I eat books of poetry for dinner,
and you are on the couch next to me.
I know we are here, but what do we call this?
I think the word is home, but it
sometimes feels like a serrated knife.
sometimes, it feels like we’re holding hands
in our sleep. There is a book of words like home
in my hands: it is full of empty driveways and watering cans,
and dancing under the moon,
I eat the words, but starve on the feast.
I would have broken you like granite; placed you
like a kitchen counter. You were never meant to be the cutting board.
You are the knife. I do not play with these domestic things.
Come sit at the table next to me, darling.

There are bluebirds flying all around
Inside my head
And I am reminded that tomorrow,
I may not hold your hand again
and I may never feel your teeth sink
Into my skin, again
                                      and wasn't that
                                   supposed to be
                              a good thing?
I'm left cleaning up the scraps,
the mess we leave behind
Like it's my responsibility
to carry your heartbreak, too.
                                         wasn't it
                                   supposed to be good
                              when I was with you?
I read somewhere
                       This is where you fire your musket,
              and this is where you fall and die
but I've fired my musket-heart
and I haven't fallen and I'm still dying
for you to look me in the eye
Like you still mean it;
Like there isn't some line in the sand
you have drawn arbitrarily
to measure what has been inside my heart
When you never cared to ask.
Love, those bluebirds are making it hard to see
through all their Pulsing wings,
But in their eclipse,
I'm finding a ring of light.

I'm thinking about Flowers
        I forgot to feed
and rocks
      I wear
but don't always believe in.

                               I always wanted
                                             to be
                                                      grounded­;
              wanted roots to
                        sprout
           twist
                       and
                                  grow
                deep.
­
But I am not dirt, nor root, nor flower.
I am the empty watering can.

somedays, Love is like an empty driveway. sometimes Love is a grizzly; when it wakes, it growls at you. sometimes, Love is a full moon. Love dances with You and forgets its claws and gnashing teeth. sometimes, Love doesn't know that its bites aren't supposed to hurt. but sometimes You don't either, so you forgive. sometimes Love is a cat that scratches and comes back purring. You don't fault it for being that way. Love is not easy to understand, but at least You are always willing to try.

I saw the Earth once, and fell in love.
I wanted to be named dirt.
You laughed, called me mud,
But I love all things that hold up the sky
and You forgot that one is part of the other
and that I am part of everything.
I remain,
                both dirt and sky
You
       disappear with no name.

I think
           there are flowers growing
                                    out of your
                       mouth.
You taste like weeds:
         Wet and
   muddy.
                                      Our roots
                                         or legs
                  tangled
in the dark              once
and I thought I remembered safety
in the vines
           But now they have
                                            all
                                                 been
                            stripped
away.

Now,
          I am like this empty house.
I am all cuts
         all bruises
         all dirt
And it hurt          when you left me
                     but I
            am still standing
The
      foundation
                       is
                          cracked
              but still strong

Dear Sledgehammer Heart,

You are tough as nails,
        and you are also soft as silk.

You are wildflowers
         blossoming in the spring,
         and again in the summer.

You bloom more for yourself,
                                                     than for anyone else.

You are both student and teacher
           with fistfuls of love,
    clenched for those that hurt.

You taught me
         the importance of a good porch:
The Foundation Must Be Solid.
                              A Home can be built anywhere,
as long as the Foundation is Solid.

You taught me to announce myself,
and to be proud of the songs that come out.
                                       (Even when the sounds are sharp,
                     they must be set free somehow, right?)
      
And you taught me
         how to handle a heart
as delicate as mine
     pretends not to be,
                      with soft hands and gentle love

Stones smoothed into little pebbles
at the bottom of a river.

     I can only hope I have learned
               to hold your heart
with the skill and grace of bird wings
And to lift you
                           higher
                                        as you do me.
It is the only way I can think to return
the lightness
                       you gift by existing.

Please remember,
                                My Sledgehammer Man,
             you must simply exist
and the universe is lighter
                 for it.

I want to tell you
I tear at the sound of your name.
Like the paper jammed in my printer at work,
Sometimes I am a wrinkled mess without you.

I want to tell you
Distance tastes like acid in my throat.
It burns holes in my esophagus nightly.

I want to tell you
I wanted to make a home for myself
In the palms of your hands.
You could cup them
And you could bring them to your lips:
I would let you drink me, if you wanted to.

I want to tell you
This heart is heavy like iron,
But also fragile like glass.
It is fractured and full of chips
Like the one that formed the last time we kissed:
You told me you loved me, then.
It was the first and last time,
And I said it back sounding something like a desperate plea
Knowing it would not stop you from leaving
(But somehow you still lingered.)

I want to tell you all of these things,
But the words get stuck in my mouth.
They are afraid of coming out,
So instead I tell you
"I've missed you"
And I hope some part of you understands the rest.

Dear New York,
          I think of you often.

Dear New York,
          In a parallel universe,
                  I am holding you tightly,
but in this one
       I am only grasping
                                        at empty air.

Dear New York,
          Do you read
the love letters I write you
          in my sleep?
                                     Do you sleep at all?

Dear New York,
          I hope you enjoyed your coffee today,
and that it was not bitter,
                                            if it tasted like me.

Dear New York,
          I hope it tasted like me.

You are lightning bolt.
               (electric shock to my skin)

You taste like
                   hot
          floridian
                         summer
Sound like
                  thunder storm
                                falling
                   ­                        on dry asphalt

And I want to tell you
you felt like homecoming
                       (even though you were always leaving,
                                                    and i was never staying)

I saw the flowers in your mouth
          and I wanted to taste them
                     wanted to take them for my own
  but I wasn't ready
                       to be
                  selfish
            with you
                       yet.

Perhaps we'll meet
again in a city
                                       much larger
                                          than ours
And I'll fall in love with your flowers
                                              again
*(and­ perhaps this time,
                                I'll let them grow)

I am not made of metal.
It does not take
             immeasurable strength
                                           to put       cracks       in me
I bend
                  and I
break
                                 and I
do so quite easily.

I am not ashamed of this.

                                              I will no
                                               longer
                                                allow
                                               myself
                                                to be
                                          the iron bars
                              You think guard my heart.

I will flow like river,
And sway like branches of trees.
                   I will dance,
and you will see
               I am not this unflinching thing
you have created me to be.

When I was young,
           I watched you fall
taking whole pieces of the Earth that loved you too.
                                                the wind had blown
                        so hard that summer.
In your absence,
I felt heartbreak
for the first time.
                        I felt the ground slip
               from beneath me
And I understood
                                                      ­      the tops of your branches
                                                        ­    were never meant to feel
                                                            ­       such solid things
But the next summer,
the wind was still
       and a small sapling
                                  grew in your place.

You taught me how to weather the storms
and to be thankful for every leaf
that provides shade for what is underneath,
                                    and you taught me winter:
                                    how to survive the darkest months
                                    and that I will bloom again in the spring.

I'm thinking about hands again.
                                               I'm thinking about
            how yours are big
            and mine are small
and how yours fit
                                nicely
                     around my throat
mine claw at your back
and i gasp
                                                        …fu­ck me

And I'm thinking about your steadiness
                           and my shakes
        and about how we both create
                               universes
with just our hands
                 and our lips
                         and our teeth.

I'm thinking about how
          my hands would like to find yours
in the dark
              and rest in it's spaces
                             under your ocean
              of blankets,
    like an empty glass waiting
to be filled.

I remember
                    one night we got so drunk
         on our porch under blankets
     I systematically
covered
     in cigarette
                   ash.
              dusted off
and started again
                                                      I swear
that night, under twinkle lights
                               I always think cast such a warm
                    glow,
          and drip golden,

I swear,
               that night,
Our Passion
                      bubbled like the carbonation in our bellies
And I stopped myself
                                      from saying I Love You.

I remember
                     on Christmas,
we laid on the couch
                                     all day
and didn't see or speak
                               to anyone else.
Watched movie
                        after movie
                                  after movie
Until we both sunk    
into each other
so deep    
                                 half asleep with commitment
              to laziness
      Until I couldn't tell
where my body
                   ended and yours
           began
It was the best Christmas I've ever had.

And I remember
           how you looked
       the night you told me
                              it was over
My breath
                                            caught
and cracked
                             like
                                       ice
Stuck
           between esophagus
                                                 and lung
like our bathroom pipes.

You must have said
                                                  "ex-lover"
hal­f a dozen times or more.

I remember
                     thinking how inappropriate
it was that as I was listening to you
             And all I wanted was
to kiss the anger
             from your lips

I'm not sure why I ever stopped myself
             from loving you until
the very last second,
But I think you're right.
       I thought I couldn't deserve you
and instead of fighting,
                      I put my hands up,
threw down
           a white flag.
In the end, I didn't deserve you
Your quiet power,
                                  Your Moon-child Grace.
If nothing else,
                           this time,
I will learn
      from my mistakes.

I,
   the dried flowers on our porch.
You,
        the growing cactus.
I am beautiful,
                         but stagnant.
You grow,
                                     Sharp.

And sometimes,
the wind blows
                    and my petals dance.
And sometimes,
you say
              the most lovely things

But I Can't Touch You.

Perhaps I am a cactus.

              Perhaps,
there are needles
                              protruding
from my skin
to prove how soft
i really am.

                            A saguaro,
                   only hollow      
      by the birds                  
           who make nests      
                          in my chest.

Perhaps,
               I will flower
once the rainy season is over.

I will drink deep of this muddy sorrow
and my skin will swell
warm
          and green
                            and well nourished
by the sky.

Perhaps,
                it will be
the most beautiful
                 blossom anyone has
       ever seen
and people will travel
                                                      mile­s
                      just to
                                      admire.

Perhaps,
        ­        they will wonder
how my flower
                came from such a
spiny
thing
And Perhaps
                        I will tell them.

He is a lit cigarette.

He
     keeps you in
water
          beer and
                   good conversation.
His kisses
                   are like bonfire
                   on summer nights.
                                All passion
drunken laughter, a night full of stars.

He is a lit cigarette.
Harmful
               to your lungs,
               to your heart.
He will be gone
                            be gone
       before the summer breeze
has finished
                     kissing your cheeks.

He is a lit cigarette.
And he will burn out
                      before you're ready
But ******
                                He
tastes
          so
   ­           good
And you crave him.

It's as if my body were the ocean.
Eyes of constellation,
                                     I wonder
                     what it was like
       the first time you
were so in love
It hurt.
Did you bend an break
                at your bough?
a shipwreck more beautiful
                       because unmovable
            and your blue skies clouded
Some beautiful substance, you are.
           Sometimes it's a burden.
                  Others, it's poetry

And this.
This is what
it could
be like.


                                                                                                   And this.
                                                                                              This is what
                                                                                                    it almost
                                                                                                    was like.

a calm just as much for yourself,
as for anyone else.
Remember in the sweet breeze,
you do so much for others
just by humming.
and Remember that you, too,
get enjoyment from it.

I should have flowed
                         like the ocean
         but i only know
how to
            drip
                    like a
                              faucet
And I should have told you
that when you kiss me,
                         it feels like the sun:
           Warm
        and Sweet
And that my favorite ones
         are on my
                     back
when you think
                            I'm asleep

The absurdity
is in the conclusion,
                                   but it's also
                                          the cliff
                  from which I jumped
From Chaos,
                      To Chaos.
                                             All that is left
                              is a futile attempt to understand
                                       the silly habit of living:
    *A constant battle between
Order          and          Disorder

i wish

                                i could say
                            those incredibly
                   Romantic              phrases:
                         That ******* Face.
                            I see it everywhere.

but it's missing.

.        Child of the stars
                Chaos, incarnate,
      hold your heart still.
          Your
             Tiny
              Perfect
          Human
   Existence;
        My king of a mountain of Ash.
                                                            ­         You
are the song you couldn't write
      and it's frustrating
                                         because you
are still standing.
        Still Breathing.
                             Wild
                       Hurricane
                  Heart,
I didn't know that stars
                       Could break
         before I met you.

.         i want my hands
to be the hands of Palm Trees.

            Rough
                          and
Weathered;
                                       Tall,
                                    but ugly.

You feel heavy.

        Like there is something
                 Tangible
in your sadness
                           And you think
       you're so dark
but I'm not sure.

                  You dumb your profound.
                                                       ­           Your heart feels
                                                           ­           like thunder.

                         You are Rolling;
                                 Disaster

                                          but
                                                 not

         Destruction

maybe sometimes you try
            when maybe you shouldn't.
                       and maybe sometimes you care
                                when maybe you ******* shouldn't.

.                                       you used to shake so bad

I remember it.
I still shake sometimes.

                              *we all do

Pipsissewa
                and I
      met today.
It started with a story
told by T:
      how she and him met;
and then I looked down
and there she was,
         in all her glory.

*Perennial evergreen,
              I am glad to know you.

My world is spinning,
                               again,
    the way it used to
on an axis
           so tightly wound
    during the
                 day I can't see straight
    but at night
I see some clarity
                                and maybe I've got it
reversed
           misguided as my heart has been;
  my intentions
            have tried to be
                                      pure
                   ­ but maybe
       tonight
            I wanted to be
in sin

Everything was so green
                and I wondered
what you would think of
          the tiny hands and feet
       of the falls,
          the lanky limbs
                 of trees
                     so much like your own
I peeked into a moment between lovers
               (real lovers)
and I wondered
                            if you and I were ever
                                                     like that
I wondered if we had the capacity not
                           to hurt
And then I wondered
                     if there really was such a thing
                                               as hurt,
or if it was just growing pains--
     the ache of making space
for another human being
     beneath my ribcage.
                                            (are you a human being?
                             and what defines being human?)
I suppose I would rather
       make space
          until I break
        than never
    make space
at all.

she used her halo
                as wings;
strung it up on
                Chemical
                                Looph­oles
that make her feel close to
                         God
and on the subject of
                          being God,
We discover.

The Knight arrival is good news.
He says "Carry
                 with you what you must,
but remember:
for what you cannot
                 Carry,
                 you will gain
                 that much more."

The moon has a cycle;
                                      she says "You
will always be what
You
       have always been,  but
that doesn't mean you can't be more"

It will come with time.

he was being he
and I was
                 being
                           I
Stopped his world for a second
          Run
from what you love
                   Run
from what loves you;
It's only nostalgia now
       and nostalgia is  
                                   my favorite word.
Cleanse my faith
               of your proud sins and
Be human.
God,
          please be human again.

I've been
     trying
     to find
            words to describe
the secrets
            of ancient bones
            hidden within this temple
in which i've made my home.
Perhaps if you took the time
to study
              the walls I call
                    my skin
               covered with
graffiti & hieroglyph,
You might find
                           some
                                    greater
                ­                                 truth
obscured by
my own lack
of knowledge
                         on where
                               and how
                         to begin

So maybe I'll start
                                 with the
                                 original
                             big           BANG
Detail
every moment
of recorded history
that lead up to the exact
                                  explosive moment
when our lips met for the first time
and i slipped
into a new    
                        universe
                          where­    

I only want to fill silence

           with your                             
                                                    name

I've seen
               Jesus
               at the bottom of
                          whiskey bottles.
We've talked
                  about the universe,
                                    and death,
And he's given me the whole speech,

                        And I decided I'd better just
Sleep it off.

I wish I had words to describe the fire you've set beneath my ribcage; the way it began as kindling, and the way it grew into a dull roar like the pulse I can hear behind my ear drums. It is a steady beat that breaks the monotony of silence in the late hours of night. I can pick out half-memories in my mind that tell me I was aware of you always.

It feels like hope when warm sunlight kisses my cheek: a quiet kind of thing that whispers and never shouts. The way hands seem to find each other in the dark and ache to fill the space between each finger with another's.

I want to explore with you; to trace the outlines of a map on your skin and follow those lines to all the places we've never been.

I want to learn the history rooted in your bones and recite it like my favorite poem. I want to know what makes you grow and where your gravity is centered; how words taste as they form on your tongue and how they look like art when you speak, because when you speak you move mountains in me.

particles
aligning
              galaxies
              colliding­
                             the universe
                             is trying to
                             figure itself
                             out
                                  but
here we are
               now and not
               to revel would
               be a mistake

i feel
         a new
                    click
                            in my wrist
       the ache
                     from bruises
                                            long healed
bumping into things
trying to figure it out
                                     i always
                 figure it out
i will always
                  figure it out
the universe has sculpted my bones
stardust and ashes
half empty glasses

i know it may not be
             for a much greater purpose
i am simply
             the product
                     of everything
             that came
before me
and the weight of that
                                      is heavy
and the weight of that
                                      is
                   ­                       freeing

there is an entire
                   universe behind
          your eyes
i wasn't aware of
until you said my name
it woke the
                    stardust in my bones
formed nebulae       in my brain.
i don't know      which magnet
you
       stir
             in
                 me
but i am pulled to you
by the iron in my veins

You left a bruise on my lip where your teeth gnashed and you growled and you stared into my soul tasting me into being. I think you were infatuated with me and wanted to ingest me. You wanted to take me inside of you and let your biology break me down into the empirical parts of my whole but I didn’t know if that was possible, and I didn't know if you would understand.

You left a bruise on my lip where we touched for the very first time and it aches, but not from pain. It aches for when you will kiss me again, when our mouths collide in an explosion of wonder and wanting to know another person: something tangible, a sense of an idea in your mind, turned into a clamor of color and sound and taste and touch and I think I know you from some place different. Maybe I knew you when we were stars, before our particles were rearranged and we turned to ash and skin and dinosaurs and the world.

full bodied and rich
a glass of red wine and a cigarette
short dress, sticky skin
lips the color of sin
your voice, a storm cloud
heavy with loud promise
dark and deep
contrast to summer greens
*rain down

this is what my heart
                   looks like:

           it is            geometric
                                       and angular
           there are                      dark corners
                                                        a­nd sharp edges  
But sometimes in the
sunlight some of my
sides look so
bright

I mean
      that I am trying to tame
      the wildfire in my heart
      built on the Embers from a
      domesticated bonfire
      during a winter many springs ago.
      i thought i had stamped it
                                                         out
                                                      out out
I mean
      that I am not trying to run
      i'm just trying to move
      in a different direction
      the scent of a breeze caught my nose
      and as i am a red tailed fox
                                                       i follow
I mean
      that sometimes i feel like
      my dreams are much bigger than me
      but even if i am a ladybug
      i am still as big as the
sea.