Autumn has arrived
The acorns are falling
**** those gray squirrels

Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is
as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip
of my words. My language trembles with desire.
-Roland Barthes

My* language is a skin I have outgrown.
It sloughs off in flakes,
leaving letters or the occasional
ill-suited, illegible word
trailing behind me.

I pick at adverbs and articles
hanging from my fingertips;
This morning I pulled a whole phrase
off my arm like a sunburn.

My language, once alight,
now settles like cinders
on the ground,
around the shower drain,
upon my sheets;
My language no longer serves me.

Peel my vocabulary off my back,
tear my diction from my shoulders,
and my syntax from my chest;
Scratch the punctuation off my face—
my lips are chapped with parentheses.

Tomorrow I will have shed my language—
Unbound from an ill-fitting lexicon—
coughed the alphabet from my lungs
and exhaled the last serif
like cigarette smoke
to find the world new,
uncontained and undefined.

O my delectable magnificent!
Thou art so subtle and, in truth, divine;
Thy taste doth merely whisper peppermint
As it consumes my body and my mind.
Thou dost imposeth here upon my core,
With such a minty thinness that doth quell,
The softness of a glutton and yet more,
Though rampant want within my gut still dwells.
But whilst, at first, thou hast great quantity
And flaunt thyself to me as decadent,
In but two bites, thou hast abandoned me
And left me naught such goods as Heaven sent.
Until bereft I find the box so nice,
Which cost my purse a total dollar thrice.

We used to sit
in your bedroom
and climb onto the roof
after midnight, creating stories
for the constellations
that we sometimes drew—

The day we met—
you brought me cake
with the word “Happy”
in green icing;
how it filled the following years—

The drawings we made together,
hung on your walls;
Lego rocket ships
and video games
played until we
would watch the sunrise
from your rooftop—

Picking blueberries
with your mother,
our stained fingers,
the bag that burst
in the car;
the upholstery, soaked,
smelled of them for weeks—

That summer
we built a treehouse—
you fell off,
broke your arm,
and I wrote
of your Icarian shot at flight—

The camping trips—
the time we saw an eagle
land not three yards before us,
and the picture you drew
from memory that night—

The day you moved
to New Orleans—
we sat on your roof
the night before,
trading treasures:
my notebook of our stories;
your box of our drawings—

The letter you wrote,
eight months before
you left this world,
says you love the art
but hate the artists;
you once told me
“life is art,”
and sometimes I think
I know what you meant—

Now I wonder
if our constellations
befriended you,
and if you watch
with them and draw
pictures of me,
as I still write
stories of you.

When you left, you took my heart with you and the two of you skipped off into the woods of my past
The ruddy drops my heart left behind were eventually gobbled up, like highly metaphorical breadcrumbs, by the birds of time
And like those two children lost in the forest, neither of you will ever find your way back... to me.

   I'll fashion a new heart out of wood to occupy the vacancy left in my chest
And it will hope to some day become a real heart
But it will never be able to receive the fairydust of love that would enable it to fly
Instead, it will only be a stiff, wooden heart
And there will always be strings attached.

   Perhaps some day a raven will fly through my window to keep me company
And though he may only speak one word, I know that it will always be a word of truth
And I know that he will never leave me
Probably because he feels my pain.

   The pain of growing up
Of not being able to fly away to a place where I can stay a child forever
Your memory will always be the captain of my new wooden heart
And the hook that drags me back to reality
when I start thinking that maybe we could have worked.

   We were doomed from the start
As if I were trapped in an ocean of longing
And you walked on the dry land of my desire
Always unattainable to me for my inability to adapt to a new world.

   In the beginning, our love was like a carpet
Covering all things, and enchanted to lift us from the ground
And carry us through the world together
But you stained that carpet with the grapejuice of treachery
And now I am left emotionally unconscious
Always waiting for the kiss that will never come
To wake me from my slumber.

"And your very flesh shall be a great poem."
-Walt Whitman

And your *******,
Like mountains over the course of eons,
Will rise and fall
With your quickening breath.

Your breaths can outlast time.
Your voice can topple empires.
Your sighs are intoxicating—
I get drunk off your words.

Words fall pathetically short.
One thousand poets and scribes cannot
Express to you a single drop
Of the ocean behind my lips.

Kiss them, and drown with me
In a sea of our own creation,
A world where love is no longer trite,
And poems about it are
Dangerously revolutionary.

We will be pioneers amongst lovers!
O! we will be pioneers!

We will travel the globe under the guise of night.
And I will cross the planes of your back,
The valley between your shoulders.
I will rappel kisses off the cliff of your collarbones
And over your *******, which,
As mountains enduring but an instant of eternity,
Will rise and fall
With your quickening breath.

And we will stand against time itself.

And it will crumble beneath our gaze.

And we will outlast eternity.

Because we are pioneers amongst lovers!
O! we are pioneers!

Bridges,

trains,
balloons, ships,
sails, colored glass, snow on the beach,
frozen water, words, language, music, subways,
typewriters, books, photographs,
swing sets, ink,
dust motes,

sunshine,
rain, snowflakes,
tunnels, streetcars, imagination,
memories, silence, sound, shadow puppets, candles,
flames, wax, communities,
comfortable situations, spiral staircases,
camaraderie,

old phones,
wire connections, written letters,
traveling, discovery, robots,
plants, flowers, clouds, grass, breeze,
shadows, running water, warm blankets,
bicycles, seasons,
change,

sunsets,
sunrises, the horizon,
mirrors, time, living without time,
living within space, living, breathing, seeing, hearing,
touching, tasting, smelling,
being reminded of something vague by a scent, poetry,
Kerouacian conversations,

abstractness,
friendship, love,
thoughts, beliefs, emotion,
movement, ages,
beginnings,

endings.

I was time
I was pictures and I was poetry
I was a pond and the fish that swim in it
I grew limbs and spread across the land

I was coffee and I was tea
I was the sunshine on your face in the morning
I was a balloon
  Held down by a five year old
I slipped away, floated to the heavens
  And faded from his eyes

I was flowers on the table
  Waiting to be walked in on
I was my grandfather's mustache
  Tickling my mother's cheek as she was tucked into bed
I was a playground
I was the monkey bars, the swingset, and the slides

I was a raindrop
I was an ocean
I was tall buildings and the sky that they scraped
I was the orange in a sunset, the warmth in your heart
  Leaking out to cover the globe

I was a bicycle
I was the first ride without training wheels
I was Christmas lights
I was a glowing city at night
I was a bunk bed
I was a rooftop
  I was shared by two brothers
I was a little boy who wished to one day be as big as his father
I now only wish to be as great as him

On the quiet nights, if I lay perfectly still, I can hear my own blood flowing through my veins
Surging at irregular intervals, like an ocean finding its rhythm
And I think of how far this imperfect heart has brought me
And of the little girl it contains all the love in the world for
    And how her rhythm will be flawless

The little girl that speaks to me on frequencies between life and sleep
The little girl that's waiting for me to find her the perfect mother
So she can come into this world with my eyes and her mother's hair
    The perfect blend of two imperfect people
The little girl that I will teach to use both ends of the pencil
    But to remember the shadows the eraser leaves behind
The little girl whose smile will make my day
    Whose laughter will be the highlight of my week
         And whose words will be the greatest part of my life

I think of the little girl who will enter this world by the hands of her father
And the first words ever whispered in her ear will be a prayer
    Asking God to raise her with me, so that she can rise above me
This little girl will grow up amidst music and poetry, fingerpaints and clay
This little girl will breathe and her father's chest will be filled with pride
Because at that moment, I'll know that I've done at least one good thing to this world
And this little girl will always know that it's okay to have pudding for breakfast
    As long as you're willing to share it
And this little girl will always know that her father will always love her nomatter what
    And that this poem will always be there for her
         And with it, my soul

To a daughter who is yet to come: I will never stop loving you, I will never let you fall, and I will always be there to push you higher on the swings.

This country sky is growing a light
Casting shadows across the fields
     Like the ones across your body
That I have explored to the edges
The ones I have hidden in
     Held warm in your belly button
And kissed one last time before morning's full bloom

saccharine syllables float
from warm lips in
the red
of the sunrise morning,
       shining
through cream colored shades.

blue tulips lie
on the windowsill,
       waiting
to be walked in on.

love roams
over the stairwell and
beneath the cupboards,
permeating a house,
       a home,
a life.

fingers write
on mirrors opaque
from morning showers,
       hoping
you will read them and smile.

my own eyes glide
across pages,
under blankets,
       anxious
for you to join me
this autumn dawn.

For years, I imagined what you must look like
Images would flash on the back of my eyelids
     in the time it took me to blink
And as time wore on, they adopted the detail
     of a perfect figure
Line and curve, in and out
Contrasting colors in all the right places
And I became distracted by these images

Still time wore on
And I added flaws to focus
I pictured looseness and softened edges
So that I could continue to function
So that my heart would stop skipping a beat
So my breath would not be drawn so ragged
     every time I thought of you without trying

And last night, I finally saw you
In all your glory
Not in my mind, but in a room with violet lighting
And you and I shared the same air
And everything was perfect
The flaws I had superimposed
Turned out to be as imaginary
     as I thought the moment when I would find out had to be
And I felt your skin
Smooth and distracting
Nothing out of place
Line and curve exactly as they should be

And now, whenever I blink
That image of you appears in my mind
For an instant, and my heart skips a beat
Not because I imagine, but because I know
And the electricity flows from your hands into my bones
And I shudder at the memory of something so sweet
The moment we shared, so in tune
Everything followed the fantasy in my mind
And I can never imagine you with flaws
And for the rest of my days I will know how perfect your are
     in only your skin

Green grass needs mowing
Winter snow’s white blanket gone
Spring is here again

The Cheshire cat-like moon
Swung low above the beach,
O’er darkened midnight dunes,
‘twas barely out of reach.
When from the salty sea
Arose its mirrored frown.
We rose up by our feet
And hung there upside-down,
Suspended in the sky
Amidst the twinkling stars.
We kissed there, you and I,
Fell downward with a jar,
Then I awoke and found
Us both in sheets ariled.
I kissed your crescent brow
And slept again awhile.

Here I've found some dusty knots
I forget how they were tied
I wish I'd written diagrams
So I could break them when I tried

Instead I left them tangled up
So tight I'd pulled the lines
'til every one was all the rest
Each one another entwined

I pushed, I pulled, I clawed and bit
Each of the knots held strong
And now I know why here they stayed
Hidden away so long

I'll box, I'll hide, I'll stash away
Once more without a trace
But deep inside I'll want to know
Why I tied the **** things in the first place

The drive From my place to yours
Affords me the perfect amount of time     
     to wonder
Winding through countryside
     Windows down
          Across farmland
               No radio
In those fifteen minutes I have all the time in the world
     And could drive forever
I light a cigarette
Which you still don't know I do
And I am lost in thought and breeze
Ten miles of silence
     I could stretch it forever with you
Driving back to my apartment
My hand on your knee
The horses roll by
And I never want to arrive

You are a blind man’s poem.

I read your body in Braille,
the rhyming lines of your brow
swept down
toward the soft turn of your cheek
and your lips’ closed couplet.

I trace your back like a riverbed,
the pebbles of your spine
washed smooth
by the soft waves that rush
through the valley of your shoulders.

I walk my fingertips across chill-bumps,
the lyrics of sighs on your chest,
kept silent
with the rhythm of breaths
held back against beating hearts.

I sweep my lips over planes,
the landscape of your limbs,
laid bare
beneath this blind man’s gaze
and found no less beautiful by cecity.

In our eighth year as friends, we reached
        a little further
between sheets,
        bleached white and starched, in
the contrived ambiance
        of a hotel room.

More cautious than nervous, we peeled
        to bare flesh
and proceeded
        slowly, carefully, as though
we might break our
        well-seasoned past with
our fresh exploration.

        Both of us knew what
we each always wanted—
        youthful tensions,
now matured into
        full-scale desire—
and pursued it,
        dismissing our prior reserve
as unfounded.

        Our hands,
warm beneath
        cotton and denim,
explored contours, sought
        softness
with increasing confidence.

        As trepidations
diffused into
        a scene of
two old friends, now
        new young lovers,
she paused
        at a joke made
in sharp contrast
        to our actions.

We waited,
        long enough to
inhale and
        share a glance before
we both collapsed
        in laughter.

They undressed beneath the covers, half to stay warm and
      half to conceal themselves from the eyes of one another.
They had only done it once before, and it had been completely dark then.
      Lovers though they may be,
indulging the sense of touch
        before the sense of sight felt somehow
                less disarming.
She pulled the sheet up to her shoulders as she
        positioned herself atop his frame.
As their bodies blended and moved together,
        she was careful to not let the sheet fall.
After a few moments, she noticed him begin to chuckle.
Prepared for insult, she asked with caution,
           "What is it?"
He took a breath and whispered,
          "It looks like you're wearing a cape,"
               and they both collapsed in laughter

The steady breeze and my bare feet in the cool wet sand send a shiver through my body
Into my spine to be dispersed evenly throughout my soul
Behind me the moon is rising, and your dark eyes send its glowing image back at me
My heart is beating in riddles
And your breath sighs the answers as we listen to the steady song of the shoreline
Waves washing around our feet in an attempt to lure us out to sea
To float in blue eternity

Your skin is still warm from the afternoon and the back of your neck smells like sunshine
Daylight flashes across my memory and for a split second I can see your tan skin glistening
With our pant legs rolled up to our knees we paced the beach
Staying just beyond reach of the whispering tide
And before following our footprints back, we’d stop and let it bury our feet in the sand
We walked until the sun melted into the horizon and the clouds burst into orange and purple melodies
We sat together and waited as their song faded into darkness and the stars revealed themselves to call forth the moon
Which is now casting its shimmering reflection across the water, adorning your skin with its soft silver glow

I can feel consciousness escaping with every yawn and before long I feel my back rest against the sand
I would feel cold if not for the warmth of your being pulsing through me
Slowly, under our moonlight blanket, we let the lullaby of the waves and our beating hearts sweep our minds clean of time

Vascular highway
Interstate straight to the brain
****** up in no time

Coffee and blankets
Cold quiet winter morning
Come closer darling

Bicycles wheels spin
Summer fades into autumn
School begins again

These words are hot
Fresh from my fingertips, raw and unrevised
Like drops of molten glass from a furnace
These words burn up my throat as I am breathing flames and steam
My heart, like a bellows, forcing syllables across my tongue
They burn and itch
Inside and out
Days, weeks, and years pass
And these fires still burn inside me
Flaring with the passion of a little boy who has not had his last question answered yet
So he screams and yells and stomps his feet
Trying to put out the question inside of him because it is burning
And he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, to let it out, the whole world will be set ablaze with his question
And he is waiting patiently, with his hand high in the air
Hoping to God that someone will call on him
Hoping that God will call on him, and offer him an answer
God, extinguish these flames!
I am burning with all the passion of a little boy who will never know the answers     
     to all the questions he cannot ask
Because he does not know the words to describe his thoughts
Because he cannot paint pictures with nouns and verbs
Because he still only speaks half English and half God
So he is coughing flames until he finds the words to ask the question whose answer will put them out
And with the fire of God inside me, I hope I will never learn the answer
I will always be searching for the words to my question
And I will always be asking questions
And I pray to God that I will never know the answers

Running from no one
Escaping my inner self
**** it, there I am

Solid mental block
Haikus help me stay focused
Oh snap, a poem!

I stand, confused, on
Searing September pavement
       in Alabama.

I found an ocean
Your body is crashing waves
My skin is the beach

Our spirits collide
With one thousand breaths, I sigh
You are all of me

Yes, this is different
But there's wonder to be found
Be patient, my love

You are a runner
And I am my father's son
I will keep running