Little bird, I can't imagine we're going to be OK
God ******, alright, OK, I ****** up.
It's so hot in here but if I open that window
she'll just fly away.
Little bird, don't go.
I can only make you suffer
but love is nothing more
and love is all I have
and what could maim us any better?
Little bird, I'm sorry

We watched the vapor trails pull like shoe strings across the sky
my hand holding yours
the acid bubbling in our brains
the threat of death not yet present
our fears not yet concerning our age or wisdom.
We feared one another,
afraid our flaws meant something
uncertain of how people talk but we tried anyway
and the skin of our arms were touching
and it was warm
and it felt like it was supposed to
and no one could touch us.

My mother told us to never fall in love with a poet on a motorcycle.
Sharon found one in Florida.
Tommy had tattoos on his arms and neck.
Why do you have so many, I asked.
Their just scars. Scars painted in black ink.
He'd pour ******* in his OJ as he watched Spongebob with my nephew.
The marks in his arms were always fresh but he never did it in front of John.
They found him on the beach.
We told the kid he just got on his bike and rode away.
How could you tell him they robbed his daddy and slit his throat?
One last scar.
My mother told us to never fall in love with a poet on a motorcycle.
I met mine in college.
We shared my bed and ****** til it got cool outside.
Chai lattes and bonfires.
He would say things that broke me and I would cry when he wasn't looking.
We found our way out together.
By April he was gone.
James was born two months later.
Mother never had a poet to be broken by.
Our father sold insurance.
I think about it now, maybe she wanted us to fall.
A life of broken hearts couldn't be worse than a life without scars.
Now James is older and talking like his father.
I brace myself every time his father looks at me through his grey eyes.
Was this what she meant?

Disappearing into the night
the shallow light, lunar and pale,
space floating above us, we find our way.
Through endless revision,
through ****** circumstance
after shirty circumstance,
we move together.
Alone, together.
Out there in the valleys,
by the rivers we'll wander,
there are things we will discover
about truly being lost.
Into the night, into the void,
the wasteland beckons
and you extend your hand.
I follow blindly.

How many times have you said something ******
to the only person you love?
How many days have you spent repenting?
When they come for you
do not struggle.
You deserve this, they'll say
I deserve this, you'll reply.
Let the ropes burn as they drag you eastward.
Watch as the sun sets on your drunken life
and feel peace.

There were angry days
and angrier days.
Fist-shaped holes lined the walls
my knuckles all cut and ***** with plaster.
But now the days are filled with sweet tea.
My lazy gut hangs over my belt
and my hands stay open.
Silent content replaces quiet rage.
A couple more years and I won't even remember
your name.
I've forgotten your words and the looks you'd give.
I don't remember the rooms we starved in
or the battles that left us broken.
You are gone.
I learned nothing from you other than how to stay angry.
But I've forgotten that too.
The air is warm
and my sweet tea sweats.
The rings left behind on the table top
speak deeper truths
than the things you tried to say.
Where ever you are,
I hope you stay there.

On the first day, it's easy.
On the second day it gets hard
and on the third day, you're dead.
Try to fight your own impulses
try to forgive yourself for what you do
and you're dead.
It always kills you.
Try not to think of words like agony  
Try not to think of her body or smell
It always kills you.
As soon as they're gone, as soon as they leave you,
the first day is easy.
You feel free and you feel new.
You feel like you have anything you want.
On the second day it gets harder.
When you can no longer see the horizon
you lose faith in its existence.
No one was ever looking at you
like you thought they were.
And on the third day you're dead.
Do not let it **** you.
Do not open your hand, not for anyone.
Stay clenched. Stay pure and real and
hard to look at.
Accept adventure and fear and pain
let them scar you
and leave you
and you will find the horizon
and you will fall away from the pain
or the fear or the shame.
There will be nothing but meadows
empty and endless
and waiting for you.