some days i'm depressed because i don't understand myself.
i don't get why i wake up angry most mornings, or why the world around me feels so loud when i don't even get out of bed.
some days i wonder why your absence makes me want to *****, when i'm not sure i even miss you.
i'm trying to find the connection between the two.

there's this moment, every morning at about 8:30 when i'm smoking my first cigarette of the day, when i feel every cell in my body collapse and rearrange in strange ways i don't understand just at the sight of a patio chair that you could be sitting in.
there's this single sigh of desperation when i almost wish you were out of jail so you'd call me over to make love with such incredible intimacy and passion, then forget to follow through again.
you haven't done that in a while, i think you meant it the last time you said you didn't want me and you never have.
i still think you'd like me better if i were still in your bed.
i think i'd like me better, too.

~

Painted in a corner

Smeared about the floor

Chants of lone forgiveness

Quiet in the war



“Deafening the sound of death”



Garden roses trampled

Broken stems abound

Wilting on the visions

Blooming losses found



“Petals of peace scattered carelessly”



Blood along the pathway

Eyes hid in the mist

Penning someone else’s name

On this lengthy list



“Alphabetical to the grave”



Standing from the shadows

Crossing battle lines

Reaching for the freedom

Voices loud can find



“Speak up children, your voices matter”



Put aside your weapons

Time has come to cease

The nation now has gathered

United prayer for peace



*“On our hands and knees we pray… send the evil far away”

i bet even after all this time
that if my chest were to
ache with emptiness enough
like it used to i could go to your house
and find the outline of our bodies
on your dark blue bed sheets
i have spent the last year
both trying to run from you
and find you at the same time
but i left everything i knew
about falling in love
on that mattress and
it's still settling there
like dust and
all i can do is write about you
until it comes back to me,
or by some kind of miracle,
you decide to.

she said,
"don't grow up,"
and i replied,
"my darling,
it's a bit too late for that.
the fun and games
have ended.
the curtains
are closing.
the adrenaline
is fading.
the smiles
are dying.
the hearts
are breaking.
and i feel
i have lived
a thousand lifetimes,
each one lacking
a childhood."

(a.m.)

here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread
when the judgment day comes
God will find six crumbs

stooping by the coffinlid
waiting for something to rise
as the other somethings did—
you imagine His surprise

bellowing through the general noise
Where is Effie who was dead?
—to God in a tiny voice,
i am may the first crumb said

whereupon its fellow five
crumbs chuckled as if they were alive
and number two took up the song,
might i’m called and did no wrong

cried the third crumb,i am should
and this is my little sister could
with our big brother who is would
don’t punish us for we were good;

and the last crumb with some shame
whispered unto God,my name
is must and with the others i’ve
been Effie who isn’t alive

just imagine it I say
God amid a monstrous din
watch your step and follow me
stooping by Effie’s little, in

(want a match or can you see?)
which the six subjunctive crumbs
twitch like mutilated thumbs:
picture His peering biggest whey

coloured face on which a frown
puzzles, but I know the way—
(nervously Whose eyes approve
the blessed while His ears are crammed

with the strenuous music of
the innumerable capering ******)
—staring wildly up and down
the here we are now judgment day

cross the threshold have no dread
lift the sheet back in this way.
here is little Effie’s head
whose brains are made of gingerbread