I am drinking water that is meant for the plants
I am singing songs I used to sing for my dog
but she’s dead now

and I talk to myself while I scrub greasy pans,
read messages but never answer.

my vocabulary doesn’t stretch the length of expectations
by now I know that my silence sends the right message,
clearer than my hand-picked words
when I feel my blood boil and my brain lunge to keep up
I shut up.

they are just waiting to speak
at me and
I am just trying to sleep

like bathing, all of this waiting
stillness, silence
a pin submerged in water

or a wide-eyed boy scanning the sidewalks for his father
groping the dark

an abstract art

the effortlessness in the breaking of this vase
fine wrinkles in its maker’s hands, deep creases in his face
his pain disintegrates
a million pieces on linoleum 

that beautiful vase.

silence,
golden
then suddenly
broken
becoming a chorus
of chaos and moaning

this waiting,
this hayride
my swollen balloon

it’s lifetime is numbered
in pieces of you.

Reverend 

lichen
careful man, hey
you

yes, you!
with the suit
and the beanie hat-
folded hands
hands bathed in contradiction

let those grinning demons in!
our crowded hearts echo of repent

each ringing in your hollows
Q-tip squeaky clean..

O, Reverend
Mend me! 
teach me
how to take and take and take,

and still look upon this turning world with empty eyes
Like no lives are at stake! 
Like we are actually brave
Like we are really awake

As if all is only
left or right
black or white
day until night
lines then spaces
words only prayer
worlds
built upon prayer

never can one do harm without intent

never would a holy man
two hands
sewn by God— 

you must be remembering wrong.

i’m just intestines



pink and squirming
screaming, alive

the angry bird-heart in the mouth of a cat
still thumps
grasps for some meaning in these untimely events

and my head
the inside of a rattle
all the beads fall senselessly

sharp noise which cuts the air like a knife
but cuts it deep
and hollows it out
like love

and softer still
and from inside,
a voice

spouting out from the throat of a man
who i did love, once

his yell
answers mine

our intestines and intentions
finally aligned

I can’t discern between the thoughts conjured in
the empty space between our words
and those I let float out
untrimmed
unrefined.

Unapologetically, woman

unabashedly
passive I,
let your fingers trail
the cracks in my mind.

I bet
this isn’t a game of
who is listening,
but who will say the least.

what is this body but a vessel to you?
carrying your what if's and
your unborn children

a fixture
to *****.

This body is but
curves that turn
and cut your wit

dim forest
that you trail-blaze
converting rolling hills
to farmland
unearthing soil,
to dig your pleasure graves.


what is this body to you?

But two bouncing *******,
under a cotton summer dress?
what is this body but lips spread wide
open, teasing
a flash of teeth?

does it make you break a sweat?

what is this body but your chess piece?
mantel piece
piece of ***
strip tease
arm-rest
a body
beside you
to look down upon
and fake a smile at
in photographs

what is this body to you
but a vase?

to fill with your complaints
to empty your sorrows into
to empty your ***** into
to let down
then help up
to coo over and
cry on
and cry on
and cry on