The biggest lesson in nothingness I have ever received
was your hands clamped down on her ***
expecting me to still be able to breathe, six hundred miles to the east
when all my insides were insects
feeding off my feelings and trust in your love.

I did not even have a phantom of a thought
that could touch you or flow like autumn wind in spring. There
was nothing as far as I knew
and so there was nothing, although
her mouth around you should have left a bruise.

I thought of you as something as isolated as the moon, except more
beautiful, less haunting to a girl with nightmares
because you stayed still during the
night when it’s too scary for me to open my eyes –
I believed there was nothing to see (I was wrong I was wrong).

I walked the road closed off
With one who is pre-engaged
Absorbing the rays of sunlight
Listening to the chants of our conscience

You led me through with good intentions
Sliced away with a bitter malice
A walking temptation you couldn't pass
You shattered the barrier with your bare hands

In a moment the music seized
All that can be heard are the mumbles
The desperate cries of help
Shuffles of clothes being shed

A war of dominance over temptation
Not one giving into cries of pain
Friction towards the seduction of defeat
But there will be no surrender

After the signs of blue and red
Condensation of ****** heat
Wrinkled sheets of a ****** war
A silent deal to those unsuspecting relations

We went through the road together
Each step matched each other in gait
A knife on one hand while holding the other’s
It hasn't ended, it has only begun.

what do you know about
substance?
when hungry sidewalk angels
amble towards you
hidden in jackets that
goodwill threw out on
the curb,
you look the other way.

she said i only love the
enticing parts of people,
the same way i highlight
my favorite lines in books
so i’ll have something to
focus on when i decide
to blow the dust off their
spines.
you’re missing everything
and you know it and
you don’t care,
she said.
you’re missing the real
parts. you’re cheating people
out of themselves.

even then, i wanted to
quote her.

it goes like this,
i said.
the singer finds the quiet one.
they run through sprinklers and
hold their breath under tunnels
and roll the windows down when
their favorite songs come on.
they drink midnight coffee
at diners meant for the old
and alone, and make pictures
across the table with packets
of sugar. together they decide
that the best word is petrichor,
the smell of dirt after it rains,
and when the lights come on
at christmastime they sit in
the trees and watch greens
and reds throw patterns
across their skin.
all of it is perfect
and none of it makes sense.

you said but what about
the singer? you said
what about her songs?

1.
it was my first cigarette
in weeks that i hadn’t found
half-smoked on the asphalt
and it still tasted like something
leftover from somewhere
i don’t belong;
its smoke drifted through
the evening city mist like
how our voices used to harmonize
but only when we weren’t trying.

2.
on the blue line through
south central i heard someone
say “i could’ve been president
of the whole world, could’ve
taught y’all something about
success” —
she wasn’t talking to nobody
but the whole train listened
and in that, she taught me
more than any textbook
ever could.

3.
when you stand on 5th
and san pedro you can’t see
nothing besides the cliff
at the end of the world,
but instead of clouds there’s
puddles of ****, instead of
waterfalls there’s shopping carts
filled with people’s whole lives
and everyone down there is
shaking their heads at you —
leave, leave unless you know
what falling feels like.

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I had a dream about a mask
It was terrifying.
The mask, I mean
I don't remember much about the dream.
The masked man ran around,
Tearing through town,
Taking vengeance on those that had cut him down

Everyone knew he wouldn't
Couldn't
Maim another
Because though through his mask
He became another
He was still a person
Just a person with his soul scared silent
His spirit sealed shut

His mask's mouth was sewn up
Like a doll that had misbehaved,
Said,
"I love you"
"You're my best friend"
Without having its string pulled to say it

The man,
Or rather the mask,
Was chasing a group of kids
Who had threatened a girl
That was very dear to him.
He pinned them down but couldn't speak,
So he bit off his own lips

Suddenly his speech wasn't deformed
And his vendetta didn't matter anymore
He threw himself to the floor and
He wept
He wept tears of unfathomable joy.

Then I woke up
Knowing as I gasped for air
That the dream had passed.
But when I reached up to my face,
I could still feel that mask.
So I started,
Layer by layer,
To peel it back.