dont talk about it
today
if you wont talk about it
tomorrow.

the day might change but we never do.
stuck in the mud
stuck in the mud
stuck in the mud

gardener
I am not ready
don't pluck me

It’s the telemarketer’s day off
he often calls customer service on the weekends as a hobby
he feels like a loaded rifle when they ask
“what can I help you with today?”
a jitterbug with a contemplative stutter
the jilted staleness of his apartment is suddenly
a garden of words
images of violence appear while he rips a hangnail
loneliness is a grown man’s burden, he thinks
“I don’t want you to listen but I do need to be heard”
he waits for silence and he’s spoon fed this attention
“I work with people and yet I do not know people
my mind waters for intimacy not in the sensual term of the word but in the
way hands accidentally touch on a crowded train”
2,000 miles away there is a woman with a headset
a chronic consoler at the tender age of 19
her hand trembles as she hears this man speak
she’s reminded of her grandmother dying in her tiny home
back in Kansas City, desolate like her location

I drink pink grapefruit flavored drinks
my face smells like the citrus
when I lose things and people
I change my hair
it helps me cope with the idea that I can never finish a stick of lip balm and most of the people I've known only yield disappointment
no one is at fault here
but the blame is usually pushed into my intestines
and I spend five days throwing up
I used to be afraid that I would never see the entire world
now I'm afraid I'll never spend enough time in a place I can call home
every morning the smell of grapefruit grows stronger

how to steal a soul:

blow three kisses to the mailman
two to the dean of admissions
and one to yourself
because you'll always be queen
of your own heart

three days later
drown yourself in sugar,
the hooves of lovesick pigs,
and the chipped tooths
of the bodies from
one-way-loves past

hug your cats goodbye
remember to turn off the heater
(it's hot enough inside you)
don't forget a brain-melting
smile

and jump

my writing class is above the pharmacy.
an old elevator
still rising
when the doors open.

nothing poetic happened to me today
so why am i here

there are very few things that are so beautiful they hurt
swimming in the rain.
dancing in the dark.
you.

ive never been
to this part of town
before.

second thought
ive never even been
to this town
before.

then why
does it feel
so ******* familiar

why do i remember
getting drunk in
that bar
chipping my teeth on
that curb.

i think the parts of me
that don't like me
stay here.
calling out for skin.
im freezing out here.

i havent been
warm in so
long

eating the ****** weapon and
wearing the fur.
i have nothing to say so i ramble,
and think about what i should buy you for christmas
and how ill give it to you without
tripping the wires
you keep around me

bakers dozens of country miles
couldn't keep the drug out.
vinyl records and chalkboard elephants
gone with the wind.
with the run of a hand.

we never let the bread rise.
always kneading away,
putting out fires before they start
and missing the drought
in front of you.

the wind rattles my straw house,
so i feed the Wolf
to get some quiet.

you learned what happiness is
because you learned what love isnt

"i love you
more
than they
loved you"

but do you
love her better?