Body is sorry
Body came from Other Body
Body absorbed symbols
Body combined symbols to describe
What it might be like to be Body
Body saw pictures of its inside
And held an old brain
Body's pain is created there
In Nucleus hell center
A space to water the certifiably insane
Vortex of tubes that will rot into mush
Body released  pheromones once
Body couldn't help but blush

Now Body lays in the dark
Body purrs as memory whirs
About times that Body bruised
And lost its ability to talk about Body
To represent Body
All the times that Body walked on without itself

God is a drag queen baby
so colorful
rainbows are his black and white photographs

God swallows glitter by the ton
and who the **** thinks
he's still reading your late night texts
he's moved on
the world spins on his heel's axis

God wears gold chains
and face paint

some all knowing clown
mocking the rules we sorted out
when he bothers to look down

kissing just for practice
we’d pour wine on the grass
we’d pour beer on the grass
nodding off love’s advance
imagining bridges
laughing through stitches
blonde hair in the distance
ski monster now wanderer
my friend and my friends' pets
we’re boy and dogs and women
my friends all lost their heads
when they lost their pets
and lost earrings in between
the cracks of the mattress
some lost things will
fade into blackness
the kind in my womb
the kind you found in the woods
when you lost sight of your hands
for the first time
then found the light
in the spine
of a boy with kind diamonds
between his teeth
it was all me
my retinas chose to see
the light when brightness was not what i needed
i need him to fade back into the blackness of my beer bottle please
i need him to see the importance of knees
of how his knees folded under his form
but return me to the floor once more
where carpet holds friction of first dance
and what more could religion be
than praising the light of men
yes ill return to the darkness then
seal me behind ***** and let me be
but roll me through the grass
stained with wine beer and tea

Smoke floats between
the damp sheets of linen
in my mouth.

The vacuum of my nose
***** it out.

I perch on a faded lawn chair
browned from the 2000’s sun.
It’s February and 34 degrees.

I spent all week getting lost
in my phone for hours on end.  

Some people sip green,
barely dancing,
the neighbors’ presence.

I tell lies so lightly
to my new friend.
She is 21 and well read.
Someone put a hole in her head.

We think we move in circles
but it’s more like jagged lines.
Her dramatic lines pair
with my new found mind.

We speak of the fear of speaking.
We porch hop, chatter box
to couches and beds where
ghosts hang over heads.
Sunlight causes it to end.

The morning windows open
and the roof is wet.
I sip coffee and delay regret.

isn't it funny how we can now
identify rivers from the air

i see colored squares of grass
living beneath this metal machine
a vantage point that
humans sought from birds

we were always searching for flight formulas
or aiming slingshots toward the stars
maybe writing songs for the gods

sweet melodic pleas
so we could levitate-
separate
into angel dust

precipitation-
sweaty droplets of liquefied soul
drowning the mississippi
in pulls of poison
from my past lives' organs

the very air
that dares to guard the rain
contains all of the oxygen
those bodies had
smoked to stay awake

it has been so long since my head has bled flower poems about our friendship. they're always such a mess. recycled nostalgia and loose ends. the dark thoughts drip down the tube of my throat. but for now, let's share a beer and flood ourselves knee deep in poetry. what i mean is every mouth has a reference taste for memory. what i mean is green apple holds a photo of four girls in a basement. *** and coke are the boys that we played with. clementine is goodbye and ***** slushies are a bed of pine. whiskey is a winter storm with our queen jane. tequilla is a lost stitch and a baseball game. what i mean is we're a graveyards of tin cans and band lyrics about goldenrod and desire. i'm heavy with the times we reminisce about the two girls on fire.
i'm glad knowing dead girls are forever.

Sometimes I get up and walk, hoping that I will be lucky enough for some stranger in the street to grab my shoulders and shake me awake. But the city does not give me the validation that I am there. The machinery is too big. We all trek sidewalks while colors conduct buses and horseless carriages. Where else do I exist other than in a flash of eye contact with a stranger? It’s quickly forgotten in a space called later and it can take as long as a minute.

Gears in gadgets briefly remember the certain touch of their match’s square angles and the time between their touching is named “experience before comprehension”. This is the foreplay before language’s conception.

hangover guides me home again.
old news spews through
the screens all around me.
lies are subjective
and time is a flat circle.

we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.

high ground is the sure plan to suffer so
save yourself by submitting to flood.
mirrors reveal your fastest escape plan.
clouds are coming no matter how hard
you blow back, so all you can hope for is snow.

we are somewhere near the eye of the storm.

Crack the window
Find me in the left lung of the house's chest
I close my eyes
and let the sound of white wind trace
the shells of my ears with it's smallest finger

Ghosts sleep in the morning
Electricity finds its rhythm in my veins and
I start up again
Angels wake with bed head in their best denim
I pierce the bed skin to find feathers
                                            
wear metal
wear silk
wear flesh

I paint time lines in a circle
post them on the ceiling
and sleep with one eye open

I dream of feeling-
shut inside
believing perverse or the reverse

my view is navy
i drive toward your house
with sparkler finger-tips
not yet lit

our time is humid
we hush the fire
and rock to sleep, guitar wires,
manipulating sound waves

we whisper secret sounds in the wake
of airplane lights moving
across cheap glitter
in the night sky

we bloom into our minds
and heaven is the place
where clouds diffuse
to reveal the moon

i scratch my throat on sugar cubes
you burn your hands on
stove tops and cigar butts
we blister fuse together

my son
the size of barely a peach
you left me for somewhere else
feet first, head last

i wish you could cast your shadows
onto daughter daylight
and blister so hard
that you're walking on balloons
maybe try to lick
the unreachable parts of your arm
or move your fingers
to wake yourself into body again

but instead
like a cartoon
i imagine you burrowed from my lap
feet first
tunneling toward eternal
leaving me bleeding and
deleting memory of being
more than one body

my body is several climates of skin
peak and valley
carcass and substance
stunted and growing
regeneration

my body is lucid
halted energy
machine parts turning
calling codes
screaming notes

my body is star bruise
scar tissue
weapon
cure

my body is every memory

my body is because of world
and I am because of body

Confetti settles in the crease of the carpet.
I wake up with pints of honey buzzing
in the center of my chest. My eyelashes cast shadows
like tick marks on my cheeks. No chaos.
The backs of my legs are tender
from crawling through the window to the roof.

We watched a paper mache moon from the roof
the night before. Small towns are boring liked threads from the carpet
but the people have hearts that are tender
like living peaches, always buzzing.
Just one picture of us, five sorry teens with internal chaos
dancing through string lights and breathing shadows.

Harris has a fascination with those shadows.
Her membership would be awarded with a dive from the roof.
She always loves the smell of checklist chaos,
or formulating plans while lying on the carpet
of her room. Her emotions are pulled taut and buzzing,
resonating fear when she forgets how to be tender.

Julia’s wire existence couldn’t try to be tender
She is a fat slap of clarity across your dispositions. Shadows
can’t cast new shapes across her buzzing
body. Her ******* pointing toward the roof
and her feet sinking between carpet
folds. like every time she is around it’s chaos.


Britt’s eyes reflect blue waves free from chaos
and each word skips across his tongue gentle and tender.
His clothes, Goodwill and kind-of-used-carpet
and camera casts light to evade shadows.
Short prayers dare scrape the roof
of his mind. Send heritage and denial buzzing.

Nelson is 7 years of swallowed gum and buzzing
alarm clocks, warning the world of chaos.
He climbs up rusted ladders to the roof
to shout of love and it’s lack of tender
tendencies. He is a fall breeze where leaves force shadows
across the laundry line, too weak to leave a hole in the carpet.

I glide through my days alluding tender
my mind scoffs at the chaos of my daytime shadow
but under the roof, i'm just a chalk outline pushed into carpet.

if paradise is a state of mind,
can i hide pieces of my idealism
between the lines in your palms?

will you fold your hands gently
next time you pray
or grip the steering wheel?

or will you wash yourself raw
to rid of my glitter?

i am brain speaking through the features we both know

hello

blood chugs along like a train through the veins of my brain
giving me permission to change my motion, feel emotion
like warmth from the sun
hitting the bumps of my skin
hiding the horizon behind microscopic flesh mountains

close your eyes
see sunrise at any time
this is my religion

if clock is the only fact your body knows, say hello

picture a train pulling into the station past the snow
feel it's echos shake the loosest joints of your body
like radio bass attempting to wave the ***** of your face

stay licking your wounds and

imagine
the theory of God
as some printing press
producing repetitive lines from an expired advice column

imagine
hugs are confirming
that we're both just body

imagine
me as before and after
LiquidinOrgan and SomedaySoil

imagine
being complex enough
to have one word
to express the undefinable mess inside your chest

imagine
uttering one word
just to feel this poem

to live
to live flesh
to live flesh and forget
to live flesh and forget about it

but sometimes we realize
the weight of this machine
is the silent way we perceive
this slowing of molasses gravity
pushing down on our organs

life is just the attempt at resistance
and death is some certain stillness

confetti settled in the crease of the carpet

My hand, a guide to write and rhyme these lies
I spend my daytime stiff to gather dust
The rain will hit my tongue and it will rust
My head a silent film of stranger’s eyes
I walk across the map all wind and sighs
These human heads, balloons about to bust
The body, a vehicle for sinner’s lust
The face, a mask to hide the bottled cries

But why do we exist inside the light
So bright among the branches of my chest
Some careful kiss of guilt inside my sight
I can’t forget the day that she first rest
August’s angry moon all through the night
Awoke from slumber always facing west

                                 -

I’m caught inside my mother’s mirrored glass
Performance space where lipstick is applied
At one point every girl has surely cried
Because your mirror twin just couldn’t pass
I’d rather roll down hills and kiss the grass
A reckless rampage I have never tried
Forgetting every boy who called you wide
The girls are done with being made of glass

Living all inside is surely storm
The cranium, a sight of hurricanes
Clinging onto judgment to stay warm
Monitored to see if we are sane
Spinning through some disembodied form
No wonder they say beauty is just pain

                               -

Some sacred, manufactured in the brain
We wring out certain pain with all the lies
To chase the bits of light beyond our eyes
And recognize the body as our chains
It’s simply time to be a little vein
And love our mirror selves to feel the highs
And use our inner mind to really try
To know that we are really all the same

The matter that we breathe is priceless foam
Perspective tells us we are all alive
The pull to walk along, forever roam
The current running down your human spine
On this rock inside a little dome
I’m learning to be body, but revived

we bloom in
shapes, colors, origins
spread across the ground
that they plan to bury us beneath

invisible support
like green ghost hands unseen
we thread together
while the day holds ****** weather

congress can't
congress won't uproot this grid
because we support
all the branches we are made of

and what we are made of is unity

this is a sober honest poem
about how I can't imagine
a life without your shakes
and your verbal pictures of
earthquakes

this is a poem about
how lust is love
without friendship
and we are love
without
lust

this is a poem about
my dreams and it screams
my brain awake sometimes
about how our greatest
feat is not dying at the hand of drink

this is a poem about
the tubes of light on
rooftops in July
and sparkler breath
when we near riverbeds

this is a poem about
our need for sacred
sound and ground
and strings buzzing until
we change them with
hand combinations

this is a poem about
learning about poems
this is a lunatic
screaming about politics
through shattered glass
dead goldfish under corduroy

this is the list of names
our brains would be labeled
in the shrinks offices
anxiety ******* in your ear
all check marks
and watercolors

this is melting new shoes
on the edge of a fire pit
and screaming ****
into blades of grass
it's all asinine laughter

moonlight rises,
rolling tide in its grave

we try to balance inside our bodies
with eyes locked on black horizon

spinning circles, wearing hats
scratch our backs on green dew grasses

beer cans folding like a fan
sent to flames in reckless fashion

moss as natures velvet
mold in nostrils causing scratches

ghost of tire swing pendulums
and dirt as common ashes

tossing voices through particles
hand creases soaked in secret passions

Recall the night we shivered the river breeze
Outside the trailer, we wore those secret smiles

On hillsides, wet grass reflected August light
Your girlfriend on a long distance phone call

We danced and screamed our favorite songs
You slept on the white kitchen tiles so gently

That was the room I knew how I loved you
But doubt and fear sank into the sunrise

Forgive me for the pieces I am missing
My mind has given omen to delusion

University air, holding her hand in the park
My eye contact is now your nightmare

So I’ll hold a hostage grudge over silly crushes
and let those smiles simmer into bitter poems

spinning around through suicidal sounds
i’m feeling my false heartbeat
and baiting boys with throat noise

i admit

i’m an irresponsible owner
of this machine i call a body
ripping down and burning the curtains
that cover the window to my sunny womanhood
spitting acid through the wind
and blaring reverse funeral music

i’m back to writing in shades of red
i’m ******* sonnets and addressing them
to wherever the hell my family’s mental health is

this year, September wrote its own bird song
and i’m using Beer Bottle Birth Control

tonight Privilege is sponsoring
my pathetic recklessness


the wind is no longer gold dust and baby teeth
instead it's shaking for my dignity

it’s two in the morning and ninety degrees

we’re gleaming on the porch
******* down the stale air
from a father’s fat cigar smoke

my best friend pinches my pupils
with her fishing wire love song
launching her secrets
like bottle rockets
through the shells of my ears
blushing blue about how
she can’t help but savor a boy
who would rather linger with birds

she leans in close
mouth still blistered from
all those bees buzzing
in her sunset breath

she said we better start living out loud
because we can binge enough  
electric currents to stay restless for a while
kissing wrists through a springtime tantrum

i tell her about all the places i go at night
boarding time machines in a split screen mind
to when we were under that pine tree
burying letters to lovers like dead bodies

she asks if i ever look forward

i said all i know is time and air

but sometimes it feels like our rotation has paused
and oxygen might seem thick enough to drown

a boy in his hat
and a big full of beer
he slept for a year
with a cross on his neck
and a heart full of fear
he'll never appear
because nothing is clear

he is water dripping in the shower drain
echoing senseless pain onto tiles
denying us the satisfaction
of setting these church pews on fire

down by the water
we never slow danced
to the same tempo
but instead wrote
each other forced notes
for a short term love scenario

dreaming of only Arizona roads
acting like he never loved the slow
burning of mountain sunlight

his purple tie lay limp below his ears
he'll never appear
because nothing is clear

that’s her. the patron saint of gluing words together with chewed pieces of gum. feeding the public with consumable bites of confusion. saint dipped in jewel tone yellow. consistently writing notes to what she believes in. blessed and consecrated into siren lights. crows feet dragging along the sides of scrap metal. a cartoon closet with the inability to settle. fisherman’s sweaters that owe the intended man a blistered *******. black night gown thrown out an open window. velvet second skin rubbing the walls of mountain homes. the patron saint of birthday candle wax blowing through strips of hair. scaring away bits of violet holy air.

the cherub in the corner ******* on bits of blonde boy’s fingertips. she prances numb toes over bike spokes. wings are tattooed on her back to combat numerical rebellion. logic climbs spine as she tries to change lenses. her sunset tilted on its axis. renaissance painting on fragile ceiling tiles in public bathrooms. garden party with one flower to examine. eyes vacant as to avoid witnessing rebellion. little crane holding paper organs in place. bodies of water pushed into vacant sacred space. sleeping close to statues and warming brass within. the cherub angel floats above all girls with silly sin.

the apostle tied to few words. a ghost for a mother and piece of machinery for a father. exhuming quartz from 3rd degree burns. a smile painted on a German Shepard. thrift shop candy born because of ***** quarters. heels grinding coffee grounds and unbelievable pearls from an ungraceful mouth. spitting up fishhooks into fat tire beer. the apostle staring through crosses for a year. wiping down windows with the horizon’s morning breath. pouring peroxide onto ignorant mumble of wealth and egotistical evidence.

the dove predictably flies in upper atmosphere to avoid being seen. squeezing through sharp pieces of mosaic, evading gendered fantasy. birds eye view with potential to burn. landing on rocks watching serenity waste by. most absent parade. mourning in front of an uncertain feeling’s grave. without action there is nothing there to shame. animal comrades using up his skill of throwing wires to wind and sparkling in fields. ukulele vibration uncomfortably close to ski slopes. exhausted idealism underneath of secret thunder skies and metal tube lies.

the temptation from hell’s revived angel. her fall ungracefully surpassing earth’s quivering rotation. blood reborn with rocks for teeth. soft skin easily ripped during the denial of immoral needs. bubbling rapids sailed over with caution, weighing clothes wet as a reminder. favorite songs played forward and backward. promise of vengeful bulbs lighting autumn’s vivid memories. old prose inserted into the fat of your syntax, catching and toying with the rats in your mind.  demon angel not as red in old light.

Looking down is dirt
and up is salvation

but what is this layer
where we dabbble in poison
along with the rainfall

I look to my left
to experience the
epitome of feminine
and to the right
a boy whose shoes
are tied tighter than
the knot locking up his chest
suppressing emotion's stress

but what about the one
whose mother loves Mary's  
reflection in the sun
while his birds fly above
and summon a song
we chose not to title

They would rather see him
become an animal
than paint on lipstick
and love another man
shifting identity ***** up their plan

If we picture the universe
and all its ringing layers
spread wide with eternal ashes
we do not understand

and then we see a stump
raw bleeding facts about the death of a tree
I know that their layers are the same
circling melodies forever played

Maybe everything is stuck on
the ring of a circle expanding with time
but love is not linear
we label these layers with our crass syntax
with love, place, race, and sexuality
when really our DNA
is just tiny a rotation

tops spinning until the lights turn off

he started the night
wiping beer sweat
down the wooden
paneled insulation
swallowing his hair
out of fear
that the girl he loves
has a body that's here
but a mind that's
been buried under
tin cans full of desire
we used to admire
him when he chose
to swing from the tree
limbs into oblivion
snorting the fall leaves
in through his skin
his helping hand
was glued to the
door that jealousy
continued to open
and close as fast
as she could scream
for privacy and yet
he was forgiven
in the morning
he laid on leather
shame and she found
herself above the grave
floating through
apparitions of
blonde hair as
white as a hospital curse
she never saw him burst
but maybe that wasn't him
it must have been
insecurity personified
into a little boy
with a lit candle stick
and a girl who never
learned that she is
allowed to jump
without the shame of
plaid skirts that handicap
the brain until its grey
but its fine

all is forgiven
i heard that violence goes away
but never does sin

Please stop telling me that God is a boy
like testosterone is the invisible particle
unlocking sacred doors

Please stop telling me that a womb
is just a silly tomb meant to house
potential life when you stop treating
yourself like you are sacred

Please stop passing around the
silent secret that kissing girls is
supposed to be written off as weird honey
like we don't already live for the sweet and offbeat

Please stop silently tracing
my sides, measuring my size
placing limits on what i can
attempt to wear and inflicting fear
at the sight of a stomach roll

Please stop using the unspoken rule book
we all know that thing needs to be burned
or returned to a foreclosed library
because limiting our love based on
expectations and one night stands
leads to a lonely existence where
we forget to see through the smog

Please stop ignoring the sky
It's limitless  and colored like the inside of our heads

Please put your judgments to bed so I can attempt to escape from my bedridden aftermath
I've been stapled to pillows for days

You live in the wrists of a boy with wings
as I continue to buy pretty things

I'm occasionally halted by eye contact
and the brush of skin
between strangers' knees
two round bones
clinking together
like drinking mugs
in silent celebration

The Peroxide Obituary lives on
but our stereo knobs have rusted

Now it's all about two boys
growing ivy vines from their skulls
trying so hard to deny that
the body is just a vehicle for guilt

Infidelity can exist as a distorted fairy tale

A love
Different from that of
Numb happiness

If we seek senses of the aftermath
Maybe we can peak through
Bullet holes in the front door
Of a twisted mansion
Where she washes her hair
To be free of old companions
While she still pays the bills
Sponsoring memories of ghosts
A boy singing Greek hymns
Into her old Tupperware
Diamond encrusted distortions
Can't heal past decisions
And good shrinks are really only
What you choose to give them

Divorce

It is powerful enough to make my uncle cry
at the sight of navy ships

Awake your wrist from the forgetful dream
Foliage covers us with reoccurring lust
As you fall in love with sinner's numb steam
Know I was your vice filling lungs with dust

Forgive me for pieces I am missing
Birth has given omen to delusion
Lost inside of mouths I'm forever kissing
Fact is warped by invention's fusion

But you helped construct wooden bed frame
As I imagine she spits acid memories
Of me inside stupor of liquid shame
Laying across the bed sheets so gently

I forget the best night we had shared
I'd drank all the *** on burgundy chairs

mother dearest
complicated friend
i hear your sister's whispers
through your closed mouth criticisms
i hear the mirror has broken your heart
for 50 years in it's clear metallic honesty
but honestly who cares what you see
if you could create a someone else
to be another yourself
clothed in something new everyday
you'll dream of the ironing board
and this home as an ever changing cloak
endless newness in property
mother pardon me but
i hear you welded your tear ducts shut
after that college ****
drank a full fifth of *****
and ruined your future of
crunching numbers in a pencil skirt
that must have hurt
i hear you hate old Polaroids
with hidden smiles from the past
because old memories don't last like
shiny new wood floors
and staying indoors
it means that
the onlookers eyes cant criticize
so send your girl into the world
to live as you would have pleased
mother i hear that spontaneity
did you wrong and is that true
please answer after frugal thinking
i hear that you learned to cultivate
stubborn symbols in the womb
because the world is always trying to hurt you
mother why is the world trying to hurt you
when you only hide and
trace sketches of a world where
you had tried to hurt it back
i'm sorry that you cant relax
and i wish i could provide that
continue to look after careful creatures making clones
all while staring down pictures of your own

i genuinely apologize that we both couldn't be the best version of you

everything written is subject to change

hymns, hallelujahs, notes circled yes or no between elementary lovers' shaking palms, poems and songs, the shape of the world, the current moral obligations of all who inhabit it, letters sent to say sorry and thank you and hey i'm still here, proper language sizzling on the tongue of time, the rules for last century, the rules for the future, graffiti scraped from urban walls in the rain, the paint on a window pane written all over houses in a single stroke of the brush, the language of where flowers choose to erupt, words of knowledge in uncertain classrooms,  constitutional rights and the terms to legal fights, the letters like saints suffocating under pine trees at night

a text saying everything will be alright

you say goodbye with hollow hands and uncertain glances. your vocal chords will barely press together.
2. you sit in your car listening to their fingerprints plant into the grooves of your neck.
3. the world seems to pass by with the same kind of whirl that is found inside of a conch shell.
4. now you are working with gravity, planting yourself flat into the ground.
5. some sense more than sound has filled your head with phrases streaming together.
donttellhim.thewaythesunreflects.ibarelyrememberthattime.inevert­oldmybestfriend.whenyouleft.hishairgrewlongerthanmine.letsfindsom­ethingrecklesstonight.shewassoscaredofthechurchsteeple.onetimeont­heroof.
6. numbers progress through your chest as you swallow the clock.
7. you recall all of the formulated fists around the edges of wooden tables and the sweat on pints of beer.
8. the sun came up with few conclusions. your floral head rests on bedspreads with pints of honey buzzing in your chest.
9. you extract his name from your breath. your body is not fine but you know it will reconnect.

you should have been there
it was all numb ceiling fan talk
while i was tasting all my senses
everything was new

maybe it's no coincidence that autumn gives me new hope
like i am given the chance to ease into frostbite while laughing
like colors caress me while i avoid hibernation
like wood burned memories celebrate anniversaries unforgivably
October is a month to celebrate the death of all things passed
and July is just avoiding my identity

I've been sweating for hours on end
waiting for your return so we can
sing like someone would listen

today i realized that i can't keep redecorating my self taught cage

Elisabeth lives as more than dust
She lies in Rachel's ribs
through sharpie ink
and in the sky when it turns salmon pink
behind crosses and hills
nothing has ended
she is still strung through trees
and her soul is fused to yours clean
numb will consume us
and ill brush the knots from your hair when there is nothing else to say
death is one way to find out who will stay
and who will go cry themselves to sleep because they cant see beyond themselves

guitar strings vibrate in bars
and we search for signs of where you are

When I say I find my relief in pine
You must know that I understand
Its betrayal in every form

Every stab of the needle
The sharpness of the smell
Pinching every sense of my being
To remind me i'm alive

If I die, and our words never solidified into anything but dust
At least I would have loved them
Each and every one

infinite epitaph written in radio waves
crystal desire drenched in spray paint
wooden windmill heart
and accordion lungs
green blades of grass for the suicidal one
keep time to the music
and let's have fun

red is the color of release
white is the color of death of the clock

writing in red pen
and blowing smoke through my head
Regina Spektor plays in my room

hey remember that time
we were spinning under pictures
remember that time i touched
your knees on that red patterned carpet
remember green lockers, rust, and catholic dust
remember molding clay and
all those times you'd run away

there are times i remember the stories in each scar
and decide to trace patterns in the stars
looking up, i get lost wondering

are we the only survivors
are your lungs just balloons full of bus fumes and regret
are your eyes crossed by love

remember
my hands tracing your pant seams
and barely touching your shoulder blades
i should have gone in the river that night
i learned to wade in bath water
but feared the drain was full of snakes

i want to wait to give you all my love
but i fear it is too late

you wrecked me by placing a stillness in my blood
my heart hurts as it pumps and pumps
for nothing

grave robbers placed
undead fingertips
into their pockets
and the daisy's never hesitate to bloom
glass eyes arise from expectation
and we rarely discover
the braille found everywhere
the sky cries for it's simple routine
and the echoes of marching shoes continue

tonight i'll place my heart in a mug
and miss you from across the Atlantic

we could board the time machine
in your split screen mind
or we could stay here
to watch as everyone's hair keeps growing longer

I want to write the same poem in every possible way
but velvet and pine and freckled laughter are fleeting

I want to watch snowflakes fall from your eyes
and see your reckless guitar strings vibrate

I want you to read me your poems all night
I want to move to California
I want to build us a future solely from our past

I want our teenage years to last

Poison under plywood
Vanilla steam kisses
Fake photo's of the stars
A mother's sleeping eyes
Some sad man's guitar
Church hymn sunrise

and the rest has been our demise

close your eyes and think
every part of you is slightly moving
that white light
that infects us all
that white light
that is the side effect of consciousness
that electric current
reaches every horizon of your spine
and down through the thighs
it laces your rib cage with ribbons
and insulates your brain

our matter is priceless foam
full of reality
leaving space for fantasy

our matter is a strategic trick
to make us think there is nothing more than this

our soul is our blood

I can’t help but think that the essence of my being is stuck in some landlocked memory on the roof of your house begging you to stay, because jumping holds winds of change and we are doing alright here. We rally to taste the cotton fuzz of our pink memories and we hear the thunder of what could have been. You will stop holding knives and the lake water will taste just like cinnamon. The trees hum yellow in the silent buzz of stars. The backseat of cars haul bodies full of frostbite and sharpie ink blood. Sure we could yell into the abyss but it’s just as good as throwing our secrets towards airplanes. Sometimes I think art is like a dream book. Visualize and find the thread of what’s screaming inside our heads. Either we weave it into something new or let it fray.

the ghosts are there but only if you think about them
it's funny how much the non believers don't see
nothing is worse than dying
except for wandering these streets alone
i found a cold fox
hidden in some paradox
most people called it the 'April Snow'
it's funny how suicide in theory
sounds like walking off of
the edge of a burning map
but it's really all of the friends you have lost
shutting down your organs
slowly
one at a time
so when you lose everyone
there seems to be no other choice

but there is you and we are us
and this the only reason
i choose to stay a while

the sun and moon are slightly out of tune
and i lost sight of my hands in the dark
we sparked last summer but we wont reignite
our flames had burned paisley blue once

your veins are no longer the copper wire
that matches your hair
they are something else
filling your hourglass heart with ****** sand
you were barely electricity before
some say they can hear the wind blow
straight through your body
you are not here now
it's just a place where you used to stand
but i would call you the opposite of a ghost
it's more solid and less present
it's a corpse that keeps on living
i have to hide from you when
you are standing right there
and i'm sorry that this will never be
your ideal world

I am haunted by those green and white nights. I felt it; every time God was kissing the pool water and we pressed daisies between our synchronized heartbeats. We used our womanhood to make the tree, with a furrowed brow and beer stuck in his knees. Curly headed boys tickled his cheeks with broken guitar strings; I was drinking in the moss and a mystery tune. The lights strung us with lustful dust and  that yellow trail was the beginning of what might need to end. The stars feared for their innocence as they kissed in the fields but I was halfway in the warm earth, telling myself that a bed of pine was as close as I could come to heaven. The reverberated sunrise revealed veins wrapped around a palm tree but the indie rokkers shivered through the night into a painless red. We were jumper cable lips tied to fountain limbs and I wonder if we ever even touched the ground. He placed
nervous ticks into cargo pockets with syllables of vibration pulsing warmly through his skin. There were some nights without any ghosts but there are so many shades of blue shoved into the happy memories. Haunted by the royalty of trees, our plaid poems drank all of the extra beer and you always whisper friendship into my ears.