in the street fair
sun soaked air
settles
on two pairs of
hands:
one weathered, covered in
dry clay
and working at a
pottery wheel
and the other smaller, younger
sits in paint
splatter
and waits and
watches

mind is wind which
rings in night it
licks lips, sighs sin
it stirs, it spits
in dirt lives wild bliss
whirlwind in limbs
is hid
with stiff skin

“She’s the one that got me addicted”
— you say with a sly smile
I find it funny
that somewhere between those
minty cigarette drags and drunken kisses
and all the memories we’ve made
out of them
I somehow ended up addicted too—
not to the cigarettes— but to you.

you are a poem
that I can’t stop reading
over and over
I want to curl up
in the accidental prose
that pours from your lips
soft lips, beautiful lips
giving me an oxytocin high
you’ve given me a taste
of a lovely addiction
all gas, no breaks
more, more, more

we pressed our scents
       into those unholy sheets
                                 like flowers
                                          in a book

the soundtrack of san francisco
is pale gold and lush green
car horns

it’s only been a month
or two
but all has changed
since I met you

Oh how the clock ticks on
the future becomes the past
and nothing changes

An untamed mane,
wild, unwieldy—
for looks and for luster.
Unable to see through the thicket,
reality has flown so far away.

One of the saddest tragedies of life
is when we down a poison,
thinking it an elixir.

Brave little nomad,
this uncharted, no mans’ land will be yours soon enough.
Keep trekking,
little explorer—
for the world extends far beyond your road maps

I carry it on my back
when I'm here, I'm not really here
parts of me are scattered in different places
it's a little exciting, but mostly unsettling
I never unpack
my mind moves, and sometimes my body can't keep up
I am in so many parts that sometimes I lose some of the pieces
it's hard to keep it all together, especially the tiny bits
I don't live here, but I'd like to
I take the 78 to the 5 to the 405 to the 22,
the 405 to the 710 to the 5 to the 101
and I'm off at sunset.
I am trying to build something,
but it is hard without a foundation.
it is hard to build something out of a suitcase.

Poor little thing
spewing words like poison
gurgling, bubbling poison
a putrid mess from ****** lips.
Unknowing,
still you have much to learn

I wanna know your demons
I whisper
As I cut myself open
like a game of operation
delicate incisions
and steady hands,
looking
waiting
listening
for a sharp vibrating buzz
of discovery

Heavy baggage turned deadweight,
stowing away, clinging on—
down, down, down— we both shall sink
The tighter we clutch, the farther we fall
tense tendons and crooked insecurities leaving us
at the bottom
of
the
ocean.

Every day I’m learning
there’s a much bigger world out there
than what I used to see
in your eyes

I don't know what it is
about the seasons
but every time
I feel them change
feels like the first time

We wear our bruises like medallions
and keep our chins held high
as if to kiss the face of god
ourselves