my hair's getting long, love
about as long as you would have liked
long enough to pull and squeeze
when we shared our kaleidoscopic bliss at night

people i haven't seen in a while
all have something to say
"hey man, i didn't know that was you!" they joked
last night as i set up my gear on stage

i'm glad you asked me to grow it, my fallen love
it's getting to the perfect length;
long enough to make me invisible
but long enough to give me strength

you see i always wanted to be a ninja
wear the ponytail of a samurai
i always thought it would just be cool
but last night i discovered why:

so i can be invisible to your love, my dear
like a ninja in the night
my hair will guide me right past you
without getting caught in the light

i'll slip right through your fingers
as my hair would slip through yours
using every new millimeter of every follicle
to remind me how long I can be strong for

the next time i see you, sweet dream
you won't even recognize me, i pray
i can only hope my heart won't be made of stone,

and just maybe

you'll be in the mood to talk to strangers that day

believe it or not there was a time
when my spirits were so high;
i soared on the warm currents of life
like an albatross with no direction needed for home

for most of my life i had believed
that i was the only person i need;
that nobody could bring my spirit
crashing down on the cold rigid shoreline

but i was wrong

i met the most wonderful girl.
let's call her beautifully broken
a soul that had been re-shaped;
had been twisted, tormented, from the inside
but had now chosen to display the most beautiful, perpetual smile.

she told me faintly about her past;
how it had beat her down, but she fought back
with every fibre in her little body
just to be happy like she deserves

maybe it was the way she wrote love stories on her arms
tales of bittersweet endings, that will never disappear
they fade, but remain forever
as if to say "real love sees no end"

i've never dealt well with blood
since the time my leg erupted like a volcano
this is why i still haven't cleaned her spill from my bathroom floor
and i move in 6 days.

i didn't know what it was like, to be her.
to hurt so bad.
to feel a pain that only subdues when she tattoo'd herself
as a constant reminder of our struggles

she told me she's absolutely fine
her inner battle has ceased
her freshest mark, like a line through my name
was the last one, to say the least

the thing is i believe her.
she may be little, but with a mind so beautiful, so strong
there is no more room for agony in that tiny body

this is why i'll help take it away
i'll be the sponge that ***** in all of the negative, the sadness, and hate

i have never felt this way in my life
and i believe my time has come.
to feel the weight of the world bearing down on me
slowly bringing my soaring, gliding soul
down toward the shore

i will take the weight
of your saddened years gone by
i will let it crush my insides
until these wings no longer fly

i only want her to be free
to soar on these warm currents of life
but i must absorb more pain and sever all my ties

because it's so hard to fly
when you have a dead, rotting albatross
hanging around your neck.

Remember when
we were so comfortable
underneath the mid day sun
at one of our favourite festivals

the bands had long stopped
but the music still danced in our hearts
lifting our spirits to the heavens
and giving praise to this beautiful day.

we had all gathered together
but not to say goodbye;

to lay in the sweet grass
and
hold on, by the tips of our fingers
for just a few more hours...
and

get a little high

with the sun's rays ablaze and
no current riding our open backs
your skin was like wildfire
captivating, shimmering in the light

those UV rays got nothin' on you

i laid at your side with a bag
filled of sweet & sticky treats
..an archive of sorts
and asked what was your tongue's favourite taste

the finest of delights fit for a queen
sometimes require a perfect surface
and the way your black hair glimmered that day
i couldn't help but see you
as my little Cleopatra

your curves creating shadows
upon the dimples of your back
i asked if you'd mind, with a zig-zag in my hand

and you looked at me.

and you smiled.

i am on the beach /
waiting for my resurrection
with the sand in my bad eye and
the smell of goose **** pungent and intrusive, uninvited.

2:30 pm , friday of may 24 weekend;
the beach is flat and empty of girls
(for whom i am waiting)
                                                (will they know
                                                          **­w to save me ??)  .

so far i have avoided sitting on a 3.5" nail, rusted, protruding from the duneside,
and several shards of a broken bottle beer,
keen to shred my winter-softened feet with their angry brown fangs.
i will pick up as much of the glass as i can find and go home, calling myself
a good samaritan.

"you're a ****." some seagulls say from the lake.
i pick up a rock and let fly; they are just out of range.
"you're a ****." they repeat as i walk back towards the footpath.

and yeah, they are probably right.

I remember the last time we talked
you called me on a Thursday afternoon
I asked how you’d been
         you were fine
and if you were still working
at that bakery in West Hollywood
         no, you had quit 5 months ago

we talked for twenty minutes
but all I could think about
was how we used smoke *** in your bedroom, watching
cartoons for hours
or when we’d walk to Aldaberto’s
for horchata and chicken burritos
and the days we skipped school and drove to Malibu
to smoke cigarettes at the beach and drink Mountain Dew
mixed with ***** we stole from your dad

you asked me
how I’d been
I lied and didn’t tell you
how I’ve been drinking more lately
and that I still sleep on
the same side of the bed
as if you were going to show up one night and crawl in next to me

and yes, the dog is good
we now go on walks every morning
and yes, my diet is still poor— I know, I smoke too much
but I’m glad you’re doing fine

we talked for twenty minutes
and I hated it
because I didn’t
everything felt like it used to
except no one said ‘I love you’
before hanging up

I am not sure which is bloodier, more gruesome –
birth or death. It is like asking God if he prefers Eve to Adam
for demolishing that false sense of security,
specks of pride dissolved in snake venom apples.
There is mourning in creating monsters
as there is in killing them: I see starving children with
round, pregnant bellies and somehow they are more at peace than
I am on my best day. We will understand when we are dead,
not in the act of becoming a ghost, but once we are one.

When I was little, I saw the house on Camellia’s corner
crumble: attacked from behind, the same swamp I had in mine.
I had not noticed its yellow shingles before
and suddenly, this nine year old girl felt lonely for
bricks and plaster and the refrigerator hung on its balcony door.
On its side like a woman in labor –
midwives have her in a kiddy pool, the origin of its
name. Imagine being baptized before you take your first breath.

Ametrine is an amalgamation of two gemstones:
amethyst and citrine. I am that of my parents, one quarter grandma.
She who I never met but got my alcoholic mother from.
My clumsiness stemmed there, the constant
stumbling on invisible rocks and breeding ****** knees –
having two daughters who bleed monthly, but it’s never in sync.
Still, I cannot grasp being proud of ghostliness  
when there are millions of invisible children in clear blood.