whilst watching things fall apart
maybe we never will

leaves catch flame
the trees tend to turn on one side
                        magnifique on fire
               and if the walls could disintegrate
                                         we would see them
                       and i’d never fear the falling rise
                       they’d be there  
                        for you
                        for i


*si
l'immensita canterebbe
per te    
e per me

it's soaring through flaming green hills
your heart races with the curiosity of discovery
it's dancing on a secluded mountaintop
with the drunken energy of a motorino zipping.
it's the endless time spent laughing
lips tingling with wine and philosophy
furiously awaiting l'autobus
and saying basta to the pasta.
the hazelnut aroma of hot cappuccini,
and suddenly you have the bravery
to get lost alle tre in Trestevere.
it's watching sunrays part mountains and Corinthian columns
and sparkling on salty waters
and you inch toward the edges of cliffs
just to catch a glimpse.
it's the comfort of friends and Nutella
when Ryanair lands and Rome becomes Home
and life, and death, and carbs follow you.
it's the homeless and the hungry
sleeping in the strong arms of St. Peter
and disappointment and shame
consumes you.
it's sobbing when you are alone,
foreign, and strange
and sobbing when it's time to say
arrivederci
it's when you fall, your stupid heel caught between cobblestones
that you realize you're in love.

thank you for an education
for making me overqualified
and dissatisfied.
  
thank you for giving me
the art of argument
so i can be the best  
copy girl  
for dep prep
after which
Michelle tells me
"it's fact, girls
are naturally
bad at math."      

i remember why
- and i'm grateful.

she poured brown sugar on top. talked but refused to speak. that.  was her last inhale.  cigars ordained the fountain    and the blue irises diluted.  i expected to see drops.   the ends shriveled up.
    
but we swigged godiva
      
     she said:                                                        
sunday we’ll go to the beach

    i laugh     at first
          the open air was all legs and armpits
          i casually held my palms to my nose
     wine to drown the stench
    
she chatted in infinites


there was only a small bustle. thirteen o’ clock. the canvases were pulled back.  always some glass in our hands. the horses didn’t care, in fact, let us stroke their noses. i still wonder  what they patrolled. we kept drinking.  passed out in a public park.

    i said
    it’ll be concrete jungles
friendship forgotten



                               she woke with leaves                                                           ­ 
                   at her temples    in her tear ducts.
                                                          ­ i typed it
                                                           l e a v e s
              
            
*seen by all

one day
always dries the tongue
always tense
future tense
i’m twenty three
i’ve set out to find myself
at least four times
from here
                                                  you can’t see what’s up there
                                  though its walls are made of windows
                                         i was up there once, and looked down

i asked why misunderstanding perception
and learned most of them looked out for the cityscape the lights sometimes.


s was a dancer
stretches and
taps to silent rhythms
knotted in her throat        in thought
sometimes at night
under lover’s sheets
they could flow from her lips
sweet hyperboles
and desperate understatements
and her shoulders would release
too soon
she was dead asleep
      
                                         t   the perfect audience
he was multilingual
even with small phrases and s thought::
please please think bigger
than you and me

t::
i want
shelves full
(with all of your words)
and we’ll cover the living
      walls
with framed cyprus and stone
it’s ok it’s ok it’s ok
today we are twenty three
i can feel your breath on my face
i am not domestic
every place but home
inspires me
a time someday for us
they’ve flourished
snatched in november like everything
gone
tell me
the glory days
are not
over
flow


is it possible
to be blown by what i thought
could never happen     could never have
never be
and
remorse for decaying dreams
                                                          ­                  a bibliothèque   a bibliothek
                                                      ­           its towers pierce through foliage
                                                         ­                               the center caved in
                                                              ­  only the letters b  i  b  l  o remain
                                                          ­   above the threshold    and some
                                                            ­               pages grip tight to the walls
                                                          ­                  insects inhibit the rest

    

  we stretch softer legs like fossilized rock
and feel shame in the pride once taken
in one day   i will give up everything
dance on tuesday nights      worship the sanctity of table talk     early mornings envisioning the thousands of events this corner no doubt witnessed  trek øyangen and for the first time fall so in love with snow and tomorrow feel that same ecstasy for the aegean ultraviolet a



of course there is not   that would be too **** logical


we fill to the brim spill into the other
the first time::
walking conciliation there were at least 8 others  the nervous ha ha release of the shoulders a timid forte   something castle passageway and cruel majesty if i did..no memory of any other exists submerged in the cascade i could tell
                          what was happening it was your turn finally
                  adventure bestowed
                           when i shouted
                                                    ­      italian for
...i know what you mean


other times
it’s boiling      steam clenching the small throat of the
archways screaming
like the baby in the room
hardly air still
dare not breathe
at burned hands only
wanting to
help me   


    october times:
                                                      i wander off the page
                                                            ­      its warm here
                                                     homesick rising   not
                                        for a house or manmade landscape
                                                       ­       i sunk my teeth
                                                       into a chance to hold
                                                        a beloved memory
                                                          ­were you pouring
                                                                ­ into me or i
                                                                ­                 you




—suddenly
location was
absent
only caffeinated confusion
words were never difficult now used all wrong
forte timida
you casually drank your pour over
as i searched for a changed thing

s to t:: how is it that we love so many and need so much more and still have room for each other?


                                   t::            i’ve built you a sanctuary
west coast luxury
east coast 1920
where surrounding trees are ablaze
you will not burn
in a city whose lights have no power over stars
i’ve wrought an iron balcony
for kissing
overlooking
a cobbled courtyard
for mornings
music
go there in the meantime
when you can’t remember
i’ll visit when you want me





my thighs
carry everything
ice cracks cold sweat   ears ringing rejection   history    home moving   not moving defense precision par excellence capablebutyoucutmylegsfromunderme
flying contraption­
leaving that behind
fast evanesce
a pounding like cutting
but breathing
normally

s to t:: only you let me
bleed



the hard-
covers
come
falling
a fantastic mess
the balcony
magnifique on fire