I was sitting outside on the curb in front the venue
With Spaghetti string lights that curved into shape
Spelling out Baby’s Alright
Spilling out green and blue, green and blue all over the pavement
And thought if Care-Bears could ***** it would be like this
The band was finished and they were packing up slowly
Reluctant to leave
Maybe because they had a four hour drive ahead of them to Philly
I was smoking like I do after big crowds
The sun was setting here and rising at another place
And I was thinking about what to do for the rest of the night
Because I didn’t want to be alone but I didn’t want to be in a crowd
Everyone was talking about drinking and if not drinking, smoking
And if smoking then eating and all roads leads to Rome
So if they wanted to **** they might as well have just said it—
But I guess they wanted to be nice first
It was cool outside and the wind was kind to let me smoke in peace
I kept staring at the schizophrenic buildings changing voices one after another
Which is to say I just eavesdropping on the windows again
And I always have this strange habit of thinking that the people in those buildings are free
Or willing to spend sometime with me and talk about whatever
Like they had sometime to waste and I would have taken it

Someone had painted the trails with blotches of shadows
And the evergreens went into hiding within them
Crippled leafs descend and ascend beautifully, reinforced by gust  

Elsewhere, in the Gulf of Mexico, the sun had been drowned
By the approaching night
And the sea waves flirt with the crescent shore

Here, the trail traces the forest vertebrae
Its coarse finger tips rips through maple tendons
And fossil stone cartilage
It cries and endures

It bleeds as we carve whispers in to its bark
Things that we are too afraid to say

Elsewhere, at the summit of Kilimanjaro,
Dawn swallows the foreboding night
And a young sun crawls out from underneath the white cap
The savanna shifts its eyelids open
And with a fray the old titans emerge

The tent stood under a basking tree
A young man lays inside quivering
From too many exposed bones
The flies rally and take turns exploring
His skin rots invisibly
And the stomach bugles from the weight of starvation
He would have swallowed the world if he could

But here, we trace the shadows of these trails
And carve our whispers in to dying woods
A sun is drowned every day.
And these crippled leafs shatter.

There is no Kilimanjaro here.
No Gulf small enough to save the sun

you have amnesia
except the painful parts
where I’m a house hiding dynamite
you don’t want me to open up
that,
not an elevator or staircase, your mother’s hands,
your father lies—
I won’t let you down

“the hardest thing is to come back—” he says

no,
the hardest thing is to stay.

And then I noticed that all I wanted to do
Was decorate your skin with my lips
while you rambled on about Baroque Art
I came here to focus
To collect all the piece of myself that scattered around
the world
from the time I had the biggest piece of me yet
to be yanked out
I didn’t want this
I forced myself to not want it
But that became impossible when I found so many
Pieces of myself inside you
It was like sailing all the oceans with only
The stars as navigation
It wasn’t hard but rather tricky to understand
Understand all your layers of black
And intricately woven sweaters
I imagined you plastering yourself
On the floor of your one room apartment
While the moonlight poured on your skin
And I could see every speck and pore
And everything would be so defined
You’re not a mystery but instead a character
That carried the plot of a beautiful story on your lips
While mine had nothing to do with the after thoughts
Of *** or kissing or walks along a dramatic skyline
But a poem about how much I want your story to
Mix with my
This is it

I hear you
Through
The gaps
In-between
The splitting oak

Whirlpools of dust
Lift from the steps
You ask me to
Leave
You ask me why
I’m here

I smell you
Deep in the avalanches
Of your mold
They had killed a child
In you
Asking me why I come
Three times now

Cavern of unheard voices
Your cries seep
Into my stomach
Fill it with ash
Enough to roll
A useless cigarette

I felt you
Aching and in pain
Those who touch
Your rust
Pour lemons
On your wounds

I heard laugher
In your wood
The scratches
Of tiny fingernails
And the screams
Of a boy




They told me you
Carried them
Said it wasn’t
Your fault
They have grown
Since the last
Time you saw them

No longer the children
You use to carry.

I saw you a week ago
Your hands in the bread box
Fingers flipping through the slices
Like folders

You pick one
And pinch the barked color crust
You lift it from obscurity
And secured it in-between
Your rose petals

Crumb glazed fingertips
Dirt on your cheeks
You looked around
Made sure it was safe
And then disappear into winter

Coal covered flakes fell from the chimneys
And the snow needed cleaning
Furnaces burned all day like Hanukah oil
Rib cages grew out from their shyness
And your topaz eyes did well
To stand out from the sea of blue and white

If they tell you there are showers here
Don’t believe them
There’s a reason why it smells like skin
On Sundays

Those ******* with their black metal suits
Raising their hands towards the heavenly sky
In front of them
Making gold out of our bones
And lampshades out of our skin

Yesterday, I kissed you in front of the bread box
Felt the grime on your finger tips
And tasted the bread in your breath
I ran my fingers down your brittle
Spinal cord
Climbing and descending mountains
One finger at a time----

We dissolved into the winter

Made angels where no angels could be found
Danced in our skeletal forms

We both had seen death and his attempts
To lure us with hot showers, warm food
And an oversized fire place

He had made this hell on earth
And we chose to decorate it with bread
And angels

We were content with that




But today when you didn’t show up
I went outside

I saw him guiding you into that burning house
With a grin on his face

I ran as fast as my bony legs could
Trampling over the angels we made

And carelessly slipping on our frozen crumbs

All I could do was stare helplessly at the chimneys
Cement and vicious
Piercing in to the sky
Black smoke flooded the clouds like night

Grey and black crumbs rained

And somewhere in the distance
A train had stopped

In the summer,
we run around the house
open all the windows
have the wind sing through our rooms—
that you are a wind chime—
and —
when I pass through you
it is my favorite song

There would be Garage rock playing in the back ground—
Yeah, that would be her theme song
And the smell of Brooklyn would follow her
That one time; or first time
When I walked along the Brooklyn Bridge Park
And there was fog; that time
She was standing underneath dim lights with a strange
San Francisco flavor
Tossing notes in to a notebook and tossing that into her music
And tossing that towards everyone else
On her back she had a tattoo: If lost, please return to;
Which I guess was her way of losing that smell;

It’s morning

The light hurts your eyes:

Yesterday is hurting you: You were moving in.

This is how they welcome you to the neighborhood,

The toothpaste is making everything bitter—

he’s dreaming of rivers

you’re awake staring at the ceiling

at clumps of runaway white paint—

on a pillow that smells like your sister

At the beach

The sand is bleeding—

the water rinses away the stains,

You’re making circles out of sugar

She’s laying on her stomach—

The sun pouring maraschino cherries on back

Someone always left the canoe sled up on the suburban hill
where my parents lived in Lancaster
when my father was still alive
the hot button of bronze rusted park bench water fountains
mustard grime on fujianeze chemical roads,
factory capes bustling out diet coke smoke plumes
over ornate Qing green shrines, the sky congested
congregates in the priest’s hands
passing out grilled flatbread stained with silver coins
on the shivering blades of velvet grass up top to khaki canals
behind the town where empty six-pack rings swim down
to where the homeless sleep
and feed the water with blistered feet—
but underneath a vale of Caspian light
lanterns red as congealed hearts
the smell of fireworks overtakes gas
and for one night it is the country
my parents remember

I wish I
Knew how to
Build relationships out
Of construction paper
Instead of Styrofoam
Cups, something that
I could tape
Together when it’s
Ripped, something I
Could un-wrinkle when
It’s crumpled up
But Instead I
Have These Styrofoam
Cups they seem
Strong and sturdy
I don’t mean to
But when I
Step on them
They snap and
Break, their White
Beads come off
Flake by Flake
They are so
Easily blown Away
By breaths How
Do I Tape
Those flakes back
Together when I
Can’t even manage
To get all
The pieces

She’s a desert and
you’re just another drop
of water for her to
soak up
you’ll feel fury and pain
a Hiroshima heartbeat
decimating the skyline
she carved on your back
you won’t feel anything
but he empty touch of
an ice cube
her fingertips criss-cross
your torso like a kite
Stamps her lips on
yours and sends you
Away; express mail
no return address
In to the palm of her
hand

I’m sorry that I’m not okay enough to give you what you need
There’s a point when trying your best no longer matters unless
You actually succeed and I’m failing you; I’m not well; I wish
I was but all I want to do is feel something for once know how
It feels to grasp something and not let it run through your fingers
Like sand; I’m not dead inside; I’m very much alive, running
Savagely through my darkness away from what’s behind me;
I don’t know what’s behind; it looks like my childhood, like
My parent’s disappointment in me, the lack of everything; the
Problem isn’t because I’m scared. A building is set on fire inside
Me every day and every day I have to find a way to put it out
And save what remains of that building; charred black oak,
Crumbling walls, a roof torn wide open left on its tendons;
Photos outlined by carbon and touched by the flames leaving
Traces of embers and Polaroid ash; negatives were use as fuel
Every time it’s the same building, the same house; the house
That I grew up in; the house that’s still there; Why do I keep
Trying to put it out when I know what I really want
Is to watch that ******* burn;

Hang your bones
In my closet
While I melt my skin
On to terracotta warriors
So I can learn
How to stand centuries for you

Dust off our ash covered knees,
We’ve waited long enough
Pierce your ancient stone temple
With eroding fingers
I’ll excavate your
Porcelain viscera
And rearrange it
With my tongue

That exact moment, right before it
You can hear cereal being eaten slowly
And the bones of thin skinned people
Rubbing against each other squeaking
You hear keys crunching into a new house
And you’ll realize the secret happiness of
The other side of the pillow
The secret happiness of kissing in movie theaters
Or the secret sadness of crying when no one’s around
That exact moment, right before it.
Before you throw the ashes into the river
Stuttering like the words before the last words
Trying to make sense the gibberish before the first words
The caterpillars before the love

You’re the song that
The sky can’t stop
Singing after the sun
Broke its promise to
The afternoon and left
Inside my head is the
Sound that the rain makes
After a big storm, leaving
Stains on my shirt
Rusting the brakes so you
Couldn’t leave
The sound of subtle bells
I tore it open once
Just to see if I could find you
Somewhere in the storm of myself
I searched for a while and my feelings
Came pouring out like a waterfall
Rivers began to form and you followed
Them to the ocean of my vulnerabilities
Stripped yourself naked and swam through
Me, riding my skin like tidal waves.

I’m tired of these poems that talk
About dissolving in to the bed together
About spaceships on the ceiling
And dust on your forearms
I’m tired of these poems-
And tired of the crushing weight-
These poems that talk about love
As if it’s something we can taste
Or touch or smell or melt or dissolve
Or fly or crash or destroy ourselves into
I’m tired of these metaphors
The double entendres
The verses
The prose
The ulterior motive to sleep
With the girl next door

Stop talking about love likes it’s tangible
Like it’s something you can find
In the creases of your sheets
Or the pores on your skin
Like it’s something you can hear
In the tone of his voice
Or the pitch of her laugh

Stop looking outside
Stop telling her she’s an ocean
Stop comparing him to a rain storm
Stop howling your stanzas on rooftops
When they leave you
Stop expecting for the wind to be there
Love does not exist in the air
Or in your heart

Love exists when you learn how to-
When existing becomes the only thing you love
When you stop setting yourself on fire
To keep him warm at night
When you stop letting her freeze you
Just so she can keep you there

Enough of your Nerudas
Your moons
Your suns
Your mountains
Your stars
Your inhabitable forests
Your deserts
Your fires
Your oceans
Your seas
Your lakes
Your rivers
Your Niles
Your Paris
Your talk of good destruction

I have seen them throw their voices in to caves
Desperately wanting to hear an echo

Toss aside your shallow skin and knee deep words
So you can no longer hurt and no longer drown

Here to a lifetime of laughs
A lifetime of wondering
why you’re still here
your past is full of cobwebs
and there nothing I could say
to make the spiders go away
there’s a future, where you never finish
your books, watch only the first
half of movies because you’re afraid
of endings
you’re underneath a waterfall made from
tears you’ve collected over the years
and your body cups it
holds it in-between the spine
and heart, where they’ll never find it

One day, after a year
you were walking on a path coated
with fallen leaves
along the sides magnolias grew
endlessly
there was a bench that you sat on
holding tattoos from people
that didn’t know how to express
the way they felt
so they whispered it in to the wood with pens
or anything sharp
and this guaranteed them a way back
you sat there reading them
running your fingers across the markings
back and forth slowly like hieroglyphics

One day, after your first year of college
you found him tucked behind
the corner of the library
reading encyclopedias about the modern world
and you asked him
“Why are you reading that?”
and he said
“Because I want to know if the ending’s good or not.”

In the forest near the
river, along the sides
of the bushes
towards the vastness
of nothing,
we walked on a
trail that marched
deep in to the tall grass
our feet were sore and
colored with earth mud
there was a wave of salt.
The ocean was nearby
we ran the rest of
the way
the tall grass split open
and in front of us was
a crippled house we could
hear it,  standing
on the hilltop
just before the crescent shore

Do you still play vinyls
rolled up Japanese jeans
you smelled of crushed hibiscus
roads after a thunder, pine needles burst
with the sky-blue beetle
zooming, trampling with blank ink
with white polka-dots,
how to hide a lesbian body with the carpet
rolled up tossed into the closet
it was the day you taught me how to samba
it was a windy day cracking open the side windows
a tiny bit, just enough to lick your fingers
how you breathe with waiting, how you wait until have to breathe
It was storming outside, it was the first time I had horchata.
and the sunlight broke drying the ground,
how you appear - gently, into someone's heart

I am, will always be, behind your back
That, I will, in the worst time of your life,
Try to be the best part of it, that, you are, to me,
The best thing about here, that, no matter,
How hard, trying, how much it is
I will, spot you, walking across the street.
Running towards, my life like a shelter,
That you are, dumb as ****, with me, at this bar,
At Starbucks with playing cards, at parks, through heavy winters,
Without money, for gas, together above, my house, on the roof,
throwing firecrackers on the driveway, in the neighborhood,
stealing golf ***** from country clubs
you are, a buzz, dank with life, tall as you could be
that so many things have died in my life—
I am happy you haven’t. I am happy—
you are here.

I’ve been squeezing moose all over my body in an attempt
To give it more volume
Which is to say I was trying to give my life more depth

When you’re finished reading astronomy you’ll end up
Throwing oranges at pedestrians because **** it, Earth is
Meaningless and everyone needs to cheer up

**** it because being content is the hardest
Thing you can possibly do
Which is to say throwing oranges at people is the hardest
Thing to do without getting your *** kicked

**** it because when an orange concentrates hard enough it becomes juice
And if I concentrate hard enough I **** myself
Which is to say I need to have a seat and calm down—
Enjoy this cigarette while it lasts

I am no longer able to print Handle-With-Care labeling
And tape it to my body like someone who actually believes that works
While the sun laughs and harasses me with oranges all day
**** it, there’s too much moose and I’m wearing a white shirt.

He would run to his house, emergency or not
And they would go to Lake Erie to bathe in April,
They would watch the seasons go by in the water,
hijack golf carts from the course nearby
And cruise around the neighborhoods
Millennium falconing it through suburban
Michigan, dubbing it The Night We Took Down
The Empire
And eventually they would tucker out and
Afternoon on the asphalt, cul-de-sac, kissing
Waiting for the Detroit to catch up to the sun
They dreamed of places to go
And he would often say Where?
And his response would often be
Anywhere;

My grandpa who eats steamed sweet potatoes on foothills textured in green rice patties
dreamt up a tall brick house with a black iron gate
barbwires sprung around the tips of the entrance to keep out thieves
right now he wonders how long he can keep fibbing to my mother—
their rotten hut at the end of the massive foothill, not fleeting
monsoons come early, swells the ground till it gave
a landslide takes four people and a child

that day, red stars hung above Tiananmen square gates
grounded bones came in sacks, white cement hauled by green skin trucks

My grandpa who loves sweet potatoes constructs an ivory wall.

after the revolution, the sun peeks out in montages
peering through the smoke
gunpowder stuck to the tank tire roads
black heads roll off yellow tar dirt into a pit
My grandpa gives his best friend one thousand yuan—
visas for my mother and grandma,
His best friend disappears,

writes my grandpa
an apology and, leaves him a large white sack of uncooked sweet potatoes

light tan, severs in half and plops down on the lumpy cutting board,
dusty orange inners, grandpa tosses them in the boiling water
and later, while gnawing down,
he pretends they are oranges for once

Grandpa, who’s kneeling on our dried front yard with a worn out copper pail
waters the salty earth slowly until it sprouts sugar canes
chops one down, breaks it in half, the sun beats
peering through palm leaves
a viridescent river of silk and pale honey
my small three year arms grab a hand full
sliced by grandpa into pieces neatly placed
in a blue flowered ceramic bowl
years later, I chop a stalk down and chew until
English becomes a second language again
and in my twenties, I grab a hand full
sliced my mom into pieces, places them in a weaved basket
made of reinforced bamboo
I put it in front of my grandpa’s grave
in Fujian on the foggy mountainside of a small retirement town.
The edge of the South China coast covered in a thick plastic smog,
I sit on a stone eating sweet cold potatoes with my grandpa facing outland,
a red kneeing sun, barely visible past the trees

And you wanted to drop in to the sea
We’re not rain drops
No matter how much
We want to reflect the impressions
of clouds burned into the afternoon
and you wanted to spend evenings on a roof
around us the cache of our future
embodied in skyscrapers
found near parks where everyone lives
and you wanted me to metalize my organs
store them somewhere cold where only
you can retrieve them;
A safety deposit box filled with things
To make you feel better  
and you wanted us like a locket
sealed by the feelings from the last guy
you wanted.

I really miss those nights
listening to songs we would
have hated 3 years ago;
talking about
5 years from now
when we were at the beach
sitting on the benches at the pier
when the sun had already
died
we didn't know how
easy we had it
of course, we didn't experience
everything
we didn't fall in love
like everyone else
I didn't think we we're
ready
I don't think we're ready
now-
but we want it now,
more than ever
it's because we finally figured out
what they never told us
or tried to tell us:
that out there is everything you've
ever wanted and everything you don't;
every where you want to be and
every place you're trying to run away from;
everything that you hate
and everything that you love
all together, thrown at you
at the speed of a waterfall
and you taste it splashing in your mouth-
it needs a little more of what we didn't have

I going to run my lips
through you like acid rain
Every drop of me
is going to leave a mark

Leave it by the gate
Behind the red flowers;
And In the library
Near the encyclopedias labeled,
Firsts
Leave it on your way to her
Leave it on the 5th field during gym
When they’re beating you senseless
And you have no choice
Leave it near the white ivory doors of
his offices
Leave it near the sun
Have it bake in the light
Grind its face in the asphalt
Have it taste your two thousand tons
of spit as you speak
Let them know—

Throw it at the lake let it dance off into the distance
Let it spin itself to pieces
Leave it in the creases of her lips
her Fingertips—
Chinatown misfits
Graffiti your name on every single  
Williamsburg, post no bill, post no hate
Post some self esteem
Let them know who you are
Have them find you in the fine print
Whispering sweet hymns in her ear
Have them chase you down the icy slopes
Towards the crashing coast
Leave it with them
Let it wash away in the swirling vortex
Of her, dancing till the sun sleeps,
Have it lie in the wake of your dust
Let it fall
and fall
and fall—
Let it tremble off in your voice
Watch it snow away with every move
Leave it in the pages
Close it in your book,
Let your tongue crash
Inside the hall of your mouth—
Let them know.

My eyes are heavy
from to many nights
thinking about an
hour glass.
the ticking sound
coming from a Disney clock
I threw away when I was 11
If I knew back then how being
an adult would break
everything in your body
I would have stayed after school
a little bit longer and probably
should have kissed her while
I had the chance.

We shouted the things we wanted
The most on unguarded roof tops
Thought up things like new colors
New feelings
we lived like messy hand writing
like abstractions
our souls mosaic
we took things that electrified
our senses
we felt love more intensely
felt it like a ******
felt it like a magnificent burden
it wasn’t a lump in our throats
but a swollen yearning for the truth
like an inflamed tonsil
a piece of someone on our tongue
left from a kiss that we can’t seem to
spit out
a vibration in our teeth
telling us that this
this here is what it felt
to hold fire in your hand
and not regret it
never regret it
we burned with this for days
stayed up all night
drank coffee by the galleons
punched ourselves numb
coated our skins in alcohol
and linens
peeled off scabs from our lips
left there by words we never said
blank objectives
cleared our schedules
cleared our wasted minds intoxicate from pine
wine, girls with confidences and odd mirrors
of *******
we wanted winter to kiss us
leave us frozen but not that she already had
we wanted to remember like an old photograph
like a worn out stretch book
a L shaped couch left behind burned
like we did
there are tons of things we needed
but what we wanted was a good ******* a really
good *******
Something to keep away the suspense
The terror, the anxiety
the failure
we are tired of saying anything
cursing is our second language.
sarcasm is our first
and a blank page is our third
We’re speechless
We’re exhausted
We’re afraid
We’re old
We’re young
We’re tired
We’re loose
We’re *****
We’re yearning
For it
Whatever it is.

I have known you
Sitting beautifully
With your legs crossed
Beside the shelves
Reading Catcher
Your hair bright as the book cover

I have known you
Stepping out in day light
With blackness
The white flowers in the air
Fail to resist your skirt

I have known you
Before standing shirtless
In my door way
Whispering drugs when we sleep

I have known you
Far away in the distance
Hair fading orange explosion
Catches me
I surrender like a moth

I have known you
Past the bus stops
And greyhounds
Driving in your Sedan
Singing December

I have known you
Skin as white and bright
As thunder clouds
Pink, as I press my fingers
Against your stomach

I have known you
Swimming in the nighttime
Walking on boats
Heading for the coast
With a hand full of smooth pebbles

I have known you
Deep by the riverside
Painstakingly trying
To drown your fourteen

I have known you
Naked in the night
Laying on the floor
Beside the shelves
Waiting for a fix

I have known you
Seen you catch rainfall
With your tongue
You are use
To tasting tears

I have known you
Running across
The dim valley
Eyes towards the cactus
Toes in the soil
Feeling California  

I have known you
Caught you staring
At the foreboding sunrise
Wishing for it to slow down

I have known you
The color of scarlet
Apples in the summer
Fresh blood of war
On your hair
That fire grows
With each breeze

I have known you
Beneath the avalanches
Near Everest
Above the clouds
Near the Eiffel

I have known you
But I cannot find you

I want to be able to kiss you
And now feel like the sun
Is dying inside of me
Want to wake up to the sight
Of you and not remember
How long we have left
Want to hold you for as long
As possible
Until I can feel the thunderstorms
In-between us
The sheer weight of an anchor
On my stomach
When my heart drops another meter
Filled with stones that you’ve carved
Words like two years or six months
On to them
6 shots of ***** will make me throw
Up
I hope 10 shots will lighten the weight

Maybe because you look cute in
A purple bra
Maybe because it’s just the image of you
In a bra
Maybe because you have *****
And I can’t distinguish Love from ***
Tonight
But tomorrow I’ll hate you
I might hate your hair changing so much or I might hate
What you text late at night or I might hate how often
You talk about yourself
Which are terrible things to hate but I just might because
It’s you.
The truth is it’s late, all the windows
Are closed, I ran out of ideas, 2 hours from now everyone
Will wake up and
I want to call you

Everyone wants something worth fighting for.
Something to wake up to
Something to justify all the pain
To make sense of why we keep doing the things we do
And you can tell me all you want about love
About the craters he leaves in your teeth from kissing
And the amount of flowers she plants in the places
Where you thought only cigarettes belonged
It’s beautiful to think that we live for that kind of stuff
The stuff that makes us wish days were longer
Breaths were shorter
And nights were infinite

I want a love so furious
that I wake up to her
kissing the wounds she
gave me last night
I want to be decorated
with hickeys
tattooed with bite marks
I want to feel what actual
love feels like.
I want to wake up to the sun rising
outlining her body, highlighting her cheeks
smiling.
I want to wake up with post traumatic stress disorder
from the night before
and the aftertaste of her still
lingering in my mouth

There’s dullest in the walls
plastered with dried saliva
From the girl who ******
You, and him and her
The night before
The floor smells like ****
Because last night you
divulge to me your love for
the guy across the hall, Jamie
Your love for his ego and his
eccentric manner of being a
******* ****** bag
Aren’t you tired of roof tops
The crossed off words in your
mouth?
aren't you tired of putting things
Inside you that don’t matter?
I left my cigarette burning
Inside your stomach and Jamie over here
Left two more
Don’t be surprised if it gets that big
After 4 months
I’m glad the cancer isn't mine

Some people are raised
From a very young age
to believe that they’re
special and one of a kind.
And as they grow, they’re
Devastated to find out that
We’re all the same
They buy a home
They have a few kids
They conform to
The sociable
And they’re happy
Then there’s the people who
From the beginning of their lives
Are told that they’re worthless
And they succumb to the
Pressure of those crushing
Adjectives and they wither
And fall
Into drugs or crime or civil
disobedience to everything

We are made to believe that
The norm is to settle.
Is to capitulate to the standards
Of everyone around us.
Yes we’re all the same
But what makes us different isn’t
Our appearance or our race or gender
Or our personal style.
What makes us, Us.
Is our capacity to hope.
To dream.
To cherish.
To love.
To grasp something so tightly
to your chest that your body
has no choice but to make it
its own
Those exact things also makes us
The same  
We are all artists in the grand
Scheme of things
In our own universes, In front of us
Stands the canvas of decisions
Make sure you create something
Worth the trouble

Our bodies are untouched hallways and finger painting has never been more fun
I was there once and I left believing that swirls were the only good
way of trying to get my point across
But things aren't so subtle when it comes to understanding the physics of how to dance
I move like scattered leaves trying to collect myself against the wind
You can imagine how I am at galleries with a living room full of broken paintings
I accidentally bought.
But I don’t regret it and I think that’s the best way to live.
A mouth full of teeth collisions
A lot of people compare love to an instant but I think it’s more like discovering the warm ghost
of the person still lingering on surfaces in your home like metal bars, the ps3 controller, and the toilet seat
finding the body wash disappearing quicker than usual
Inhale not for the enjoyment of it but the possibility of finding a soul somewhere in all that smoke.
We wear all this black. I bet if I jumped into you there would be another dimension on the other side
Where the people wear nothing but white and all they speak is truth
and I’ll end up asking them what’s the point of everything
and they’ll say nothing, all they’ll do is place their finger on my chest and start swirling

When I was eleven I came home
with a piece of paper
back then I knew
how much those five letters  
would determine how much
you were worth
and as a kid, I felt pretty
worthless
there was a time I remember
before the paper
where all I would do
was draw

Mountains fascinated me
and that’s what I drew
all the time, mountains
I drew them with snow caps-
Without snow caps
I drew trees at the foot of them
Plaster a setting sun in the distance
Made them look like teeth
And a road came from them
Leading nowhere but to you

I was eleven
When I tasted the value
Of myself
Slapped across my cheek
Like a tattoo
And the first word
To be printed on me
For everyone to see;
Failure

And they all knew that
Was true
I could never turn my mountains
Into Everests
My trees into the Amazon Basin
Or my lakes into the Atlantic
And I ran through the world;
A blank piece of paper,
All of a sudden everybody had
A reason to use a sharpie

I’ll never be able
To make my mountains
Into Himalayas

And I can never stop them from
Using their Sharpies,
After a while your skin color
Doesn’t matter anymore
What they see on you is a story
And they can tell me what they think
But they’ve never seen my back
The things that I’ve carved on to the
surface of my spine
She feels them sometimes when we
have ***
trying to figure out where the period
ends.

You texted me this morning
When the trees were being assaulted by gales
And the coffee in my *** had been sitting there
For weeks now collecting poison.

It had been a month
And I too, had collected poison
In the form of underage drinking
Tiny piercing viruses, bottle after bottle
In attempted to eradicate brain cells that held a picture of you
On their nucleus.
It didn’t work.

So I tried inhaling glass in to my lungs
Tried passing out so I could land in a coma
But I missed two feet to much to the right
And landed on my frontal lobe
Where you proceeded to dissect me with your tongue.
So when you texted me this morning

Memories came like cancer



I remembered that car dealership
Where you bought the 1960 sky blue Volkswagen bug
With rust on the side,
I remember driving to North Carolina with you
On a Monday morning.
Blistering cold at twilight
And all we did was whisper and hum
To each other
As we drove on empty interstate highways

You taught me how to cross state lines
And eat food so volatile that radioactivity
Spewed from my taste buds,
Down my throat
And in to my rigid spine
Where it shivered like arthritis.

My body isn’t hollow; it’s just frozen
Because tiny tundras fill the fissures in my rotting skin
My bones are brittle ice cubes bulging out from underneath the surface

And if people were snow, I would be a particle on a flake
And you would be Antarctica: vast, mysterious, uncharted, vicious, brutal, untamed,
And you would have had frozen me in to an arctic sculpture
To be hung over your brick stone fireplace
As you stood there watching me melt
With your blue corpse eyes.


It’s 8:34 now,
I’ve stood here for thirty minutes remembering what you once were
A continental mystery on my western cerebral hemisphere.
There was America,
Specifically Georgia
But you spoke Alaskan.
Talked about going there like 18 year olds talked about Europe

Everyone wants an adventure
But all you wanted was to know how it felt like
To have mountains under your palms
And snow peaks over your head.
They called it climbing.
I called it searching.
But those who climb would inevitably know how to fly

If they knew how to let go

So let go darling.
Stop calling me in December to tell me all the great things we did back in August.
If I’d had written down our phones calls
It would be enough to fill a notebook full of parentheses
Because all we did was whisper and say things we didn’t mean.  

So don’t come back and try to freeze me again.
I won’t melt this time, I’ll disintegrate.
I’ll fuse with my fissures
Become tundra and dissolve in to the soil


Where your body is, buried
Beneath layers of cement,
Dirt
And ash.
I place flowers on your head stone every week
But you still keep texting me and texting me
Telling me how great our trip was to North Carolina
And how we can do it all over it again

The whispering, the humming, the parentheses

All I had to do was drink the coffee

I feel like trash being ready
to be picked by whoever has
the worst taste
finding out later
that they only needed the bag.
emptying my contents on to the grass
half broken and dismembered
pieces of glass left behind from the time
I broke my mirror
unfinished 40 ounces from winter break.
the first time I ever got drunk and threw up.
It felt good.
Half a dozen 8ths
I smoked for a whole month
after she left me and my parents
kept lecturing me about
how much I ****** at
being alive

We spent so much time drawing on sidewalks
with chalk
leaving messages for old friends
threats for enemies
and instructions for our future selves
how many years did it take us to reach the end of the pavements
spilling cheese puffs all over the place
the clues were on your fingers
once in a generation there are kids who always speed when
they turn 16; reckless loose and free like an avalanche
towards the sea I made a bet with you that I could swim to the horizon
but I can’t swim
I’m a body full of empty threats
but I always kept my promises close to me
did it take long for you to forget
so many nights abroad with them
once in a lifetime for everyone
the world swallows the sea
so I didn’t need to know how to swim that night
there was you and you would always wear sundresses when you went out
and when you died they donated all your clothes to the children's hospital
sometimes when I go there I still see you running around outside
drawing on sidewalks

She would sprint to her house and tell her about the windy weather
And the two of them would bike to Lake Erie—
watching the trees undress themselves in the water
using their feet to flirt with the waves
they felt so restless in the process that they hijacked golf carts from the course nearby
and cruised around the neighborhoods
Millennium Falconing it through suburban Michigan,
spray painting quotes from Ginsberg, Milk and Lucas on the rich white walls
dubbing it “The Battle of Detroit ”—
and eventually they would afternoon on the asphalt, cul-de-sac, kissing.
Making the sky blush purple—

their mouths full of Jolly Ranchers,
and necks full of bug bites,
some from each other

Watching the childish sun being tucked into the night slowly,
While shining one last time through The Ruins of Detroit

I want you to scar my back
leave wounds deeper than
the ones they gave me back
In high school
Bite me in places where
she could only kiss me
because she couldn’t
handle what was underneath
I want to feel the crushing
weight of you pressuring my skin
to touch my bones
every place where you and I meet
There’s a moon begging the sun
For a solar eclipse

Drunk- half passed out
On the sofa, the cat
itching for a fight
again.
Tea infused *****
A regrettable drinking
game
a full shopping bag
destroyed in a night
stomachs full
scorched eyes from too
much crying
we’re high again on
the steps of a few
apartments
went back in
she was crying, threw up
twice. Once of the bed.
Again in the toilet
he was nice about it thought

She was dancing absurdly on a bread-shaped roof top
She checked the direction of the wind with her dress
She took photographs with her thumb and index
You could find her planner on her palms:
Do laundry, Write Essay
She made February 31st a thing because
It was unfair for people to be forgotten
She would say her eyes were falafel brown
When everyone would describe them as muddy
She said once, the ability to see is the ability to catch the sun

I’m happy you found someone
That draws blue flowers on your
Porcelain every night
You leave your lip stick
On his night stand and
Your underwear on his bed
You walk to him like a horizon
like the floor is sand
like you leave foot prints
telling me where you are
just so you could see what
I would do
It’s been a month.
I've been traveling through Montana
It’s cold here, the snow is piercing
And the ice never melts
I’m at St. Mary trying to find
Where the lake touches the mountains
Some time before lunch
Realizing how you found
The world in-between his shoulders
And a history in-between mine

Afterwards we were glazed
With them
Shot down like arrows
From an Indian mountain
The roof tops did not budge
Nor did the sides of walls
They came again
A hail of themselves-
Everywhere
We walked on
The collective of them
The ones that refuse
to be arrows
But lakes instead

The best places are hidden
like stones in central park
secret roof top not
accessible except
for the morning staff
overnight, the sheer weight
of moonlight
paralleling through a Brooklyn
window pours on
to a frozen floor of
patterned tiles
where touches are like
turning on a lamp
dimly at first. Flickers
a bit then
bright as Chicago (1871)

Black clothed kissing
in the subway
she smelled like 6 months of
soul searching
digging through herself
with **** and coffee
he grew a bit, not physically
but something inside him
wasn't there before
they held each other
the same way you held
a sinking ship
Carefully at first,
and then completely
as tight as possible