
in a long time,
have listened to each record
in the Queen-bee's collection,
she unknowing, mine,
her favor returned

verbal scientist
she uncovered discovered
a small gate on the edge
of the map of her brain,
that led here her her here where
t her e

am amazed
she sees me

like no other
voyageur ******

but I cannot
Write like Deborah
no but I can
Write of Deborah

the trees gush every time you're around,
the song of your sound is the best thing in town,
the heat from your feet melt the snow on the ground

the wind whistles a warmer rushing movement
expanding out from the flush of your touch
twirling, twisting and reminiscing
this double helix kind of feeling

I'm sewing the growing knowing of rhythm around into a flowing ballroom gown
blushing a crimson kind of steam under the spotlights in my dream ~
when curtain calls as morning falls,
I take my bow and change of scene.

With one message you've resurrected the storm inside
I thought I was done. Free. The feelings had died
After so much time not knowing the verity
I finally wanted to break my austerity
But I was there the night you said
'It's never going to happen'
Finally the light had been shed
At a party, in front of all our friends
You shattered the glass that held my looking lens
Too nervous, too scared to admit how I felt
No longer an issue after the cards you dealt.

I should have stopped you right then, and walked away for good
But I wasn't strong enough to let you go like I should
So I carried on with our normal, playful banter
While our friends joked, never knowing I got my answer
I even posed, while our photo was taken
No reason to let on I was completely shaken
So I smiled brightly and flipped my curled hair
Knowing full well, you didn't care
I skipped my turn, to let you roll the die
Because I thought you needed it, and I was too shy.

That night ended in tears after I walked home alone
Because you wanted to stay and 'talk' with another girl's hipbone
I cried because my fairy-tale illusion
Had reached its climatic conclusion
I cried because for three long years
You had me listening to the music of the spheres
I cried because I experienced real heart ache
And you felt nothing because I had been opaque
I sobbed into the early morning, never before so upset
Thinking I wasn't good enough because I wasn't brunette.

And like clockwork you texted me with no shame
But that next day, I was done playing your game
Gone were the long days we would spend together
Gone were the nights outside enjoying the weather
I guess we were just another high school cliche
Acting the part, playing the role while on display
But as soon as our houses came into view
The charade would end, and you'd bid me adieu
I can't tell you how many times I would look next door
Searching for any sign of you on the second floor.

I made myself believe you needed me
No. I was convenient, your guide in the sea
June 15th we said our final goodbyes
I watched you leave with no emotion in my eyes
So here we are, graduated and all
Low and behold, I get your call
The possibility of you moving to my town
The chance of seeing you around
Doesn't create that same internal feeling
I guess I have nothing left worth concealing.

Some call it coincidence, others call it fate
It's a second chance, my golden ticket to set you straight
We'll step back into our same old routine
New city, new faces, same scene.
So set up the board, pick your favorite piece
Move to San Diego, sign your lease
I'll even let you go first, play your best hand
I guarantee you'll be out-manned
Let's play this again, encounter new bruises
Whoever falls first, though - looses.

Text her. Send her messages that she won't know how to respond to. she'll read them and put her phone down. Stare at the read receipt for hours until you realize she's not picking the phone back up, she doesn't have anything to say to you.

Eat lots of chocolate. It has serotonin in it, the happy chemical. When you cuddle with her, your brain releases oxytocin. As long as you eat enough chocolate (and throw it up) you won't miss the oxytocin one bit.

Bleed. When she tells you that she cuts herself, cut deeper. This is guerrilla warfare now, and for every shot fired you must fire back.

Read your messages. Laugh at the nicknames she used. "Princess". "Baby". "Darlin". You were never her princess, never her baby. She was the child and you were merely her plaything.

Make art. Write dumb poetry about falling in and out of love, take photographs of your ****** thighs, paint a picture using only shades of red. Let her figure out what all these things mean.

Drink. Green tea, *****, over-priced lattes. Stay up all night crying. Wear stilettos. Sit in art museums all alone and wonder if being a starving artist is as much fun as it sounds. Take long showers and harmonize with your favorite songs through your tears. Use heavier, blacker eyeliner. Spend time on yourself. Adopt a cat. But most of all, remember this:

You can only love one person. Choose yourself