like those moments in harmony
when i say "you drive" and
        you say "i drive"
and the universe
                 concurs that the
                              one of us
will tip our head back and
     the other one
of us will clench the wheel--
wherein both parties reap the
                    spoils of our little zero-sum game
because i get to leave the ground
                                 "don't stop"
kicking up gravel with the heels of the rubber and
you get to feel the earth
                                  "let me go"
leaving acrid smoke and burning metal
   and then, there, that somewhere in the middle i win and you win and the windows close us back up against the cold whiplash
             of sand and air
   and the sums cancel out like they
                                       always, always have.

sometimes i
throw your name into search engines
to find where you are
what are you surviving
do you wonder about me
i do
im so sorry for how i left you
i hope you are better

we're losing the moon and the oceans and skies are
burning but the craters beneath them
do not alter they
shrink away from the heat
they take a chunk out of the shoulder of the earth
instead
and the moon draws back aghast it is
going it is warming beyond the horizon and before the next dawn we are losing the moon to a
hole in the fabric of the space wall.

sometimes, it's the songs without words, the ones that slip silently beneath the undercurrent, that will seek you out,

that will sing you the terrible story of crows to mend your heart, that will whisper what no one will tell you because it's your soul manifest, it's your heart reaching out --

they open themselves slowly, but you have to be careful with them; you have to look

at them from afar, and bow, and maybe then, she will open her mouth to you, where not words but wisteria lie, where not passion but pain rest, where everything raw and immaterial pours out in the haze and panic of devolution in the chaos of the earth and skies and all that suffers in between where in the center of the swirling mass amidst the high cries of sorrow and love will be her

and just,

   her ,

some songs will move you, shift the light through you, shift the pedestal of surety and blow it right away.

some songs will obliterate you, but most will hold you.

and when they'll release you, you will fall, and it will be so glorious and so terrifying that you will become a god in the storm and you will know, truly know, then, what it is like to be immortal, to be unhurt and untouched, unmoored and unbridled, impossible against the possibilities of a mortal existence.

you will deify.

you curl your fingers around the nape of the
passenger seat and the cold
metal stings but you can feel the
ghost of the prey brush your body
like the streetlights on the backseat last night
before you clutched the headrest and
you reach in the dark but
your hands miss the leather

the warm body heat of the car
thrumming up beneath you slams
your head into the dashboard where
the light turns from a bruised yellow to a crippled red
you are awake again
the steering wheel is cooler than you remember
smoother, sleeker, stealthy the wheel
will turn the predator around in a circle because
it seems to mimic itself where
in mimicry it is found
oh tyger tyger simmering out
you drive.
the gear shift does not obey when you
push it up rough and messy but it
locks in gear while you
wrap your fingers around the curve
and grind to a halt in the road
you cannot make this cliff.
the light in the dash blinks.
the trunk is opening and the vehicle is still moving
you roll down your window to ask the night a question in the glazed white of moonlight that is
so much like forgetting
will this road take me back to Del Sol and the Girl Who Lost Her Lover on Route 66?
she doesn't respond but
that is okay because the vehicle is still moving
and the leather is slick between your thighs
and you are going down
tonight you will descend.
the night will draw you home.
goodnight lover.

im wrapping these lights around the balustrade? of my stairs and i thought they looked beautiful but now that
im stepping off my chair they
don't look that nice um
they look sloppy and tacky
like the ones off the side of a Mexican restaurant
i wonder how natalie portman decorates her christmas lights.
they must be nice.
i used tape
she probably gets someone else to stick it up anyways but
the tape is pretty when the light hits it and the
colors blend and stutter like it's trying to short circuit the tape but
the tape is swimming in it even though there
is only light in glass in light
i stick the tape on the wall.
there is something psychedelic about holding a handful of rainbow lights alone on a chair until they start spilling over and you tilt your neck to see where they go but
there is only the ground there is only the ground there is no where to fall into but
the light is moving again because
you are the tape
and you are standing on the chair where the glass blooms with filaments that you
touch and suddenly you are
swimming in colors that don't seem sloppy and tacky anymore.
you pull the plug.
the house is bright again.

the city is beautiful until it corrodes.
the city is beautiful until you are trapped.

send me home,whispers your heart beneath
a grey blanket,but the city is where love and

genius live,we can't leave,we can't go
send for home,it yells,and now it is tearing

you apart it is picking through the sinews of
your warmth it is shredding you out

you push it peels you stop,it peels,
the book of chaos sits next to you

should you open it now?where does wisdom lie?
is it in your palms,or beyond that,somewhere

hidden, unfolded?
you don't know because the city is still beautiful to you.

you don't know because you never open that book.
(but your heart peels on.)