I look for you in the bustle of changing seasons--
the promise of eternal life is stashed
in evergreen front-door wreaths,
but outside dims quiet. The winds,
without leaves to stand in their way,
whip and slap winter chill straight to my bones.
old piano melodies whisper the familiar
beat of tradition. Memories and expectations
of what should be the same, and what
should always be, drive my search
for you this season. Choppers on mute
race packs of starving bloodhounds
with their mouths sewn shut.
I am determined to find you.
To sneak up behind you in white dusk
and with blindfolds for hands,
and eyes tattooed red, I'll growl,
Surprise. Merry Christmas.

I cut into chicken parm, a massacre with fancy china.
A crusty napkin blots my eyes, wipes the juice
that drips from my mouth. Beyond the curtains,
car tires lead a small river from the rising puddles
on the concrete. Stupid ******* brain cells drawing pictures
in my mind; cats cradle between the memories and the now.
fourth of july neurons going crazy in my skull
spitting rain and crashing thunder down my cheeks.

Seaweed drapes down my back, cloaks
my shoulders like a thick leather cape.
Snip, snip. A piece for you. You don’t
like the way it salts your tongue
or slithers down your throat.
Maybe sesame dressing
or a cold mound of sushi
will make it more appetizing.
(nope)
That’s okay. I have plenty more.
But I reach down my spine to find
a hollowed out hole, straight through
my body, no longer masked
by my nights spent underwater.
I’m at the surface now and it’s clear
that I’ve been drowning all along.

i am the white noise of cicadas chirping
air conditioning chugging, a train on a track
but i don't want to be the sheep you count
i want to be the rising sun, the lawnmower,
the screeching birds that tear at your sheets
yelling wake up, wake up
we're running out of time

Bite a strawberry in June and try to tell me you can't taste color.
A quiet lapping sea sloshes pink foam over crunchy sand seeds.
Stare at watercolors--make eye contact and listen to the breeze.
Maybe rustling trees are symphonies in green. Kiss me,
watch my heartbeat pulse and quiver, bubble through my mouth;
racing, hiccuping out heat from my throat’s abyss.
Smell my hair, breathe the sugary bonfire billowing from every pore,
pine needle goosebumps that rise and fall in Redwood symmetry.
I'll visit your grave, dragging a Santa sack of rotting flowers in my brain,
and (pretend I don’t) feel and hear and smell and see everything
and nothing all at once.

i wonder when i will see a BMW as just a car
and not a haven--an earthy smelling
burnt orange cemetery for memories of road trips
with my feet on the dash, your disapproving glance
but the windows rolled too far down to care.
my skin seared in the summer sun, piling sandwich
upon iced coffee just to drive back to your house
and park in front of the TV. Picnics on the bench.
You sweating under the sunlight to see my smile.
New Haven train station, at early evening and
the middle of the night, sprinting with hands locked
toward the next adventure. Your hand off the shift
and on my leg. Trusting that we wouldn't crash
as we zipped through the woods late at night, eager
to crash and sleep the day away. Everything I've
pushed away to cope. Your broken tape player,
the heated seats cranked on my side without prompt.
Taking the long route for dinner on Whitney Ave.
Parking lot coffee dates and people-watching Sundays,
the day you drove to Montauk at sunrise to catch
the ferry while I slept by your side; the only time I've
ever seen you awake before dawn. Our movement
together; our bickering, the radio tuned to obscurities
blasting with open windows to see who noticed.
Hotel sleepovers in the Connecticut countryside, and
Rhode Island for the day. Car *** and Long Island nights
parked by the water, the humid heat in my hair,
salt and trees in my mouth. The sound of the locking
door, the key held clenched between your teeth.
The humming engine and your backwards hat perched.
I don't know which permeates my mind the most,
but when an m3 shows up in the rear view mirror
I blink back tears until it fades away.

and just as the last tear drop
was wrung out from the duct,
a drenched washcloth hung to dry,
she asked, “do you see a rainbow?”

beyond cumulonimbus and shattered fog
is a cotton candy lightning bolt
the visible spectrum reduced to an arch

but as the sun sets and the gold fades
to black, my water-logged dreams surge
waves of torment. i try to ride them in,
to tame the wild sea, but the undertow
swallows and spits me up
just another ocean tear, spilled upon the shore

i often wonder how i will die. skin cancer.
heart complications. liver cirrhosis. old age.
undetermined cause. ******. accidental overdose.
i daydream that it will come soon. my future
without you feels like a false floor. i'm waiting for you
to appear with white gloves, wand in hand, to whisk
me away. to climb into our coffins side by side, a twisted
amusement park ride. ****** cotton candy and jagged fun
house mirrors. being alone is stuffy weight. despite the added
space, my chest is tense and eyes are bugged. your hands,
your voice, your warmth would set me free.

history textbooks and family trees
only to be chopped down by greed.
losing limbs, broken teeth, creaking bones.
watered down souls. wavering spirits.
who’s to say you won’t be pulled off center
stage by a cane? permanence is an illusion.
really, what isn’t? rods and cones and corneas
and mind games. i only want open oceans.
i don’t want to meet mid-tango, i want to collide
and never explode again.

On misty October mornings
I rub sleep from tired eyes.
Expect to feel your mouth
graze mine with rigid, sweet
lips. But after cat backed stretches
and echoed groans, I’m still alone.
Cold feet, cold hands that used
to have a home between your skin.
Turning, blazing, resting leaves await
their final breaths before November
frosts swallow them whole. Clocks
are chiming, 6 am. I lay restless
in white. The monsters under my bed
moved out and now they’re in
my head. Peeling back layers
and crawling inside, sinking teeth
and crescent claws. They gnaw
at the gray matter and dictate
all my dreams. Puppet strings.
Vivid static murmurs color through
the night. I wake up to find snow.

You never expect that one day someone's life, or maybe your own, will end without the proper goodbyes and cordial hugs. Humans are crazy like that. We make polite rules and regulations to guide our interactions but in the end, we are taken from this earth however we are taken -- and sometimes that means goodbyes are said unknowingly through "see you tomorrow" or "goodnight, I love you".

a splash of milk and 1 sugar
the rain fell in deep choreography
with passion and without forgiveness.
we always joked about the way
it only poured when we were together.
only, falling in love with you felt
like snow behind closed curtains.
my eyes were blind until one morning
I awoke and out the window, smooth
atop the brown, dead lawn,
a blizzard built in silence.
not pounding for attention
or lighting up the sky, just a flutter
of dust from the cloud line. on
the biting days of winter I crave
a coffee, in memory of all our dates
and storms we've ducked through.
now the first winter's snow blankets
your new bed, and I've found myself alone
with 2 coffees, curdled milk, and no sugar.

if all i can do for now is dog-ear pages
of memories of you, then i'll stow our love
in letters and notes. i'll let language sing
and melodies speak. but on the day i smell
your cologne and smile, when your photos
dry the tears they well now, i will know. and i
will peel apart glued fists that kept your love
flowing fresh in my veins for all this time, with
white knuckles and rosy cheeks. my palms house
shards of sea-glass mosaics i gathered, that you
had left behind. i'll align each color and weld the pieces
but that shape will never click to fit the gaping sinkhole
where you used to live in my heart. and with a full bellied
gust, i will send the shards sailing like dandelion wishes.
and all the best parts of you will collide with torn up hearts
and clattered souls, and i will watch your white and blue
and red rise up with the sunrise, then fall like heaving chests
and i'll sit cross legged in the sand and watch you grow
in all the hearts and souls by my side, and i will
feel you, forever tattooed and sunken deep into my skin.

five o'clock shadow while scrawling angry words
on paper napkins and the whites of unpaid bills
tongued by strangers whose taste buds grasped
the glue sitting peeled beneath your fingers. heavy
to-do lists and fogged up glasses from shower
steam and overcooked, soggy angel hair.
you've always been a daydreamer but now i see
the architecture in your furrowed brow, you've built
a new line of skyscrapers in your brain that jut out
and **** and pollute this air. i can't quite read
the neon name that electrocutes you, but i
can see the tremor; hop-scotch kid turned
sour, with ****** knocked up knees. when
you daydream your gaze lifts you to
the power lines, so my knuckles crack
as your eyes slant south. i catch you staring at
the subway tracks, such sad depth inside your
bones. a chime goes off and bing - you're back -
spine up tall and spewing city lights. when you
spend your mornings in dust brushed cities
the sun begins to creep away. your eyes reflect
artificial light, hunched in eternal concrete clouds.

You see, there are veiny hands with milky
mangled bones, whose fists clench pulp insides.
The fiery burn of bile, and extraction of embedded
glass in fleshy feet. Rope-burn, gas pain, trickled red.

For me, there lies a book with torn out, scattered
pages. A teddy bear wears empty eyes
as stuffing billows out like smoke. Clamored
pots and pans in empty, hollow rooms
whose echoes hum Toccata & Fugue
in broken, choppy ***** rounds.

A ratty, pin sliced rag doll sits as sand
winds whip across deserted shores.
Chords in D minor can't quite capture
the element of loss as uniquely or eerily
as the silence I now reach out and grasp
in the hollow space your breath once filled.

Sure, the big days are hard. Turning 23 while you remain forever 22. It’s almost like time is forcing me to move on as the seasons change. But everyone expects those days to be tough. They’re prepared for with family visits and pre-planned activities. What’s hard is 3pm coffee breaks and 2am wake-ups, reaching for your hand and finding cold blankets. Making an extra cup just to pour it down the drain. When I drive alone from place to place I find the limbo between activities is what makes me ache. Not the forced smiles or the fake laughter, but the moments where reality settles and there’s static where the smiles used to be. I am forced to look in the mirror and see only my shadow beside me - no one else.

deep breaths and quiet murmurs
take up more space
than chatter, clinking glasses, and toasts.
the air feels stuffy and thick
polluted with grief, clouded with misery.
the static from sorrow resonates
on muffled frequencies.

it seems i’m tuned to FM
too often to hear
every sigh
cough
swallow
and grunt
that rest unmasked in AM

the acknowledgements page
is skipped over, skimmed through
to get to the good parts.
what happens when that page
is dog-eared and bookmarked
when we are thrown in
no life vests
to swim to the next line

this is shuffling feet and awkward balance
it’s ice water crying, bleeding on wood
it’s 5 o’clock shadow and mismatched socks
wrinkled dresses, broken zippers, and frayed rope
it’s the depths of our lives when we’ve strayed on the outskirts.
it’s a dimly lit candle, flickering in the dark
illuminating the dust left forgotten on the nightstand.
this is the grit, the film on the lens
this is muddy water

it’s crumbling walls that hit speeding cars
danger: falling rocks.
skinned knees and bruised elbows.
this is it.
the hum of the dryer, the drip of the faucet.
the things that never bothered you
when you cancelled out the background noise.
this is the shifting light of night to dawn
telling us, yes - of course, there is more.

Surrounded by apologies
weepy, weak, collapsing hugs
So young, so young, so young...

Sympathy gifts and tear-stained shirts
moldy fruit, cardboard pizza
Such a shame, poor girl, head hung.

Musty rooms and creaking floorboards
"If you ever need anything"
So strong, so strong, so strong...

Time's up, back to work, 9 -5
burnt lavender and broken wicks
Hope all is well, now move along.

Trapped thoughts, *** holes in my mind
seeking out salt water
At least you're here, now 23.

Hands on mouths and stifled gasps
"I can't imagine what you've been through"
My God, so glad that she's not me.

It was the year I drove over the Tappan Zee
for the first time of what would be hundreds.
It was the year I went five months without
my parents, living off broccoli cheddar soup
and ham sandwiches. The year I got cabin
fever and took a November bus ride through
early sunsets and empty houses, as the last
few brown leaves hung on by threads.
When I passed the Quinnipiac River, I let
swans drift away. It was the year spent sitting,
curled in my chair until the sunlight crept
and sunk beneath the torn carpet.
2010 was laundry detergent and fleeting innocence.
It was bed sheets and rain drops hiding flames.
It was the year I preferred ***** over church,
and spent the next 4 trying to erase.

Dear Lily, I scrawled on some cheap floral stationery
Doesn’t it scare you? How mom never learned
that you take your tea with milk, and every year
you opened Christmas gifts to find red wine
when you preferred whiskey? I saw your eyes,
they glimmered with hope that things would be different,
only to be overtaken by dusk and light sighs.

“Expectation is the root of all heartache,” dad says,
grizzly hands on our shoulders. Rewind to your
14th birthday that he spent on the phone, calling
Paris and India and everywhere but home, all for
us to have “everything we need”. But our teeth are
chewing, mashing up plants for fuel. Do you ever
feel like a strawberry? Ripe for the picking, bright and
bold, only to be mashed up and spread like jam on
toast? Because I do, Lily, and I hope that you were
the topping on wedding cake, because **** I was bruised.

Chewed up and spit out by a child — he didn’t know better.
“Yucky! That’s icky!” his mother cried wide-eyed (she saw
my dark spots). And now here I am, sipping your
old whiskey and hoping it will heal the bad spots deep
inside. Patch up my holes so that in eight years
when I’m good as new, I’ll throw my head back and laugh
and tell my kids I’m a refurbished version of you.

I haven’t felt connected in so long and it feels distant, cold and rigid.
I’m reading brail and you’re whispering gibberish in my ear.
I want you to feel my heartbeat and blink along with its rhythm
but you’re preoccupied scratching skin and cleaning cuts.
Your head’s above water and I’m drowning, sinking deep.

i waltzed through fields of sunburnt grass
that crunched like leaves beneath my feet.
the sky, ablaze, was bleeding orange
and red. i searched for stars with cloudy
eyes. the more i walked, the less
i saw, until i reached the shore.
the ocean floor was lined with dust
that ached to flutter up my legs.
i felt my heart melt in the sand,
before long, it was dark. i fought
to turn away, but riptides spun
my mind. a cluttered head and broken
jaw, i splashed and kicked to be
set free. i sunk like anchors off
a ship, that long to float away.

weeks pass like hours, spinning through time
dizzy and nauseous. i’m throwing up blood.
my taste buds are soaked in bile and toothpaste.
if i could i would scrape off layers of my brain
with my finger nails - cut it open like an orange
and let the pulp spew just to get these thoughts out.
i have sandbags on my chest and i’m gasping
for air, trying to count backwards 10 to 1
slowly suffocating on every number
choking on my tongue, tasting every
word i kept from spilling out between my teeth.

i found myself searching for a candle
that smells like your whiskey tainted breath
to light in my room and walk away from.
let the flame lick my curtains and crawl
toward my sheets. burn the dreams locked
away in my pillow, they whisper
your name in my ear at night and by
morning i wake up half dead. fill my house
with soot and ash, and when i comb
through its remains i will breathe in decay
and rubble that smells a lot like you.

Tangled vines are suffocating swaying
oak trees. Deep within the forest, singing
birds are silenced -- ivy climbs to conquer.
Camouflaged as green and bright, the thread
rope grasps and chokes the boughs until they crack.

Spreading out its arms it falls, and no
one hears a sound. No axe or flock of men
in sight, lugging heavy cranes of steel.
Sometimes flowing rivers don't ***** forest
fires. Sometimes latching on too tightly
can hinder blooming flowers. The tree lets brothers
grow tall, then looks ahead -- not left and right.

Five fourteen p.m., my coffee bubbles in the ***.
Absent minded typing keeps the flood of thoughts away.
Drips pass through the filter, like a cut that cannot clot.
The radio hums static and I bend my knees to pray.

Eight o' nine p.m., I cry, "Oh, please Lord, stay with me."
Pacing footsteps creak and sigh, echoing my plea.
Clanking chains and padlocks keep my arms from flailing free
but still I scream out, "Should I climb atop a sycamore tree?!"

Two o' three a.m., no thoughts my dreamcatcher has caught.
I'm blinking, staring into space, to keep the tears at bay.
Somber, grave, inside my sheets my bones begin to rot.
God, fight off these demons, they are begging me to stray.

You reside in fading freckles.
Just when anticipated
sun rays burn
you are steadfast
to make your return.

You inhabit collected sleep in my eyes.
Just when I've escaped
into my dreams
you are laced and weaves
through my skins seams.

You live in the epilogue of my favorite novel.
Just when the culmination
I approach
gradually but inevitably
you encroach.

You dwell in vapor and in most
just when water
stems to boil
from the depths of the ***
do you uncoil.

You exist in muddy saltwater
just when a new wave curls
your stinging undertow swirls.

The window to my wrist is cracked
inviting you to climb inside.
Paddle swiftly through my veins,
slide your way into my heart.

It's drafty and I'm catching colds
from ghosts who creep in overnight.
Just looking for a place to rest,
then they sneak out again at dawn.

Spirits stomp their feet beneath
my skin. Lord, please bleach my veins
and stain them white. Please coat my blood.

These visions haunt my cluttered head
they're smothering my heart. I'm tired
of choking on charcoal and bleeding out ink.
It's flooding, sew the storm door shut.

A feather tickled your insides, brushing
light green patterns on your bones.
Paisley outlines, dripping paint,
enough to drown out distant groans.

Eleven pints of sea foam paint
spread out across your aching jaw.
I swear it clasped so tight that when
you laughed your lip split open, raw.

Perhaps I'm dusting for fingerprints,
so eager to make a quick arrest.
My nightmares spot you black and gray.
I swat through smoke to find your best.

I tap my pencil on a notebook, hoping
shards of answers will fall out. Even
if I have to fit them together like
a jigsaw puzzle, at least I'll know I have
all of the parts. I'm missing thoughts that seep
through drains inside my brain. They clog like chunks
of mucus hiding deep inside my throat,
the kind of sick you cannot feel until
you lie to rest at night and choke on phlegm.
I see you chewing on your pen and wonder
if you're doing the same -- hoping you
will swallow answers, ingest the right words to say.

You find enchantment and mystery
in abandoned apartments, but see
atrocity in your trembling
hands and cascading tears

A river flows through cracks
in my rib cage. No matter
how much metal leaves my
heart there's always a chunk
of plasma glowing just for
you. The channels and canals
beneath my skin remind me
to never stop moving,
even when the rocks
are standing in my way.

She threw up blood and cried out lava.
He poured some salt into her mouth
to heal and seal the open wound.
I sat and watched from far away.

He spilled salt into her mouth,
She crunched and choked but lived
I sat and watched from far away,
not sure if this was love or hate.

She sputtered, gasped and choked but lived,
a puzzled look engulfed his face.
Unsure if this was love or hate,
I bit my lip and sat in silence.

The puzzled look had left his face,
replaced by rising, burning rage.
I bit my lip and sat in silence.
I was the only one who could save her.

Blind with burning rage for him,
I couldn’t heal or seal the wound.
With no one left to save her life,
She threw up blood and cried out lava.

Promise me you won’t stop screaming
if he tries to touch your thighs before
your raw and beating heart. And darling, even
when your ribs are thundering, head exploding
smoke and clouds, diamonds dripping salt,
please promise me you won’t give in--
I know they taught you not to pull a knife out
Of a stab wound, but if ever you feel
needles prickling up your neck, know that
goosebumps can also be caused by fear.

The cruel cold sea spits out salt in tall waves.
Can’t breathe when I sing or I’ll choke on sand.
Ships sail through rough seas, black skies blur
sight of those on board. Smell the damp oak creak
from blue strength, can’t slow the whirlwind in the clouds.
Let the storm brew, then pick up the spines of shells
that broke and danced in the waves. Can’t see
the shore through the haze; look for the twist and turn
of sand as it laughs – look for shimmering jewels
and gem stones, and light from the lamp
at the edge of the reef. Safe from harm.

My wandering mind
is stuck on cruise control—

not sure why I’m coasting through
cities with abandoned buildings

but the clock is green with 4 a.m.,
my hands at 10 and 2,

and I’m gulping pints of lighter fluid—
drinking and driving with no destination

I see a swell of bright neon lights
winking at me, warning me to slow the **** down;

I’m swerving and spinning on a broken merry-go-round
of rocking horses that threaten to tip me over the edge;

I can’t slow down, I wish I could stop
this winding road is narrow but I can’t stop racing through