You haven’t fed us recently.
I ate the goldfish,
For some reason it reminded me of my childhood.

I can’t get over that guy with the mask in the corner.
It’s unnerving how he swims up and down all day.

Is this going to be another starving day?
I’m tired of trying to get your attention.
You haven’t fed us recently,
Or cleaned the tank.
That’s okay,
The cleaner-fish loves it.
The goldfish doesn’t like the cleaner-fish much though.

Thanks for the flakes!

I think I’ve finally intimidated the cleaner-fish,
He’s been looking at me weird all day,
He keeps trying to keep me ahead of his gills.
I knew I’d be King soon.

The goldfish,
She’s gone.
What did you do with her?!

Are you going to feed us now?

Raise a glass,

Let’s make a toast.

To the years of our lives,

We’ll remember the most.

These times should be flashy,

Filled with drama and chance.

There’s nothing like summer,

For some risky romance.

We are young and inspired.

We are beautiful and strong.

It’s in these golden years,

That we can do no wrong.

So we’ll run from the cops,

And swim naked in pools.

Drink till we drop,

And smoke to feel cool.

The world is our pearl,

That’s how it will seem.

This is the time of our lives,

For you and for me.

Every time I visit,
my hallway is the same.
The tiles breathe cold air
through my jeans, and the
bench, now occupied,
gives me a longing look.
I know I am it's favorite.

People hustle by,
busy little critters trying
make it on time for
their next class. Giving
not a second thought,
to the girl with a frozen ****
and bright red hair.

Today my hall is musical.
Filled with the symphony of
fingertips colliding with a key board.
A piece that races on with a sense
of urgency. The player, a girl
with worn black converse.

The door to my favorite class lives here,
in this hallway, with 12 or so other neighbors.
Who's noisy occupants leak
through spaces in the door frames,
and whisper their conversations in my ear.

I'm not sure where
the comfort comes from,
in this hallway where I sit.
Maybe its the assurance that
the tiles, no matter how cold,
will always have a place for me.

Maybe it's that the people shuffling
back and forth, slowly become familiar.
Or maybe it's just because I need
something here to help me feel at home.
Maybe this is just the place I picked to be my safe haven.
A spot of comfort in a campus of confinement.

My lips feel heavy,
as I watch you fill yourself
with toxic waste.

Disgust bubbles hotly,
but no judgement
will I ever speak.

After all,
I wouldn't want you
to judge me for my
cup of ice against your
plate of pasta. My dark
circles against your
rosy cheeks.

Shaking tremors
make me tap at the
table in between us.

What do you see
when you look at me?
Beauty? Or bones?

When I look at
you, all I ever see
is a life I will
never have the luxury
of living. Mouthfuls of
treasure I'll never
be able to think
of consuming.

When I play pretend,
I always pretend
to be you.

And it's always
better than I
ever think it will be.

Even when the
consequences of
being you fill
my mouth with bile
over a pure white
basin, the memories
are still worth it.

Still enough,
to get me through
another week.

Silence lingers in crisp autumn air
as my feet rebound off concrete.
The uphill journey is traveled alone,
except for fellow early birds
and rare squirrels skittering across my path.
Questioning, I think, if I am threat enough
to keep them from their hunt for breakfast.

Sunlight fights its way through leaves
to flicker across my sleepy eyes.
As if the morning itself is trying to
jump start my system.
Wake me up for the long day ahead.

Finding my favorite perch
at the top of the hill,
I sit to watch campus slowly come to life.
Starting with a squirrel
and his newly found peach treasure,
and ending with the faces
of my unknown classmates.

This is Western, at 8 a.m.

Dirt, the dust on your
shoes, your pointed boots
that pierce the skin as you
trample over everyone you
meet, this is what I'm
worth to you?

It's certainly how you
treat me. Like a scratch
on your peripheral, just
waiting to be buffed out.
Wiped away without
a second thought. Not
even a hint of regret harbored
in your unforgiving eyes.

What did I do this
time? To upset the almighty king.
How did I breach your
throne? Yesterday we shared
the feast, today I'm left
without a drop of water.
Nothing to quench
my thirst for answers,
for answers to your
endless puzzles.

What do I need to do,
to make myself exist to you?

If I fall asleep tonight,
never to wake up.
I'll dream of the brightest light,
and you're unending love.
My ears will ring with laughter,
the air filled with white.
Our families merged together,
and your hand grasped in mine.

If I were to close my eyes,
and take my final breath.
My thoughts would be of blue skies,
and the heart beat in your chest.
Of a growing stomach to rest my hand,
with gleeful kicking feet.
And your courage there to help me stand,
when I fear I am too weak.

If you were to ask me,
what my fondest memory would be.
I'd have to tell you simply,
it was one I'd yet to see.
So if I died today,
I'd miss an awful lot.
Like our wedding, and our baby.
Like the house we'll fill with love.

Dedicated to Sean Rogers.

Suppose a fog a real fog that means to say that means to say a fog, a creative fog with more sinks first lights.
All the tin is needing flattening.
Suppose seven water, suppose two water, suppose five sand.
A Canadian sign is nearly numb.
White pointers white pointers in yellow dash be.
White pointers white rays expecting rumble rumble, rumble rumble.

swing over low-hanging branches
  bottle Philadelphia to jar sunny summer evening
blue holds
christmas lights is sparkly spectacular

Fly if I stumble

somebody a farmer
not you.

It is was this which teaches
Taught me
Ambi
Dex
Terity,
Though of
Left hand
Teeth
Tooth-brushing
My knowledge is rough;
It was is those these
Sunny
Dusty
Sunny afternoons in the sun,
The sun at the right angle
Angled towards me,
But not in my eyes
And the black
Fabric
Black, even in the sun,
As a field against which the
Sun angled out of my eyes
Shines
Shone
Sunny directly on my hands,
To which advantage
My advantage,
Or yours,
Would allow me
To pluck with tender
Specific
Tender care
Each thin blonde thin hair on my knuckles.
I already have will always doubt that you notice
Or notice that I notice you don’t, you never notice;
I notice you noticing me noticing you not noticing
My perfect,
Thin-blonde-thin, blonde-hair-free knuckles.