i need to start falling in love
less often.
stop idolizing every brave girl
who shows me the part of her skin
that rarely sees the sun &
waits patiently for my response………..
…..& i always inflate her ego
like a carnival balloon,
& in the coming weeks
i twist it into different animals.
a lion when i'm lonely,
a mouse to mimic misery,
but one day when i'm twisting up
the closed fists of some
metaphor of a memory
it pops & she's suddenly aware
of the clown.

but love is a dish best served
not at all.
skip the meal
& lose the weight of love
& the world seems so much bigger
& instantly you fit into places
you had never even tried before.
the feet that used to make those
distinct etchings in mud
like a tiny topographical map,
hauling that love around
like a bowling ball in a backpack,
those feet don't even touch the trees anymore
& the clouds envy your freedom
as they whisper pick up lines to the moon.

"When you blew


When you blew out the smoke,
                                                      You were something beyond you

You were
                       so much more
Than you are,


a being, beyond yourself. Another life. You see

                                                                               This moment in my life
I wish I could share more moments with you
This one moment, just speaking in your ear.                        

                                                                       Just like this

Because when you blew out the smoke,



when you blew out the smoke, you were a queen."

Every sip,
Closer to immortality.
Take my thoughts with you,
When you go.

I dream only of demise.
Yours often,
My own more frequently.
Maybe that makes me selfish.
Maybe I am.

In here I reside.
Within myself.
Block away the outside,
Slowly eroding,
Perfecting this darkness,
In which I am swallowed.

I must be crazed.
As far as my feet will wander,
My mind never drifts from you.

There's an eye on the back of my neck
and in order to let it see,
I stretch my spine up to the sky;
my nose aiming at the bullseye straight ahead.

I'm scared of what's behind
and I don't want the hauntings to make my eye blind,
so I hang my head
and curve my spine into an arch,
so my my eye can see the sky instead.

I'll get a hunchback from my lonely march,
but my eye will never have to see my past.

Why aren’t your eyes--- there?
In two places--- where water should be?
Moldy residue--- absence of vision, tears
From those bullet holes--- you ought to see--- your own ambivalence
Fall down my cheek
Terrifying--- Me, with nothing for both us
Automaton, my weakness
Intellect, disease
You’re my body
Cage
You're my spirit
Doubt
Justice and horror--- within, without

Down stucco sidestreets,
Where light is pewter
And afternoon mist
Brings lights on in shops
Above race-guides and rosaries,
A funeral passes.

The hearse is ahead,
But after there follows
A troop of streetwalkers
In wide flowered hats,
Leg-of-mutton sleeves,
And ankle-length dresses.

There is an air of great friendliness,
As if they were honouring
One they were fond of;
Some caper a few steps,
Skirts held skilfully
(Someone claps time),

And of great sadness also.
As they wend away
A voice is heard singing
Of Kitty, or Katy,
As if the name meant once
All love, all beauty.