I should tell him all
about how I am 75%
of everything he does
not want, but I need
to believe that I am
made with sea foam
with pollen for blood
with coriander seeds
and pomegranates
that to someone
else I could be
all of these
things.

i am scared
he will blow
straight through
me, and i am a
fresh cut in the
wind, an open
blister under
water, I have
not felt this
vulnerable
in a while

i am afraid of my own
of myself, of the things
my dad dreams, of no
answers, of asking
questions to my
pillow at 2 am
out loud and
my voice
sounds
so soft
and mistaken
like it really shouldn't
be there.

left you at the station
wrung out and dried
on a train to I-don't-
know-where, but I
bought the ticket
and I was ready
to lose you, I am
ready to lose you
I left you at the
station.

that kid phil wouldn't shut up about **** and
acid, downing a can of pabst blue ribbon, the logs
snapped and I let the moths drown him out, because
the stars are so much louder (my silence is so much
louder than it used to be) have you ever wondered
why moths are such idiots? he asks. I tell him they're
just looking for the moon and everyone goes quiet
because, what? They wanted to believe that moths
aren't just searching for the light too?

my hair always caught
on the beaded wooden
seat cover on the passenger
side, knees up, feet on the
dashboard, modest mouse
telling me to Float On,
back from the beach
                          back from home                  (both)
back from half price
from mcdonalds,
from fred meyer
                                92nd street park             (in the end)
will you go back
and look at what
i etched on the bench?
it was a doodle, but
it meant I  l o v e  y o u

on the trip back home
we stood in front of the
air pump at the gas station
in awe of all it's simple metal
and the fact that we had no idea
how to use it, but a man came along
in ***** slacks and a beaten bike, asked
if we needed help and I noticed how his teeth
appeared to be solidified together like one giant
tooth on each row. And I wouldn't have thought
about the ***** man with two giant teeth ever
again if my mom hadn't have pointed out
that he might have been god. and maybe
so, maybe not. Maybe he was just the
***** man on the bike but what if
he was god and what if I had
missed the monumental
moment to ask him all
of my questions, lay
all of my fears out
on the coffee stained
pavement. But we
hadn't and we had
left, drove 13 hours
to St. George, Utah
without a second
thought.