Someday I will leave
the cold sea

Leave its dark quiet wake
like all the long nights
I've forgotten

I will go sleep
on the soft shoulder
of the mountains

Watch her hands
cupping the moon

Somewhere west
of these frozen sad dunes

Say goodbye to the cry of the gull
and the bluewater wind I love

that leaves me feeling so cold.

you know the way a sore tooth
feels when cold air hits it?
a sudden ache in your gums
that is nothing more or less than
a punishment for breathing,
and it hurts so bad
you feel it in your spine,
which doesn't really make sense
but you shake to the rhythm of its
taunting anyway.
and somehow
you are reminded of your childhood,
caramel glued to the roof of your mouth
like the bumper sticker you foolishly
plastered against your car,
beneath the window...

some nights my entire being
is a sore tooth,
and i am hit with cold air.
a sudden ache in my heart
that i feel rolling down my spine...
it is nothing more or less than
a punishment for surviving.

so here i am
peeling grief from the
roof of my mouth
and i'm sorry i don't always
answer your calls,
i don't always live in this skin,
sometimes i need to adjust
the fabric from the outside
before it gives way
to the small tears in its seams
& so, i guess,
i just want you to know
if i ever seem far away,
i'll be back
as soon as i am safe
inside myself again

He steps outside
wading through snow, he exhales more
only to capture the white billowing cloud that forms
outside of open gape
His eyes are five year old wonders,
his hands fifty years old

The second the sole of his workman's shoe
crunches down on white carpet
The neighbors open heated entrances
To greet him

Embracing him warmly with conversation
Buzzing with words and news from the weekend missed
We arrive home to a repaired snow blower, steady and rumbling

The week before
The power lines got into a war with the wind
The neighbor I had rushed past weekly
offered
piles of stored wood, without a thought
keeping the both of us warm for days
in heart and in palms

His dimples are sacred accepting kindness
The words he shares so open and patient,
Curious and compassionate
Leaving our fences shared, not separated

Week to week I only
greet chamomile tea and scripted memoirs
Grateful to flee from humanity behind sacred front door.

Me: "How do you have time to talk to the neighbors?"
Him: "No one is ever truly busy."

i was a graveyard,
especially between four & six
in the morning
and at night

a graveyard,
awakened

empty water bottles
and half smoked cigarettes
like tomb stones
marking the places
where my veins broke off
and flooded my bedroom floor

the labels
printed on them
read like the names
of all the ghosts
that like to dance
at the foot of my bed
when sleep is
the end to a 90s
hip-hop song,
fading out,
slowly
slowly
quietly
quietly

three out
of seven
nights,
the dancers
are ex-lovers
with my flesh
still stuck between
their razor sharp teeth
& they smile at me
but there's this manipulation
hidden in their pupils,
screaming warning calls
about track marks
and bruised knees,
not from me,
not from me,
they're ghosts of infidelity

four out
of seven
nights,
the dancers
are friends
who met
tragic ends;
blonde hair
decorated in
dried blood
from smashed glass,
by a telephone pole
on a rainy night,
and pulsing veins,
if i focus in close enough
i can see the liquid
chemicals coursing through
beneath that electric blue,
just a little more
& he's passed out on
some ******'s basement floor

i've been a graveyard
since i was 14

but now things are changing,
dirt is kicking up,
dragging those ghosts
back under the soil

i think
your green eyes,
your pale skin,
your flourescent teeth,
and the way your voice
travels from the kitchen
on gentle waves
to your bedroom
is the storm
that's burying
the dancers
again

please don't leave me,
wandering around
with dying flowers
in my palms

i like the way the tip
of your nose
is cold
and soft

i like the way your sheets
feel around my
boney ankles

i've gotten used to
the rhythm of your
upstairs neighbor's
spanish rock,
it lulls me now

i've gotten used to
the rhythm of your
roommate's
snoring,
even in the afternoon,
it lulls me now

i've gotten used to
the creaky floors,
the dripping water,
the hum of the radiator

i've gotten used
to your breath on my ear,
your lips on my neck,
the way your voice
melts down into
a puddle on the floor
when you talk about
your sadness,
i don't even
step over it anymore,
i cup it in my hands,
and let it slowly
drain through
my shaking fingers

please don't leave me,
i'm not safe yet,
but i'm getting there,
i'm safer here
than anywhere