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229 · Jun 2016
Things I Want
- Jun 2016
Your breath
On my neck as
You surprise and embrace me.

Your hair, parting itself from your scalp
And leaving traces of you
In my bed.

Your eyes
Fixed on mine as you tell me of something
You've grown to admire.

Your hands
Clasping mine as we wander and explore
Through the seasons.

Your body
As it gyrates to the rhythm of your turntable
As we're dancing.

Your words
as they have fallen from your pen onto
Your notebook's pages.

Your smile
Hydrating me from across a table
As we sip coffee and talk art.

The smoke
As it slips from your cigarette
And you tell me of days gone by.

Some knowledge
That these could be things
You wish to acquire with me.
V
229 · Jul 2016
XXXVII. Ideas
- Jul 2016
You write because you expect there will be more of them. Your mind works in fragments, though, so it’s fairly possible you may conceive a project plan for a series of works and then never conjure up a word of it again.

You’re outside on the roof of a Mediterranean restaurant on Tremont St., overlooking the John Adams Courthouse.
228 · Jul 2016
Kiss Like a Poet
- Jul 2016
We're crammed on a couch and we're spinning

I tell you, you kiss like a poet
Experimentation with two-line poems.
Number 13.
228 · Jun 2016
Untitled
- Jun 2016
I read other people's love poems
And find glimpses of you in their words

But my breath comes easier now,
And so does sleep

And I will not be deterred
From who I wish to become.
Number 9
224 · Jun 2016
3:05 pm
- Jun 2016
Today I have

Cried until my tears blistered,
Watched my heart sink into the dust
217 · Mar 2016
Fear
- Mar 2016
We retreat into the same spaces,
hands in our hair,
blood in our laps.

Curtained by terror in our respective rooms
waiting to soothe the aches in our bones.

We say that we’re warriors,
that no one under this sun can touch us

But what about unions,
what about others?
215 · Jun 2016
11:40 PM
- Jun 2016
And you find yourself
In the throes of madness

Surrounded by warm, warm bodies

Yet still
Entirely alone.
211 · Jul 2016
Dark Days
- Jul 2016
You don't know weird until

You're brushing your teeth in a Starbucks bathroom
And using the sink
To wash yourself
At 9 in the morning, you don't

Know pain until your space has been shattered,
You don't

Know isolation until those who have needed you
Abandon you when
Their help can't be lost, you

Don't know critical condition
Until you've suffered all the wounds you can take

You don't know rejection
Until your spirit bleeds out
And you live from a bag
Number 23
211 · Jul 2016
Suffer
- Jul 2016
She's asking how she can help

And her passion to make a small difference

Both floods me with warmth and leaves me to suffer
Number 22.
211 · Mar 2016
Intervention
- Mar 2016
I feel it boil in my belly
as these fingers grip the flask

it was a birthday-present
from an old, old friend…

I wonder how long it will take
before they order an intervention.

I have spent so long
honing my craft, I cannot afford
to have my choices compromised.

Go on, ****** me back into that hell
of plastic chairs and unlocked doors,
headboards bolted to the floor,
dead names carved in windows.

I will not go gentle;
allow this debauchery to go on.

I can see the canopies,
the gentle shades of foliage
disguise crumbling facades.

Leave me with my drink and willow trees,
after all, whom do I harm?
204 · Jun 2016
Hypocrisy
- Jun 2016
You said you wanted me
To soften, to not let

The fires I have walked through char my heels

And yet
When I did lose my shell in front of you

you caught flame instead
And asked I be removed
Number 10.
192 · Jul 2016
And
- Jul 2016
And
Today I came

And did not scream your name

Nor give it the breath of whispers
3- line poem experimentation

Number 14.
191 · Jun 2016
Who I Meet
- Jun 2016
I will write a sonnet
For every lover
Who has entered

                        (Or thought to enter)

My womb

And I will clad them
In the scent of destiny
As I forge their names immortal
Upon the sand.
I've been watching a lot of Spartacus lately

This is number 3.
171 · Jul 2016
Lonely Poem
- Jul 2016
I'm reducing myself
And others around me
To physical commodities

No face is like yours,
None familiar
Or warm
Number 17.
138 · Jul 2016
XXXIII. Travels
- Jul 2016
Some sort of god is making itself visible to you tonight. You’re freezing and everything in life is shaping up to be a perfectly engineered mess and yet you’re happier than you’ve ever been. It’s so thrilling to be happy alone- sober and control of your body, answering to no one.

You could get addicted to this. You’re making art that means something; listening to rock music and climbing through fountains, burying your face in the dewy grass of the park and thinking of no one else. This phenomenon can hardly be put into words but it is sure worth a try, my ******* god. You were so happy earlier that you wrapped your palms around a small decorative evergreen tree outside an office building and hugged it, breathing in its wintry scent and not giving a **** who was watching or thinking.

****!! A profane word is no less profane than the atrocity of allowing the true profanities of society and the psyche to go unaddressed. You stand inside this concrete empire, watching the world revolve.
Excerpt from a memoir-esque compilation I'm writing.
Written Dec. 2015.

— The End —