we collided under the wet-paper smell of the moon, threaded through the black grass.

there were no stars to see us, wild and crying;

i was cold for the first time in my life that night.

the moon’s color was our color, and we shined

icy bright, cycling and spinning through the wind like

so many machine parts and restless breaths.

we are so strange and perfect.

so bleak and so breathtaking.

shoot me.

shock me.

kiss me.

**** me.

i have separated myself into such disturbing places, such

dark corners,

the air sparkles with fresh beauty every time i come out to breathe.

and this is not home, there are no stars,

but each moment sees me more alive, and glad.

This morning was not a morning. An evening, perhaps.

Noon on a long, dark day.

From the top of the tallest building I watched the sun rise,

or what was supposed to be it.

Staring intensely at the greyness, my hands shaking on my rain-splattered knees.

This morning I stretched out, glamorous and lazy, planning to be purposefully late. Dismissive and smiling. What real life?

I took my time, browsing through my thoughts and movements carefully and deliberately. Washed my hair in the sink for the fun and dirt of it. I still didn’t feel quite tired enough. I spoke with clarity and wit, despite the crusts caked over the leftover sparkles in my eyes.

nestled in this husk of half-light, we Are.
you so very
hauntingly swift and strong and me —
so pantingly still.
gripping.
swinging into rest atop rumpled fabrics
smoothing down far
far into this suspended night’s end.
rising we Are to this blue darkness
through which lurks
forever.

Never am I more shining & alive
than when your eyes widen, to take in
every pale square of my skin
& you smile (oh that way you smile)
one second before you kiss me.

i am not whole.

my palms
have melted away. flesh
forever bonded to your burning skin.

my lips
are gone. i left them against yours;
they couldn’t bear to come away with me.

my elbows
can’t work. they are too crooked.
stuck around the shape of your shoulders,
an empty hollow only you could fill.

(and with each stroke of your fingers down my back my skin tore away like tissue paper clinging to your static touch so it would never fade away)

my hips
move awkwardly now. they lack
your hips and hands to steer them.
they are confused and broken.

my tongue
***** uselessly. scorched by your taste.
numb to every flavor.

my eyes
wheel pointlessly in their sockets
haunted by your laughing face.

(and when you locked your fingers between mine oh! my poor fingers! they snapped off just to stay a while)

here i am. the rest of me.
some old shredded pile of skin and black bone.
tears dripping silently in gaping pathetic mouth.

(i said “now don’t you let me leave” and you didn’t, you have me still)

i need my pieces back
(i need you)

we are red jacket crew,          we are belated petunias.
and we are the shining inside-outs
left over from the cold grass
and the speed signs.


we pried Jesus apart from His plastic casing
we sat up on his China cross…
…waited…

you were still in bed
for once
the hairspray and the black paint from last night
crept up beneath my skin