Soulless,
We quenched our dreams with thirst;

bought the heavens,
Waving a country of radio love

As fee,

United under one Internet
Two Chocolate paper ******* announcements
And $6 New York Halal meat.

The mortal man always drinks his sea--
So ask your doctor about Nixon
And lift the verbs off your skirt
For Nemo
who replaced Icarus
And now twerks at synods
With ******* oven oil glued
To his left fin;

The same one God used to bet Satan over the soul of man.

Look, if you leave me tomorrow,
I will first go
to your side of the bed and
lie there.
I  will fit my body into the shape of yours
whose frail form has already been imprinted in the thin mattress.
I will place my palm where yours once was and I will memorize every rise and
every fall of your body
every curve
every straight line
every aching vertebrae that you never complained of
every stitch you never told me about
because you are stronger than anyone I know.

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will throw open your dusty cabinet doors
bury my face in your clothes
and I will smell your smell.
What is your smell?
I will smell you and pretend that
I'm burying my face
in you

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will die.
I will die.
I will die.
Maybe not all of me,
but a chunk that's half times two of me, that's for sure.

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will run out of the house
and visit that pile of debris overlooking the sickening city
my sanctuary
after you
and I will ache.
I will ache.

If you leave me tomorrow,
I will grab my pen
and write down everything about you
from the way your hair falls to the way you never, ever said
"I love you."
and that's okay because I will write about the way
you loved me with your fingers
with your slanted eyes
with your lifted brow
I will write because I am scared that I will forget
the little things that make you you.
your precision
your perfectionist ways
your scientific mind
your slow, strong stride
the way you tap the jar when the coffee's almost gone
because you hate wasting things and
I will remember that and hate the way
I am wasting.
I will create another you in my mind
one that
won't
leave me tomorrow.

I swear, if you leave me tomorrow, I'll...

I don't know.
I don't know.
I don't know.

I've never worn a peacoat in July,
until today. Today will be the first time
I've ever gotten goosebumps from
open subway windows on a
lightning blue underground.

I'll need a hat too,
anxiety and age has
removed what was left
of my skull cap and if
I don't tend to my head
I'll catch a chill.

Stale summer smell
still lingers in the kitchen air.
From the balcony I see many men,
men walking alongside my
building below in shorts
and tank tops,
pretending they can still feel
fingertip rays from the sun.

But they know it's gone.
For today, maybe the week,
the heat has gone off in search
of a more deserving city
for the time being.

Pretending won't make these men
feel it, but hope keeps
their leg hair raised on point,
similar to the hackles of the runt of the litter
when he snarls for the last piece
of meat in a *****, metal bowl.

my friends;
they don't know what my poetry knows
my poetry is always with me
              stuck in the corners of my mind
                     wanting to escape my heart
my poetry
is a direct link
to my mind
           heart
         secrets
                               *"shhh no one knows"
                         "please don't tell"

I am here, I'm home
Dwelling shadow, all alone
No echo to be heard

They say to play with words.
I see each page is a slide and we
smile
          while
                    we're
                              going
                                        down.

We're make-shift,
Doctor Frankenstein,
            piecing               together
words                  that
             would             lay lifeless
without our spark.

We're other people, dress-up,
with our lens-less glasses,
pens in hands
that can't quite reach the tallest shelf.


Through our words we rebel,
show the world we are more than naïve.
Just because we don’t think
in refunds and rebates and 401k plans...
Doesn’t mean our futures won’t be bright if


we only hope to gain
a sense of ourselves, in that
moment when the tire-swing
goes so high, you try
to touch the sun.

I am a peripheral *****.
I brandish my notebook
Like a chef brandishes his dish-rag.
Where do wizards keep their wands?

I build worlds out of words
Universes out of silence;
Universes that can be destroyed
With a single eyebrow.

I am a calculator.
I am a thermometer.
I am a clashing painting on the wall.
I am a question.

I am as much as my pencil.
I am as much as my frame.
I am as much as my stains.
(I am as much as the buttons unbuttoned on my shirt collar.)