My bed is only
big enough for
just me,

three pillows,
my phone, and of
course my sheets

I’m more sleep than
I thought I was.

There’s nothing like a
good pinch of salt
to wake up the

taste buds from
such a bland recipe.

Tired of sleeping,
eyes still closed,

mind oddly clear
—boredom does that,
searches so blindly and
fervently for a thought or

idea that it bursts into
a bright dark nothing,

sweeping wave over the
wide endless expanse of
ethereal wiring

There should be
a bechdel test
for poetry and
poets

It should
consist of
at least two
voices: one
of the self or
some other and
any other
thing
besides a
man

I **** with
you heavy

Why else would
I be here?

But we ain't locked in,
you make sure of that

I daydream:

which pieces of
cutlery you and I
could ever be.

A little spoon
bent at the neck
to a whim or will,

a parlor trick.

Pigs
were
not milling  
about in the
mud

It had
dried up
and they
were forced
to bake in
the sun

Hey,
free bacon

Stay here or
stay the night

Say you're at my place
and our shadows are aligned

What wild culture is
that of our kind

What is that thing
that looks better
than it looks

like it gets better
than this?

True: it's a never-
lasting thing,
like a countdown

Surprisingly
so,
my preparations
have done me
a great service
-hours of
dictation-
as I
feel
relatively well
-perhaps a
little stunned
by the timing
and method-

A measly
text:
but I
suppose it
was fitting
-a meager
end to
meager
efforts-

In romance
there is
so much
less
so much
left
to touch
upon
to touch
a gone
in romance
there is

I thought of
breaking up with you about
a hundred times tonight.

I imagined you
cheated on me in
one scenario- nothing
too lewd, but enough

To make me nearly
hate you. It seems the only
way I'd ever go through with it.

Could
or would?

Shook from
the pages
of books,
wood
so thin the
ink peeks
through
due to

Sun so
bright the
blood peers
through
skin so
taut the
veins stay
blue

It's your
birthday today

I did nothing
different and
told no one

Dad texted me
-as if to remind me-
"Today was a special
day for your mother"
And Alex asked only
if dad texted me about
you too

The same plain message.
What else?

I took a final
and studied for another
the rest of the day

Thoughts of
other things
keeps me from
thoughts
of you

But anyway,
happy birthday

I remind
myself
that you
don't want me
-you don't
want me- I
remind myself
nightly

As day
flits through,
the memory
grows weak
to remember...
want me,
...don't you?

No

I must
remind
myself
nightly

I write the same
old, nothing new,
like:

The sky is blue; not
how the ocean is too.

My melodic tune, and
yours a harmonic half-step
shift flows,

going brightly—as sunlight
glows into moonlight

Taken with what
exactly? There’s no
hunger left in the greedy

That same old thing always
had weak knees for begging and
asks with arms extended: May
I have some more please?

The sound of stark reality
sounds like there’s not much left
in the *** but dried bits.

Feel I
feel like
feline skepticism

Feline
bee lines
belies her approach

I wish you didn't
have any problems

Which is why I don't
tell you about them

I can't forgive
it, yet still I
wonder
of the
next who
finds your skin

Will she make
your heart beat
faster than I can?
Could she give you
all you ask for?

All the nights tucked
in love filled sheets,
I hope they made
you feel good

Can she give you
all you hope for?

She said I feel like
he's only going to really appreciate who you are
and what you guys have like years after you've broken up.

And I agreed that I'd
shared the same sentiment.
In the end we tend to only be practice.

I added, however, that we have a lot of fun
and get along so well, and she said
But he talks as if you don't exist in his world

I kiss the sun
into your lips, and
the warmth from it
sinks into both of us

The moon is happily
indifferent without its
own light or heat, but
I warm you anyway

We hit
the hay,
you hit
my face

It all feels
false
now

I had loved
you with a
prejudice free
heart
-as they
recommend-
and was
punished for it

I feel a
child:
caught up
in figments
more so than
reality

-Infatuated
and unmindful-
willing and wanting
to have you take
advantage
of me

I know
my roads
will dry beneath
the snow -just
like a face I
remember
seeing-

The fault of
our kind: thoughts
shared closer
than bodies

I haven't
because
I know
you'll see
and read
and judge,
but mostly:

I've already
given away
too many
secrets that
I want back

I feel the earth
stilling, and
so I become
still

Is it its
happening
or that I
allow it to
happen?

Vascilating
affirmations

Signs of
sufficiency
to keep up
the system

Expecting nothing
the only level
of expectation
consistently met

I followed you
from the hill
whose view
left you empty

I filled you in
-careful of the lines-
when that force came
to claim your mind

I even changed
my mane this time,

I followed you up the hill,
where it's frozen

Ways to
be as
honest
as possible
without
becoming
existentially
depressed: cloud
watch alone
at night, float
in a body
of water (with
a minimum
of 70%),
don't pick
the prettiest
flowers,
listen to
music you
hate

I felt a
flower
in the sun:
like feeling
without touch

If you pile
enough
on top
it still will
not sink, but
it will be
hidden
away for awhile

know better than
to fall for a poet, and
a poet to any other:
we are oceans where
deserts should be
-drowning-

And the allure to swim
seems swimmingly swell
but the ocean is not still
it swells. Cacti pickling
where
coral reefs budding
should be.

Yet sand is
sand and it
sinks all the same
so yes, within
-I suppose-
there is
some desert
suffering from me

Alas,
the poem
reaper
has been
begotten

And
set loose

Not even
ink can
live
forever

Oh wow
much words
so poem
very rhyme

Poetry is
the folds of
a tip in a rolled
spliff: is it an
M or a W?

I wanted so much
to write some
ranting
angry
poem

Then I remembered:
those were the
ones you
liked
best

My muse, where are all the
poems about cheese?

Where is your infinite material?
Is it somewhere in the
memory or tangible space?

Does it come from me
or do I reach for it as it falls
like gravity pulling dust motes
not quite heavy enough

I go where I have not
been once inside where
I've gone, but did you lead
me here? Are we tea before
steeping?

Does the water leach color from the tea,
or do the leaves happily oblige?

All you had to do
was take your head
out of your ***, give
a **** for ten minutes,
and give me a decent  
apology

But I'm not worth that

I trusted you because
you told me to, and
I shouldn't have

Now, almost all the balloons
are cut and gone already,
So I guess...

It's a good thing you
were never afraid of
losing me

I hate to even
call it love

I'm not sure
what it was
now

Perhaps it was only
a temporary
relief

It must not
have been
you
-I didn't seem
to miss much
of that today-

Bust
your
chap stickless
lips -still
soft- those
I miss

In the winter
when the fire's
alight and
warm

What do we
really run
from in the
cold?

What are we
returning to
in the spring?

Is it God
is it war
is it love
is it life
or the world?

There is
no more
of him
for me

What do
my words
taste like?

Do they
fill
you
-are you
full of them-

Are you
sick to
your stomach
of it all
by now?

Who'd ever believe a drunk ****,
a stupid ******* *****, a tease
Indeed.

I suppose I still am