bleached
beneath
a 10 kilowatt
moon
anticipating
geometry
the smell
of soap
that same
instant
calling into
question
bisexuality
without flesh
or
the vibration
of blood

and still,
it is there.
an undeniable
and persistent
sort of ache.
the kind that sinks,
and festers,
and cries.
it is still there,
"the missing."

After months of sleeping next to you, today I woke up, rolled over to see your face, and was __.

a) in love
b) complete
c) nervous
d) alone
e) all of the above

well yeah man, it's like-
you take a drag, inhale.
your eyes sink and i watch your lips
part slightly and let out a trail of smoke
but your words get lost in my mouth
because i sit up and kiss you
it's sort of slow and feverish
and i climb in your lap and chase it
automatically like a moth to a flame
twisting i almost smile, i lick your teeth
-like this ? i not quite growl
you forgot everything but this moment
but you nod anyway
and i see some indescribable want or need
some days i can't tell the difference
i guess i like you like me
i watch you sit and smoke
every breath you seem a little farther
when you're done you grab me
pull me away into your room
i lie on the bed and taste incense
you look back as music plays
then join me silently and pull me on top
i rest over you like a misshapen blanket
and you get too hot
you look so far gone deep out in space
floating somewhere under me
your eyes glazed and our thighs
it must feel so great to be treated like this
someone to keep you safe
and do anything you say
and selfishly i tried making you mine
but your and my bruises healed
sometimes i wish they had stayed

For Naomi Lazard

Sometimes I can't wait until I look like Nadezhda Mandelstam.
-- Naomi Lazard

My friends are tired.
The ones who are married are tired
of being married.
The ones who are single are tired
of being single.

They look at their wrinkles.
The ones who are single attribute their wrinkles
to being single.
The ones who are married attribute their wrinkles
to being married.

They have very few wrinkles.
Even taken together,
they have very few wrinkles.
But I cannot persuade them
to look at their wrinkles
collectively.
& I cannot persuade them that being married
or being single
has nothing to do with wrinkles.

Each one sees a deep & bitter groove,
a San Andreas fault across her forehead.
"It is only a matter of time
before the earthquake."
They trade the names of plastic surgeons
like recipes.

My friends are tired.
The ones who have children are tired
of having children.
The ones who are childless are tired
of being childless.

They love their wrinkles.
If only their were deeper
they could hide.

Sometimes I think
(but do not dare to tell them)
that when the face is left alone to dig its grave,
the soul is grateful
& rolls in.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

if I could catch the wordless clouds,

falling from your mouth,

God forbid i break your heart.

but what about addiction,

does it void my fear and insecurities,

the way I came from nothing,

when there's nothing left to leave?

i still picture my heart,

in an always interrupted parking lot,

where we both feared getting shot.