Mother, Father
I am six foot one and I can see over the trees
I can **** mountains and bury my bones in the soil
I am six foot one and I am just tall enough to see the truth
I can look over others but I can't look over myself
My shoulders bend like a bow, waiting to break
And I can feel it all. I can feel it all.

And to you,
May your temporary smile be a golden forever
And your heart existent with or without hope
Let your brain open doors your hands cannot touch
And your chest not collapse when the smoke is too much
To live and to love with you is the grandest adventure
And to cut myself on your edges, bleeds into itself
And to live in your heart, is the biggest place I've ever found
And to kiss you until my hands break and there is no sound

And to all of us,
We're a dark piece of trash
Ribs are a cage and holographic souls sing
Disenchanted by the human experience
We're pretentious and objectify everything

And to all of us,
We're all light, we're all eyes wondering wide
And we all shine bright, some of us cannot hide
May your hands slant, slowly slinging
towards the bells that are slowly ringing
and may you strike a chord in all of us.
May your existence be a temporary forever.

go white all the treetops.

in wet winter where,
there are there
such things in unskin bare.

(little tips tops tree'd little
hard in pink with a just slit
of a bit right under
the electric stroke furring
riot of terse tightness . )

how about in two tongues of wide
mouths of gagging on a four armed
two backed beast of short ripe and
long withered gushing at the heaves
of glitter and sweat summer?

(I have wanted to be a whole forest of roots so deep in you I can feel your soil in each rich wreathe of slightly sublime sometimes).

how about we go down to the water
i'll write you some ******* poem
about ******* poems i wrote about
******* you next to the water not
wetter than you

As the water and suds recede,
I allow the bubbles to seep into my ears
the sound like Pop Rocks candy
exploding in my brain
drumming in my ear drums.
When it is over,
I wring out the washcloth
and watch as the water does
a tornado dance down the drain--
and my tears with it.

But the bubbles will linger on my body
will cling to me like a desperation
I once felt from you.

******* the life out of me
you crave every inch and crack of my soul
to swallow whole, in every intention of encompassing
my entire heart, mind, body, and being
to be yours and only yours.
obsession, possession
how can you call it love
with every move i make altered by your words
no, dont, cant, wont,
submissive demands shoved down my throat

******* the life out of me
my soul restricted by the shackles of your clutching heart
my freedom caged like a wingless bird
my future a picturesque nightmare of your unrelenting grasp

how can you call yourself a lover
you're nothing but a life ******* creature desperate for a victim to call your own

We were twenty minutes outside
Asheville when we slipped, carelessly
From the edge of the earth
Into an oil painting.

We were, still are really, perpetually
Twenty minutes away when the traffic
would clog, and Michael would blow
Into a tissue; trying to clear both.

Every curve would birth another stretch
Of road, another ridge of mountains, their
Sight not unlike the unlikely vantage of seeing
your shoulders for the first time in film.

Then we’d break again, sure that this was
Some sort of ******* afterlife, full of minor
Inconveniences and signs warning that
‘Bridge ices before road,’
Mocking us in our perpetual summer.