I have emotions
locked away in my journal.
Knowing when I die,
my ashes will fly,
but my written emotions
will be eternal.
I choose not to
let them free,
'cause I know if I do
they'll be on a
rampage.

i've tried to give myself every warning
i've planted signs and grown a lighthouse
but im standing too close to the rocks
(its not that i can't see them,
its just that i don't care)
and i'm going to slip and fall
and im going to break an arm
leg and all my ribs
just to go swimming in my heart
just to let go of my caution-tape mind
so im going to sew my thighs and calves
so i can dive far beyond the crashing waves
where i could find my courage to speak
to whoever this is who has murdered me
to whoever this is who is smiling at me

my retainer broke and i held it in my hand
my nails were ***** because we were at camp
it was red plastic despite tasting like metal
and you were there, we walked into a boat
abandoned in the dry sand piled high
i kept seeing flies and i felt my heart
it was enormous and i couldn't stand
you made a face to show that you felt the same
when i told you about my fear of them,
and i made a face when you said you'd
forgotten to let me know, that in seven weeks
it would be goodbye, and you were leaving
for the empty deserts of California

i thought about the days and how to tell you
that i loved you, that i loved you, here,
that goodbye was all i had and all i could give
because my mouth was full from all the camp food
and the darkness you had chased away

you told me to sit by you later
when we watched the symphony play

when i woke up i couldn't shake the feeling that you had
died

the military came today
a brigade marching in line
and its too late for order while im laying in bed
watching them cross the ceiling in unison
black bodies following the cracks like deer paths
that should be used for dreaming about new horizons
but instead we’ve got the army charging in for battle
with microscopic villains who cling to the dust
hidden in the wall since before
we could give ants life with our peripheral thoughts
and mine are a screaming desire for parenthetic
phrases with sidetracks and bright colors
not the rigid two-by-two of little black boots
not bothering to explore the drywall universe before them