I can hope
that the door I open
shuffles the words
I want to say
in the right order
at the precise velocity.

Somehow barely
pinching phrases
stretching and minimizing
rectangle ideas that will reflect the standoffish modesty of perfection.

Syllables fly fly fast and aren't heard.

what am I
to carry these insides
that tread in the wrong places

I feel this

After the first wake
of devotion.

Any spark
burns bright then dims.

Each me
is the shadow
of one anothers
ascetic.

We still try
coagulating the unknown known,
and your close drippy beam
destroys me.

All ripe is rotten
actualization
through a feigned gaze.

Heart elevator--
Everytime I think I see--
your name it drops --

I tap parts of my body

so I don't feel you there anymore.

I can't decide which is more absurd.

Slow burn from nightly daze
You aren't where I am.
Eye strain
with biting conviction
swallowed ambivalence
descends.
Do you still exist
as one, lost in the maze?
Your weight of wisdom
is vague and tangled here.
Tumult is the alarm clock.
You are the clock that strikes twelve.

Phrases like roadkill
An overdone face.
Do words fall out my mouth
like the teeth in my dreams

In the wakeful night
I'm never lifted
where the moon eludes me
in wavelets of despondency

Baby, you're so smart
Because you keep it simple.
But you've got locked-in syndrome
when it comes to drawin' lines.

Baby, you keep it simple
with darts as answers
with sweet nothings on Wednesdays
with no calls on Fridays
no more.

And you say you get mad
when I
"hypothesize"
which I thought was
"facing the facts"
You're so clever baby.

Baby, you keep it simple
by putting me on hold,
Just me and the dial tone
for days, weeks, months at a time.

Baby, you keep it simple
when we break up
but you keep squeezin'
i-miss-you's
here and there, like you had too many
nothings to spare.

Baby, you keep it simple
by keeping me on my toes
by not hearing my pillow woes
when I clutch the blankets at 2 am
on the dot every morning
to look for your name
to find blank screens.

Baby, you keep it simple.
So baby please, stop painting the roses red.

There's a pocket of space
behind my ribs, where
I keep a box of your old things.

I asked a stranger to pour me into the ocean
so shards of me could fall in the peacock blue.
You should put it in writing.
but Amy asks  “But who ya writing for?”
My hair floats above my head
my body hovers
where succubi don’t put up with false pretenses
and neither do I.

And then I was ****** under.
While you were thinking I didn’t have a clue
With no voice in my head, I shot into the sky
to find myself as an emerald.
Where I observe, but don’t change.

I keep a cool front ruin
With no trace of kisses that left resin.
My red bite meant to kiss you
But I fell through like a Rock
I breathe out ashes
from the retired dragon in the story books,
you know the ones made with overstocked pages of gold.

And so I'm told you're happy
By a picture. You happy,
I picture
Without second thoughts
Without me.

So maybe my grin isn't as curved
as the cartoon from the birthday card I sent you
Because that smile you wore made my stomach hurt
Even made my phone sick.

Of concrete. Of scraped kissed knuckles
There again
infinitesimal ***** of flesh.
The bud, wrapped in a linen of ash.
Giving light, then withholding.
Like a mother’s feed, “pero cuidado de las chichis muy wanga”
Solo slabbing concrete
Without the creaks in the pavement
the city cannot breathe.

It’d be important to recognize a throat scorned
by the acid that boils deep from expired words churned
Unearned and unarmed a bruise that persists

I'm slowly mulling over the gaping empty spaces we all left, ones that I helped dig hollow myself.
Is any standstill a pleasant one as this,
Times frozen without vindication.
Addicted to those tiny jubilant, fuzzy but blissful moments.
Tiny coping mechanisms
Altered memories that will somehow glue together simplicity.
Lets try and forget the vastness of it all
Lets keep dancing this dance, and pretending that the smoke that fills our lungs doesn't make us spit in the morning.
Tiny snippets of modified memories I can handle rather well.

You are having a hard time,
said in quotation marks.
There are echoes from no mans land, but they are understood universally.
What happened to you?
I open my mouth where a dried root lays.
We revel in the sand and my skin becomes paper,
We circle round the uprooted valley.
Round and round we go.
You are having a hard time,
you say in quotation marks.
Like a cartoon.

Star speckled fervor.

Bottomless,

This honey spice fathomlessness

give in to this sweet serenity

I'll pick myself up

regret it later,

but I let you.

Melt to nothing.

shatter every bone in my body

I may crash to the ground

because I am lifted when i am with you.



And I wont care to stop it.

Paralyzed in grandeur

I am thrown 5 thousand feet from the air

the wrinkles in my blankets,

as my sheets drip unto the floor.

I transcend the simple worries

I am flushed.

you are divine creation.

seems chimerical.

Turbo speed, you jet engine

submerged in the ethereal

subaqueous in metallics

sinking in a daydream

sinking my ships again

build me from the ground up

flow right through me.





not trying to tip toe,

vanished in it.

your breath on me

like the first gust of summer

I wish I could bottle it.