To start your mornings with
blood on your hands
smearing across pages
is
incriminating
and inspiring
And you must know
if you were to slice open
my veins would also
spill black fountain ink
If you were to sever my tongue
my hands would speak
for me
Go ahead and gouge my eyes
I can still see
And when I die I desire
to be cut as a cadaver
All the words visible
under paper-white skin
so they will know, too.
I do not aspire to be a skeleton
with brittle bones
I want blood
to pour with every pinprick
of a pilot pen pressed
on a page
But blood makes people squirm
Blood makes people gag
so I intend to
leave this world
with a crime scene behind me.
Let them shake and shudder
for they know not
the life they’ve lost
They live in fear of papercuts
and I carve myself open
again and again
And I will continue to
until I bleed out
and my ink dries up
If it sounds violent it’s
because it has to be
The world could use a
few more bloodstains
Makes it more uncomfortable
Makes it more interesting.

Start by hitting snooze
Twice for good measure
Leave the house just a few minutes later
Turning right into a jam
A thick, slow traffic jam
Viscous car molasses
But much less sweet
Sit there for a second
Simmering in sweat
Your blood begins to boil
Your hands begin to clench
Grip the steering wheel
Watch the clock tick time away
Curse your screeching alarm
Curse the convertible in front of you
Curse Monday mornings
Curse anything but yourself
Know that screaming at the cars
Won’t make that red turn green
But do it anyway
Honk your horn
Flash an unfavorable finger
To the vehicles doing the same to you
How is it rush hour
When everything is lagging
Your will to move is sagging
Roll your eyes at the radio
Wishing listeners a good morning
Oblivious to your mini meltdown
Once you can peel away
And break through that barrier
Sprint down that street
Swerving aggressively
Whip into the parking lot
Pretend your throat isn’t hoarse
And your knuckles aren’t white
Go about your day
Get excited for tomorrow morning
Tuesdays are better
Right?

I knew it was bad when my fingernails were ringed
with red
as I ran them over ribbons and excused myself
from confetti cake to make them
redder.

my head was burning
a sparkling candle burning
my hands were yearning
a spazzing sticking yearning

my family was singing
a muffled stifling singing
my ears were ringing
a loud ear-piercing ringing

sing
ring
sting
stop stop stop my scalp is stinging

Nothing was clear until my fingernails
were red
and coated with pieces of my head:
rubbed raw and picked clean
You’re telling me
this is something you haven’t seen?

It doesn’t make sense because:
I don’t put pencils in a perfect pristine line
I don’t count my cheerios before I can dine
I can turn the lights on and off just fine
but my fingernails
are red
and apparently that’s a sign.


I can tell you where
every single pinprick lives
and spreads fire down my scalp
into my brain
How it tells me
your math homework can wait
save me
or you’ll go insane

My nails are short
but still red
My brain is intact
but still missing its head

Oh, how I could See the Disorder in a
demented disturbed decision
to forfeit my favorite vanilla cake
for blood

stop stop stop, i’m begging you, brain

you can’t stop; you know you need pain
leave me alone, and you’ll go insane.

hot butter strolls down my face
and rolls down my nose
dribbles down my chin
and spatters the floor
the lustrous linoleum

i cry tears of sugar
it tastes much too sweet
as they mix with my thoughts
and pour into the cracked bowl
the jaded green memory

my hands are matted with white
and caked with delight
but it's a less-than-pleasant mess
i've used too much
it called for just a teaspoon

i sit there and wait
until you get up and leave
kitchen is now safe

OUR LOVE WAS LIKE SCATTERED SPARKS
THAT LIT UP LIKE LAVA LIGHT
BUT EVEN VOLCANOES OF PASSION DIE
AND I'M LEFT WITH STARLESS ASHES
THAT REMIND ME OF A LAVA LOVE
THAT ONCE ENGULFED THE NIGHT IN FLAMES

I never thought my hands would look nice held in ones of polish, chipped and black
In fact, it goes against my own advice, but once I’ve crossed, I can’t go back.
I never thought I’d want dark and twisty like the licorice in your pocket
Because Nicholas Sparks makes my eyes misty, and your eyes roll hard in their sockets.
You’re hopeless, and I’m a romantic, soft and gooey like caramel chew
My touch isn’t rushed, and yours is frantic; a bit unsettling, but still so new.
My mom would hate your earring’s dangle, my dad might mutter, “sick *******”
But I like your silver chains’ jangle, and I’m simply sick of citrus suckers.
You’re sharper than shards of icicle glass, joking about my love for the sky man
Everyone says this feeling will pass, but I’m not quite sure it can.
What started as an inky smear has become a staining smudge
And where my eyes hold doubt and fear, yours have edge and grudge.
But when you look at me they crack like your lips into a smile
You spit a halfhearted comeback, and I let myself melt in your guile.
And you let me wear your rings, slipping from my pointer and thumb
You let me sing of saccharine things, laughing while you call me dumb.
What caught your eye was the sparkle on mine, blue hidden by gold glitter
What made you stay wasn’t how they shine, but how my words could match your bitter.
You don’t know what boat shoes are; I don't know how to line my eyes
You don’t know how this got so far; I don’t know why I went counterclockwise.
But now that I’ve had a new flavor, I’ll add you to my list
I think this is one I’ll savor; it’s like sugar, but with a twist.

alarm screeches at 7:30am
until slammed against the wall and silenced
but you're then awoken by the cold-sweat panic
coupled with 8am realization
that you were supposed to head to class
ten minutes ago
and with sweatpants and slippers on
you sprint into thirty degrees
fog in the air, fog on your glasses
what a way to start the day!
philosophy *****, but you can't even sleep
hair matted and face oily
you sit there and scribble
every minute passing by slower
making you angrier
and the walk back to isolation
makes your blood boil
so you splash water to get rid of the oil
but now that you're back in a dark and cold room
it's time to hop on to your class on zoom!
you are paying thousands
thousands of dollars
THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS
to group facetime your professor
and spend half the time
experiencing wifi interruptions
and roommate disruptions
and near-screaming eruptions
but then you're done.
but not really!
you have a three-hour lab
and no time to eat before
so your meal is trail mix
and you feel weak and sick
but you have to get through
your gpa is dependent upon
mixing these chemicals correctly
so much depends
upon
a red hot
face
glazed with tear
water
beside the white
lab coats
welcome to your life!
this is what you wanted,
right?
this was your dream?
but your "dream"
has been twisted
and wrung out
of its golden magic
a watered down version
of what you expected
you knew it would be different
you thought maybe a third
would be skimmed off
but, hey, lucky you!
it's not even half full
welcome to your nightmare!
i hope you had a fun day
because now you get to slave
over hours of work
staring at a blue screen
icons melting your eyes
emails ruining your life
all you know in the late hours
is wooden chairs
and agony
so return "home"
tiptoe in the dark
because this is not your place
sharing is caring
spend the next three hours
tossing and turning
because you get to wake up
and do it all over again!
if your life has gone flat
at least you know what to expect
if you can no longer be surprised
can you be pained?
i would say i'm sorry
but you chose this
so kick yourself
put on your mask
and shut up.
this is your fault.
this is your life,
get used to it.

cinnamon sugar
your hands mash the crumble cake
warmth fills the kitchen

My dad and I would spend sunny afternoons
riding our bicycles
through my suburban neighborhood.
We would ride down my street
until we reached the sidewalk that diverged into two paths
and neither of them were less traveled by
as we always ended up taking both.
The right path leads to the small waterfalls
just past the basketball court
where my brothers and their friends
would play pick-up games.
Riding across the tiny bridges is a moment of brief bliss
as the sounds of the water rushing reaches your ears
and drowns out everything else.
We’d maneuver to the giant lake
filled with brightly colored kois
and serene storks standing out on the rocks.
Following the curve of the water
we would end up in a private neighborhood
where the blacktop is so shiny and smooth
that your wheels glide across the entire street.
And you can go fast
since it’s silent
and no cars come barreling down the road.
Somehow, we’d end up at that beginning sidewalk
and now it’s time to go to the left.
Over here, there’s a small playground
where my dad would chase my siblings and me
and I would hide in the tube of the slide.
We could spend hours there
on our spaceship
trying to outsmart Darth Vader and the dark side.
Just past the park, we’d reach the stretches of green belts
lacing their way through the streets
and the bushes I flew into
when first learning how to ride my bicycle.
We'd take a left after the dip in the sidewalk
ending up back on our street
and deciding that it’s getting late
once the sky turns pink and orange.
We’d end up back at the cookie-cutter house
that I don’t live in anymore
but part of it is still mine.
I wonder if the kitchen is still red
and if the guest bathroom still smells like lemons.
I contemplate knocking
only to remember that there’s a new family living there
making memories in our pool
and playing in the basement.
I smile, hoping that maybe
they will ride the same sidewalks I grew up on.
I paste these memories into a poem
but there is really no need
because remembering the twists and turns
of my old neighborhood
is just like riding a bike.

you confuse me.
but that's probably
because my mind
is clouded with
uncertainty
and sprinkled with
champagne stars.
i've been walking
in a fog of feelings
and pushing them
further and further away
with every glass i pour.
it's not fair
to ask someone steady
to walk with someone
so unbalanced
so not ready.
but you like that my
soul is filled with glitter
and i tell myself
that's gotta count for something.

it's white
so pure
so fresh
so clean
so tell me why the red that flows
looks like a scar, so mean?
it's sparkly
so fluffy
so new
so light
so tell me why the red that flows
looks just like blood, so bright?
it's racing and racing
and flowing and falling
leaves a scrape and a streak
as it runs down the peak
a strange sled of red
down a white snowy head

-an entry from the National Library of Medicine National Institutes of Health-

processes protruding
excitatory synapses
cerebral circuits
dendritic differentiation

growth is     s         lo           w.

a complex dance, unfolding of a blueprint; how do we understand this dance?

stress stress stress stress stress learn grow develop stress stress stress stress stress

the brain is sensitive! plastic changes are not all permanent
                                 permanent
                                 permanent

choose...you­r...psychomotor stimulants!
amphetamine
*******
nicotine

choose:
gray or white matter
schizophrenia or drug addiction
ADHD or depression

the brain structures will not be changed;
pathological plasticity = pathological pain

                                                           ­                      not all plasticity is good
just like a sculptor
who creates a statue
with a block of stone
and a chisel
to remove the unwanted pieces

in vivo → cell death

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"
No, you shall not!
I already know I am lovely
But I am more tumultuous than temperate
And I prefer the icy chill of January versus
The darling buds of May
Sorry!
But any eternal summer you see within me
Shines for someone else
Any gold complexion that you see
Contains my words of lover's wealth
But it does not sparkle for you!
I apologize for the unrequited affection
But I think your Shakespeare needs correction
If Juliet is the sun from the East
Then I am strictly from the West
No roses in my lips or cheeks
Face flushed from cold at best.
So save your sonnets and your rhymes
For another girl at another time
I will be stuck in the winter's shade
Bearing icicles unafraid
But if you and your lover's lines
Saunter over and take a seat
I must let you know I shall have to go
And into the night I will retreat.

i want to shower you in sugar
and unleash the spate of syrup
but that might be too strong
i want to give you candied comments
and reveal all my honeyed hopes
but i'm afraid that could be wrong
i have all these citrus suckers
and balmy butterscotch
and treacly truffles
i would give them all to you
but i don't want you to get sick
of me and all my candy

Someone please
just tell me the answer
because what I thought was a crossroads
has branched into a dozen paths
and you know I don't stand a chance
against a decision-making dilemma
so I am handing over the strings
please just play me like a puppet
put the confidence in my choice
put the words into my voice
move my feet in some direction
I promise I'll have no objection
because I cannot think! I cannot act!
my mind is chock-full
and completely jam-packed
and I am indecisive to the extreme
so much so I'm about to scream
yes I know it's bad that I have no thought
but all my attempts are tangled in a knot
I am tired of the pros and cons list
I am getting lost on this track of twists
so take my choices, I do not care
it's not like I'm getting anywhere!

I can no longer convince you to be captivated
by late nights filled with nothing
I can not ****** you with my smooth talk
filled with songs of strange sweet something
I can no longer wheedle you with words
that entice you to want to stay
I can not tantalize you with temptation
so I must find somewhere else to play.

she
       was
              sharper
                            than
                                    shards
                                                of
                                                    icicle
                                                             glass

Head of a silver spoon hanging in the sky
Reaching down into the midnight cloud bowl
Scooping up spiced stars scattered in a soup

Live on.
And find ways to crack
                                         the
                                              dawn.

Type type type
Delete delete delete
Why all of a sudden is writing now a feat?
“Just write what comes to mind!”
But my mind’s wiped clean
Like the blank white page on my laptop screen
Nothing flows, nothing spills
Tauntingly the cursor blinks
I’m certain I’ve forgotten how to think
Nothing circulates, nothing pours
Hauntingly my fingers tap
I’m certain I’m about ready for a nap
Nothing runs, nothing spews
Dauntingly I press some keys
I’m certain I’ll never be at ease
I type type type
I’m finally overcoming my feat!
But I read it back, one word at a time
And now we’re back to
Delete delete delete.

I'm floating and falling
And sinking and sailing
Can anyone save me?
Prevent me from flailing?

I'm shooting and missing
And running and tripping
Can anyone help me?
Stop my feet from slipping?

I'm wishing and hoping
And wanting and praying
Can anyone see me?
Hear the words I'm saying?

Drip
Drop
The golden sun
A burning coin
A flaming pendant
A sun of god
Painted bright
Bleeding into the sky
Sinking down
I watch it die.

electric touch

begin again

fearless

everything has changed

cruel summer

come back...be here

the very first night

august

Les Roses de Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

J'ai voulu ce matin te rapporter des roses;
Mais j'en avais tant pris dans mes ceintures closes
Que les noeuds trop serrés n'ont pu les contenir.

Les noeuds ont éclaté. Les roses envolées
Dans le vent, à la mer s'en sont toutes allées.
Elles ont suivi l'eau pour ne plus revenir.

La vague en a paru rouge et comme enflammée.
Ce soir, ma robe encore en est toute embaumée . . .
Respires-en sur moi l'odorant souvenir

The Roses of Saadi by Marceline Desbordes-Valmore

I wanted to bring you roses this morning;
But I had closed so many in my sash
That the knots were too tight to contain
them.

The knots split.
The roses blew away.
All blew off to the sea,
borne by the wind,
Carried to the water, never to return.

The waves looked red as if inflamed.
Tonight, my dress is still perfumed.
Breathe in the fragrant memory.









Eau de parfum: mémoire en bouteille
by Grace Haak

The remembrance reverberates.

I see a silk sash stuffed with splendor
Trinkets collected from a local vendor
Knots ******* as if a form of art
Thorns pressed up against my heart
But for you, I’d pierce my soul.

The recollection resonates.

I feel wind entangle my hair in twists
Matted and messy from soft sea mist
Dripping and damp from a walk too far
Only thought is getting to where you are
But for you, I’d run forever.

The reminiscence resounds.

I smell a sweet scent of rose
The kind that always tickles my nose
Stuck in an overpowering haze
A sickly aroma drags me into a daze
But for you, I’d plant a garden.

Sometimes, when I forget to forget you
I leave the sea with crushed petals
and stained hands.
The blood on my hands
is yours.

I’ll wither and wilt,
wondering why
you left all your flowers
when you said goodbye.

When I knock back my own perfume,
the roses re-echo
he loves me he loves me not he loves me he loves me not

Poor girl. He doesn’t even give you a thought.

She was a warm summer night
Nothing could compare
To the tints and shades in the clouds
Like the streaks of color in her hair.
She was as serene as a sunset
Nobody knew why
She bled words of poetry
Like the colors that bleed into the sky.
She was a beaming gleam of light
None knew what to say
About the sunshine in her veins
Like the end of a golden day.

i am sad
no longer an irregularity
i feel bad
and i'm lacking in emotional granularity
i am mad
riddled with polarity
i am glad
just trying to find some clarity

my mind is muddled mush
scrambled to eggs
from filling up on
mind-numbing affairs
snoozing sedentary sores
and piling up on couch potatoes
eating up seconds
in a Netflix solo party haze
brain over-binging
and melting in the
lack
a
daisical
days
heart restless from resting
and raging from being robbed
walking the dog
to get some "fresh air"
but the road is the same
empty and sad
and if anything
the up down, up down
stop sit go, stop sit go
insensates my thoughts more
until it becomes a
swirling mash of sorrow
and bittersweet bric-a-brac
every article, every email
strikes a match that flickers out
but if it catches a wick,
it erupts, although quick
and anger devours my body
and my brain s c r e a m s
and screeches for escape
each lobe pounding
and punching
my nerves on fire
that dies as fast as it started
and then i'm back
waking to reading to running to dying
oily and oleaginous
all my ponders
pounded back into pulp
my horrible macerated mind

I’m not sure why I cry
when I should be asleep
It’s dark out and I try to be soothed by rain
But no peace comes to pacify the pain
I’m not sure if you’re the reason why
My heart hurts and my thoughts are too deep
But I overthink more than I should
Over and over
And I’m anxious over events that don’t take place
And I’m desperately longing to see your face
Even though I can’t take a breath or fade away
So many thoughts and yet nothing to say
And as I continue to cry, stuck miles away
With so many thoughts and yet nothing to say.

It all seems so business
so pleasantly polite...so black-hides-the-blue..so completely unlike you.
I close my eyes and think of it often
the alternate to the unsmiling coffin
You don’t want a poem about how great you are
You want everyone singing Green Day, with Joe on guitar
You don’t want flowers falling without a sound
You want shotgunned cans of Hamm’s thrown on the ground
You don’t want scratchy collars and palms all sweaty
You want retro Nikes and confessions of confetti
You don’t want hiccups and heartache
You want plastic forks and a Costco cake.

But instead
I’m left with red-hot
blurry stinging
Perfect gray
Sad sky ringing
A gaping hole in the dug-up dirt
Filled with mounds of rock-hard hurt.
They see a nice young man
in a green striped tie
Gone too soon,
who knows why
It’s tragic
but their world keeps turning
They sympathize
but their eyes stop burning.

They don’t see a little brother open the doors
of your Jack and Jill
because his Jack has gone and left a chill.
So he can fall asleep,
he turns on the bedside light,
pretends you’re up reading
and everything is right.
You and World War II guns
always late into the night.

if my words
don't make your stomach hurt
like the feeling of
watching
the first incision
the thick dark icing
pouring out
messy and mesmerizing
nasty and nauseating
then you need another slice

It's no longer that sharp kind of pain
that shocks you
and leaves you breathless.
It's the consistent, dull thud
of a daily constant
the throb you can get through,
you just have half the oxygen
and half the strength.
The entire world is going
at a million miles an hour
and I have drooped;
sticky eyelids, purple rings
a film covering everything I see.
I used to cope by releasing the
uncontrollable sobs in the shower-
it was more efficient to make a mess of myself
while simultaneously being cleaned.
Now I feel so much that I don't feel like I feel at all.
I wake up covered in sweat and existential dread
knowing that the day holds sagging eyes
and a fake it til you make it mindset
that turns into lying because you haven't made it.
How do you describe your feelings
of cotton coupled with regret
without sounding like a basket case?
You don't,
so you shift your gaze
and shove it down
and drown yourself in anything else.
You remain collected
as you crawl out of your skin
if the outside offense is exhaustion,
it holds no candle to the tumultuous
that is those threads piecing you together inside.
The strings may eventually thin and snap
but for now you are upright
with some slight skin slumping
a small price to pay
for having it all.

You have scooped out the sky’s stars
Scattering them into sparkle soup
Compressing them into a can
That crackles when I crack it
I often think of how
You sit so sweetly on my shelf
Cold and crisp, you patiently perspire
How you cover my tongue in twinkles
And coat my throat in glitter
My lips fascinated by your fizz
Bubbles on my breath
And spangles as I swallow
Oh, La Croix
There are few things
That bring me as much joy
As sipping on your summertime
And seeking you in supermarkets
How I long to reunite with your refreshness
For you cure my carbonated cravings
Through your effervescent ecstasy  
With a hint of lime.