Every day I fall out of bed,
gather my bones,
and try to imagine what it would be like
to disconnect my head from my body
and watch it float lazily
up through the green & blue mess,
like some discarded balloon.  

Everyone will tell you to stay grounded,
you know,
but I’ve had my feet stuck in the mud
as the years trickle by,
like a faucet mostly shut.

I just keep growing roots:
gnarled tree standing idly by,
branches waving in the wind,
at my dumb balloon head,
drifting through the scenery,
ambitious and directionless.

Should you ever need me,

I’ll be exactly where
you would expect to find me.

Waves up to my neck,
treading water for a lifetime.
Trying my guts out,
hardly saving your life
or mine.

We’re going to wash up
somewhere familiar
and imaginary.
We’ll write our names in the sand
just large enough for the gulls to
notice.

It was just an incidental finding, really.
But the moment before you sink,
you realize you’ve been weightless
for a while.

Almost.
Not quite.
An embarrassment of keys fumble awkwardly towards the lock,
half heartedly trying to get me
into you.

Not so.  Not quite.
We’ve been through an ocean of almost.
Ranges full of chances.
Libraries full of
pretty close,
nearly fixed,
weak and luke warm stories
about each one that got gone
& got away.

One last thing?
If you could just tow me ashore..
give me something
to grab onto
other than an undertow
or a year or two gone by
to over-examine after you've left.

I can drink the air 
out of the bubbles in your wake
if you wish.
Whatever suits you
on this day,
is what I'll do
as always.

And if you want to 
let this thing bleed out
slowly and eventually
until it's colorless and still-

You've got it.

My head is a clumsy balloon
Severed from its stem.
Disconnected / free to roam:
A distraction for the disenchanted.

I’ll lift your spirits.
I’ll crash your cars.

I’m a pause between words
A missed opportunity
Every thing we should have said.
We’re defined by the dead air
Between our feet.

I’m a vague sky.
Uncertain
Hovering & looming
Threatening & promising
To piece you together
Or portion you off for the crows.

I’m a hummingbird.
I move so quick, I’m temporary.
You can’t be certain
That my iridescent,
Incoherent beating
Ever happened at all.

You’re a full set of lungs.
You’ve got arms long enough to stretch
from your back porch to the ocean
and brown eyes big enough to hold your abundance of hope.

When I think of you I’m right back to:
midnight starry walks in those woods,
lucky to be in your light,
drunk off my face on that stuff
you give off.
Lost girl finds a promise somewhere
out there
of finding herself
in the canopy of trees,
or the neon moon,
or the leaves jumping ship
& falling at our feet.  

I’m still driving home from that place
where everything was both within
& out of reach.  
I’m still wondering what you’re made of.
I’m still half thinking that I’ve made you up.
I’m still wishing that I had lost
my keys in the sand that night.

You’re a full set of lungs.
You’ve got arms long enough to stretch
from your back porch to the ocean
and brown eyes big enough to hold your abundance of hope.

When I think of you I’m right back to:
midnight starry walks in those woods,
lucky to be in your light,
drunk off my face on that stuff
you give off.
Lost girl finds a promise somewhere
out there
of finding herself
in the canopy of trees,
or the neon moon,
or the leaves jumping ship
& falling at our feet.

I’m still driving home from that place
where everything was both within
& out of reach.
I’m still wondering what you’re made of.
I’m still half thinking that I’ve made you up.
I’m still wishing that I had lost
my keys in the sand that night.

You’re my type. 

Bruised fruit. Grounded bird. Poisoned pool

That we’re all jumping into

To save yourself (ourselves).

Doomed to feel it all

Or drown it away slowly

Until you’re a diluted version of yourself.

You’re a natural disaster;

I just tread through your wake.

Moth to a ******* flame..

I just can’t quit you.

I wonder what it was

That you needed to find.

I wonder if anything
Or anyone at all
Might have

Lit your path
Broke your fall

Or sewn up your mangled heart in time.

You’re skinny, sick
and sought after.  

Your arms are crawling with thorns.
You snarled me in
& spit me out
Within a year that felt
like a fever dream.

Love
or
whatever it was
came through like a train
without breaks or direction.

Your green eyes cut through
your own veil of smoke.

We’re a ***** mirror.
This whole thing is flipped.
I sink into the ceiling fans,
exhaling resignation.
No one would get out of this
without wounds.

I tried to steady your hands.
I tried to drain the flood waters.
I tried to derail you
from the infinite loop towards
infinite sleep.
I tried to shake you awake.
I sent up five hundred flares from the shore
looking at your island.
I threw you a rope,
tossed you a raft,
kept the light on for a while.

The vessels burst
all at once,
all in an afternoon.

You drove us
right towards the railing
of the tappan zee bridge.
Not knowing which death was worse,
I just jumped.

You must be having a good time up there
in that blue
with those sparrows,
who flutter in and out of your hair
and your hands,
without purpose or presence.

You’re a sight.
You’re a spectacle.
You’re a mirage.

And although I know 
that I ought to warn you of the impending swarm,
I cannot bring myself to interrupt
a quick moment of calm
in an otherwise dissonant day.

I left my heart on a subway bench.  
I’m in need of a transplant anyway.
It’s hard to say
If this incident
was truly a mistake
or something purposeful.

Maybe I just forgot to leave a note.
“Free to a good home..”

It’s a ****** nest
of faulty wiring.
It’s as honest as a metronome
but as chewed up as a stray.

I couldn’t sell it.
I couldn’t give it away.

Reluctantly,
I’ll drag it home
on a leash.  
I’ll shove it back
into the cage of my ribs
and wait for another stubborn start.
Guess I’ll have to jail it
like some unwanted beast
howling half-forgotten lines
to pass the time;

If I only had a-

I don’t want to be alone
But only to be surrounded by a sea of ghosts.
Maybe I need some help.

I’m coughing up puddles of black stuff
And I feel like I’m covered in bees.
Maybe I need some help.

The January sky has a pallor.
The snow is ordinary and monotone.
I blend right in;
I’m a vacancy.. I’m the void.
I think I need some help.

I would fling myself at the feet of the appropriate person.
I just need to find the appropriate person.
Someone who isn’t dead inside per se,
But happens to have a similar hole in their heart.
And really we should be dead by now.
Really it should be over and it shouldn’t hurt.

You’re half gone.
Your resolve wavers like the tremble in your voice.
I’m in a free fall.
I’m plummeting through floors of hospital rooms
Trying to find your SELF.

Losing you half way feels like a funeral in small parts.
I wake up each day hoping I might get to see you again
And leave having grieved for another piece.

I don’t even know if you can hear me.
I don’t know who I’m asking for
Help.

Slowly, eventually but all at once,
I realize that I’m it.
I’m the help.

I’ll sweep up my spine and claw through the fog.
I’ll come out of my coma to wake you from yours
And maybe if I dig hard enough
I can put some of you back together.
Maybe there will be a reason for all of this.
There has to be a reason for all of this.

I remember when I thought
you might really be mine.
We were chasing the last tolerable moments
before the storm wrapped itself
around us.
Seagulls swarmed above our heads
and I thought they would surely
take you from me.
Foaming waves crashed
against our feet
and I tried desperately to anchor myself
to you.

I felt like something of a stray
that you had picked up-
your good deed.

Maybe the snow melted my armor.
Maybe the rush of it all
left me temporarily unable
to worry myself inside out.
I took off my coat
and my defenses
and laughed my head off
running through the freezing sand
still keeping up with you
somehow.

Now I just want to live,
forever yours,
in a tiny snow globe
of our storm.

Sometimes
not always,
but sometimes -

Give up.

Toss yourself,
your whole self,
into the waves
and come out clean.

Clean and wanting
for nothing.
Glossy and hollow
all at once.

Don’t leave your car keys
under a rock -
that’s called cheating.

Sometimes,
just sometimes,
the abyss
is your oyster.

It's more than just
live or die,
you know.

There is an ocean of grey area-
limbo
quick sand.

A place where I don't want to stick around
yet
I don't want to disappear completely.

So I just float down the highway-
half there
and half not-
underwhelmed with the possibility of
my future flushed,
and overwhelmed
with the monotonous
trudging on
that I'm so well versed in.

Thing is

I don't want to jump,
but I just wish I could slip into the Atlantic
for a bit
to try it on-
like a wig,
or an evening gown,
absolutely priceless for a day.

I must admit:
I am unwilling to give
even a hint of consideration
to the thought of being anything,
anyone other than that brilliant,
briefly lit comet,
hurtling toward home.

It matters not
where I land,
or who takes pictures from the ground.

This is only a trip.
This is just a ride.
So fleeting, so fiery,
that you wouldn't want to pause to wonder
what you look like up there,
or else you might miss
the very things that make
your fires unforgettable
and your blast burn true.

I’ll be your ghost anytime,
Anyway
It’s an honor
It’s my right
Let’s clench our fists & drag this thing on

Sometimes I think you’re still around
Hiding in a pile of cold sheets
Up in your treehouse
Numb as a dummy
& thinner too

It’s becoming unclear
Who is haunting who