Our favorite childhood game
was set to track #3
on Elvis's Lost Album,
Pops would press play
and Tony and I would close our eyes,
spinning around and around,
two tops twisting and turning
across our tiny den,
while Pops played
a more subtle game
of nudging us away
from sharp corners
and unblocked stairs,
while our closed eyes
robbed him
of the recognition
he always deserved.

you're my only friend
who hears I love you
each time you leave,
because your sunken eyes,
that empty stomach,
those shrinking thighs,
have got me suspended
in perpetual fear
until next time.

Listing barbaric behaviors in class, for example (****)
It should be said first. It’s thought first (****)
But the list goes on and on: ******, slaughter, holocaust (****)
No one raises their hands to say it, never once (****)

“What’s missing?” Professor asks. The answer (****)
on my mind, on everyone’s mind, but no one says it (****)
Silence falls. He’s waiting. But still the word (****)
is left unsaid. Unspoken but echoing louder than ever (****)

Finally a girl raises her hand and says it (****)
But her voice drops on the word (****)
as if she can’t quite get it out (****?)

Why is it that we can discuss genocide, war, but never (****)
it, the word no one’s willing to say, to admit (****)
the crime, the word, that is too shameful to even speak (****)

Ripped shirts, bruised cheeks, eyes squeezed shut
Hands, stop, fists, no, screaming, fighting, giving up--
******.

I claim to have elastic skin,
but I'm more like
the world's deepest sponge

Long distance relationships
are easier in the land
of 30 dollar flights
and romantic street bands,
where three countries over
is only an hour-and-a-half
and the space between us
isn't a matter of oceans

Lately,
I'm battling winds
so strong they sound
like ocean waves,
and drowning
in gusts of love.

I buy candles
just to blow them out
because I love the smell
of things freshly burned,
and you thought
it wouldn't hurt?