You and I, our
skin singed by pride
as we reach into the
abyss of the other’s
insecurities, finding
flaw in logic, solace
in higher volume,
our voices become
storms our minds form
one blind, blind drive
to fight and be right
while the fire burns on
underneath our flame-
kissed flesh, paper
bodies fueling the
furnace that eats
itself alive.

Unseen by a careless eye,
The tiny holes
That pierce right through the paper’s skin
Cannot be played with.

These rough and edgy slits
That bind the page
With shiny, silver, spiral shackles
Refuse to give up their grasp.

These tiny holes that dot the page
Are never healed and never felt,
But they remind the paper that
The notebook has a grip on it.

But when the time has come, a child
Slowly rips apart the page:
The perforation pops in pain
And grabs a hold of what it can.
The paper, screaming in agony,
Frees itself at last—
It wanders off to be crumpled,
And hurt, and torn, and trashed,
Only at long last to find
That part of it was left behind.

i found you under dim
hospital light with suicide
attempt written across your
stars; faintly i could hear
candle fire burning in your
lungs, a flame wavering in
surrender patterns. somehow
the world put you and i into
orbit, but now we've become our
gravities, always sinking, life
on our lips, waiting for a last
anything, eyelid canvas taking on
the promising color of moonlight.

fall to pieces on the
carpet, disembodied
fragments, pretty pink
petals making messages
as they waltz with air
particles, spinning in
cyclones oscillating in
orbits before landing a
curtsy on the cotton,
each shard of us a
miracle dancing to
earth song and reverie

I will not be great—
At most,
Pretty **** good at confessional;
The clunky words sticking to
My once-agile fingertips
Make hardly conspicuous sounds.
Even if they resonate within me,
The goosebump ecstasia washes over
In waves of unsure relief.
I feel detained by dreams of fame
That sour my sweetest songs—
I now rechant alone.

Beautiful thoughts evade mi
casa, su casa
Blanched walls, Inner AnoMaly
                                                        A­ MESS
Hall with clean-faced mirrors walking
Talking the daily news & last night's
Midsummer party—I passed out drunk
In LOOOOOOOOOVE. LOOOOOO
                                                         ­       Onely.

The most beautiful things in life move
To the song of nature's energy:
Wind pulses through the golden trees,
Dances through every leaf
Falling, spinning, shifting the dirt,
Then the ground, then the Earth,
A vibrant soul rocking the planet
Around its tilted, cradled axis
Lovingly, strong,
Heavenly spirits suspending the world
In a symphonic motion of passion.

slowly, warmly, we
crane our soft necks,
catching the droplets
of sun while reaching
for palms, sticky skin,
interlaced fingertips—
outgrowing our shells
that drop like sky pillars
around us, blood racing
through veins in a dense
forest, our romance like
infinity in water tubes,
a melody in ocean waves,
the gravity in his words
causing me to accelerate;
the world divides us into
night and day; the earth
mistakes us for air.

I hear San Francisco loud and clear—
The trolleys chug by in childish gulps,
The steep hills catch the wind's yelps,
The cramped stores house a profound history.
The city cries tears of joy so subtly
That people throw gentle smiles to the earth—
A postcard has never wept into such reality.

Like the shutter of a metal screen,
The sun descends in a tessellation as
Brilliant as the city who silently sleeps
With its grand eyes wide open—
A father and mother at last.

I see dead bodies
Where libraries used to be

I take nothing seriously
Not even this poem
Or the literary value
I don't give a ****
(love me)

Traditional structure is a prison
And I am Andy Dufresne

My pen is a knife and
This paper is skin,
I cut myself open to feel
The poetry ooze like red art

Stardust settles around my livid woe
Hopelessly like divine snow

**(I bury myself in all my falseness—
A poet was never there.)

apathy is hard for
easy hearts ;
we gravitate around
each other's orbits,
avoiding collision &
deleting memories &
moving forward with
peripheral vision

we know how to ignite
tightropes like nooses
only more hollow ;
our eyes shift invisibly
from the ingrained warmth
of our carefree touch
to the scissors of fate and future—
the best thoughts mingle with
desire, and so we suffer
from the fires and fires
we burn with the million heartbeats
spilling like shadows behind us

I like big boys
With clean shaven faces
And ***** insides,
With genuine common sense
And half a working mind.
I like them psychotic
So they can chase after me
To the end of their arms,
To the clasp of their firm fingers
Holding me tight like
The wind holds a tree
In its aimlessly violent grasp.

i speak from a dark
place but i know light;
i've balanced on the
tightropes of esctasia
and feel the physical
support of tension
kissing my heels—yet
all i do is look beyond
the nets below and
find myself enabling
disaster before one could
ever hold me.

Slow down and
Wind back to find your
Core, for
Youth is the salvation
And death is the solution—
Look back at who you couldn’t love
In those careless years
And find me
Hanging in the summer breeze
Like a dandelion
Grown long, but left untouched
Because of your gentle perfection.
You have the hands of God
To all but yourself, yet
I don’t deserve someone as perfect as you
If I can’t deserve myself.
The ugliness in our minds
Bind and mingle,
But you can’t expect me
To stay single long—
I’ll be long gone
Discovering myself on a
Broken road
Somewhere distant and cold;
So please,
Darling,
Lover of the summer wind:

Catch me
Before I do.

finally understanding the science of
freedom—loving mad, thoughts
running in firework circles, chasing
horizons, befriending the alone,
choosing the way you die—I
stopped staring at ratios & coercing
them into gold; alchemy is dead, and
art is not a numbers game ((division
is a terrible skill for writers to have))—
expression is not mathematical, and
my words are not for calculating eyes
to evaluate; follow a formula for desired
results—my breath cannot be defined.

I miss this—
The tranquil rustle of the leaves,
The midday sun at full throttle,
An uncomfortable heat surrounding the
Foul dissent of my loose-cannon brain,
And a stinging void of your memory
Left in haphazard pieces in my soul—
Yes, I miss it all, just
Short of the waste-bin
After having bounced off the rim,
Projected back in flight
Only to fall, victim to gravity.

I am everything that
can stop me. These
words take either seconds
or centuries, and I choose
indefinitely much too often.
I think in millions, write in
scores, love in ones—I
belong to the atmosphere
swimming in auroras,
always a spectrum of
mystery. I create what is
not human. I create what
Survives time. There's nothing
left to do but create.

love has a language but no
gender; i'm fluent in long
stares into the windows of a
soul, but lately i've been
out of ledges. i kneel beside
the glass and feel the wind
fly flush against the clear
nothing that separates me
from his stormy arrival—
the welcome brewing in my
bones. The minute i find him,
the second his spirit ossifies
into olive skin, the moment
i feel my roads heading some
where that is not my own
darkness, i will capitalize my
i's, enter the unknown and
excavate, feel the rush of the
earth as it spins me in the
cradled grasp of the atmosphere oh
yes; i see him holding up the
horizon, though he looks like the
sun — in time, i will spill into the
sea to meet him at the water's edge.

On sight of us,
The light captured in an onlooker’s eyes
Naturally retains the gold shimmer
Of your god-like graces

While I,
Opaque with sad demeanor,
Only obstruct the view
Of the glory that is you.

True, the sight of me
Is not an ungainly hue;
My inner darkness is brilliant—
Almost as bright as you!

But in humor, voice, command, or smile,
Your shadow extends more miles.
This envy I bear turns my thoughts into fire—
O magnified refraction, burn this man they admire!

The way you hate me
Just tears me to ****** pieces.
She says they’re all lies, but I
Know it’s all very true—
True I shouldn’t have loved you
And your bubbling smile
And the way your touch goes
On for ten miles
And I wonder why I
Just sit here and cry
On my dampened bedside
Because you hate me inside.

We stand back to back
eyes closed
hands pocketed
hearts filling with the black air.
I sense your attention drifting
in clouds
surrounding me
begging me to dream.
I must escape your poison
atmosphere
smelling of love and
infinity.
I must sever the threads
of one-way desire
that bind me to your
luring shadow.

It comes in the void of my chest,
In the silent dryness of my motionless lips,
In being seen and left alone,
Begging for attention, for a canvas
On which to paint my love in
Rainbow shades, then to be showered with foreign
Color: joy, guilt, lust, depression.

I want it all on me—to be the subject
Of one's art, to have it all
Flood my ears and hug my very
Existence—to have my body justified
By the gruesome secrets that hide.

The chair is always empty.
I imagine faceless men there,
Watching the muscles in my
Face shift like tectonic plates.
I dream up their arms big and
Strong like oceans that wash
Against my continents.
These men have no shadows,
Just bodies. They speak in
death grips, keep me sane.
Seconds spill into the night,
And I am still alone. I stand
To leave and they remain
To haunt me when I wake.

These little children
Run through my head:
Nameless, naked
Bare to the bleached bones
Mouths agape
Hungering for meaning and
Eating it up like air
Screaming and clawing
In the dead of night
Pleading for light
And a home to stain—
So I fed them paper
And they left my brain.

the bullet stopped at the
back of the skull;
a shame,
he absorbed the force of
a hateful world
but wouldn’t let it
through
let the blood
spill
let it all run
                    free

this villain was once
a hero when mud
was wonderful &
gun powder was miraculous;
he collapsed intact,
metal pellet and iron will
clanging with the concrete earth,
his ears of cartilage
dying to hear the world's
v i  b   r  a t i  o   n  s.

Sometimes I feel so lonely my soul
Quivers, my entire being shakes and
Shivers until my plump heart becomes
Hollow like the last hopes I
Swallow in nervousness, praying, praying...
I've fully rejected that love will find me
Alive so I might as well die
Early so that Death will
Surely love me all the way to the
Grave.