I’m up before the sun most days

Drinking instant coffee and debating with myself

I write out all my thoughts and no conclusions come to mind

The phone rings off the hook but no one calls

I leave the house but never go outside

And every wall remembers what I’ve done behind fresh paint

No grounds for or from

I sleep before the dawn, between the lines

A blade spun ‘round your finger marks my neck
Her mouth is swollen and flowering
Juice drips down my fingers digging out the meaty fruit
The air citrine

Your eyes are greener than the summer we spent driving every waterfall straight into the ground
Crashing with the frozen rock we stirred in melting mirrors
Did we actually find the time?

The whiskey was strong but your fingers broke
Every string leading back to wire
No soft fraying, no dye, no red attachment underground
The lyrics lied and you blamed my gait

My stomach bursts in my dreams now
Her teeth are spread out between a hanging tongue
And I’ve only just learned my name

Once upon a time
I carried a corkscrew in my teeth
and tiny feathers leaked out
every time I whispered.
I wonder where the time goes
when you’re not cleaning out the shower drain;
all my hair collects in my pocketbook.
The barista asks for change
and all I can produce is pen caps
and an expired ****** I found in your glove box.
An ocean stands on two feet before me,
all this leather in my hands,
but I’m pierced by the clockhands
I saw in the lines around your mouth.
Tiny feathers leaking out.

There’s three ways to burn out a star
Call home and tell your mother you’re doing okay
But you won’t be home for Chirstmas
Tell her the dress she bought you wrinkled
So you cut up the edges with broken glass
Ask her to save your pay stubs in the spare bedroom
With the wedding ring you never could sell
Tell her she’s beautiful despite the lighting because the bulb is in your throat anyway

There’s two ways to burn out a star
Take your roommate out for coffee
Order one thing the cashier likes and another the manager hates
Tell your roommate you couldn’t decide what he’d like best
Ask him about the first time he saw an accident
Ask him if he saw the dog
And if he didn’t you show him where it hurts you most
Right under your navel where that filament got stuck

There’s one way to burn out a star
Leave a voicemail for yourself asking where you’ve gone to
And where did you put all of the towels
Make a fuss about a dinner party
Leave your phone on the bench and put on dark glasses
Walk away slowly while stripping off your clothes
Head into the sea

i reached up my hands

and plucked out a little life

from the low branches

a fear of songbirds

a microcosmic ringing

whispers in your sleep

You drove a fishing lure into my palm
And told me it was just the beginning
That all homes house beds
And form is just another word

You pointed to the sky
But it was really just a mirror
And all the words I breathed into it
Bounced off and floated on
Like tiny crystal clouds
You gently ****** out of the air

There’s a thing that opens up inside me -
“opens” might not be right -
like a jacket but there’s nothing within it;
it’s inside me, I’m in it.
There’s a button in the middle
that I push or pull or press or pluck
and it’s a button in two terms
and also a plug.
It pops right off, or away, or in,
and out pours all this black -
it pours out but also in,
and it’s also empty.
It’s warm and dark and damp
and cold and thick and wet and solid
and it fills me up
but also leaves me hollow.
It’s inky black and colorless
and rises like bread baking in an oven
and sinks like a stone in a river
and grows like a flower.
I see it spreading under my skin,
and feel a lump stick out in my throat
that makes an airy dripping noise
and pounds like hollow drums with heads of hide.
My heart pounds against my chest
and beats inward into itself
and races quietly and softly
in my neck and in my stomach.
And then the show is over
and I return to my body;
the black-out curtains drawn
and I wrap myself up tightly in the flittering snow.

My mother once told me
that all babies are born twice
and once you get old enough
they come and place diamonds in your ear
to miscalibrate your steps
     you learn how to crawl
     right around the time
     you forget how to dream

brick by brick by brick by brick
semantic satiation
castles, majesty, and mighty
sinew segregation
whisper, water wearing down
the rock-wall and the nation

The meaning of time
A black box of secret snakes
Biting into clouds

• reflect any light that shines upon you
• chase after only the brightest star
• always keep the best parts of you hidden
• play with the ocean
• don't respond to hoots or wolf-whistles
• disappear completely at least once a month

in a fit of rage
i slammed the door
and shook the earth so hard
the stars fell from the sky

amongst their jagged edges
i found your body

you’ve been asleep for far too long

my darling
you have
the most beautiful eyes

how i’d love
to pluck them
from out your fairest skull

and swallow them whole
so you can see
my inner demons

and i can taste
your tears
inside of me

I saw you again today
You disappeared behind a train
Seems we just keep missing each other

You exist only where I cannot
and I where you won’t

I swear, I just missed you
So close I felt you breathing

Do you still see me when you look in the mirror?
I wonder what it’s like on your side
Nothing human left, just Being

I shout at the top of my lungs
Just to remind you I exist

You are made of the spaces between words.

there’s a sound at the base of my skull today
it goes beekbeekbeek
and then my shoulder goes numb
with fingers tapping out a rhythm I can’t control
or decide
if i am
as they crawl up my arm and across my chest
poking away at my cheeks
digging around inside
pulling out teeth
memorizing

there’s a little piece of string
that sticks out of my skin
at the base of my skull
just behind my ear

sometimes it itches
and once i start scratching
i just can’t stop

i pick and i dig
and before i know it
my fingernails are stained

sometimes it gets tangled in my hair
and i have to pull out the knots
but once i start pulling
i just can’t stop

i wrap it around my fingers
perfect rings around each knuckle
and slide it out
nice and smooth

slow at first
and harder now
and faster even still
i just can’t get enough of how it feels

a ****** tangled ball of yarn
unraveled mind
an empty bed

i think my feel box is malfunctioning, i gotta find a screwdriver to pop off the faceplate and inspect the insides. it keeps saying the latitude and longitude aren’t localized. i can’t calibrate it because i’m up in the air. it flickers when it beeps and my static causes feedback. birds don’t know anything about artificial connective tissue, but they know all about falling.

there's a sound at the base of my skull today
it goes beekbeekbeek
and then my shoulder goes numb
with fingers tapping out a rhythm I can't control
or decide
if i am
as they crawl up my arm and across my chest
poking away at my cheeks
digging around inside
pulling out teeth
memorizing

Once upon an ageless time
There were no words, nothing to rhyme
No meaning, tongue and teeth, I find
That little changes e’er with time

Yeah, maybe I'm too serious
and I take things too personally
and I feel things too deeply
but you have to remember
that you broke my heart
and I loved you through it all
and I never got angry;
only at myself
so now I have a chance
to be mad at you; livid, seething
and you have to realize
that it might be
the only thing
that will heal this

The Bible forgot
the eighth and most deadly sin,
which, of course, is Love.

how lucky am I
to have loved so deeply
that in losing it
I lost myself

how lucky am I
to have felt lies so truly
that I believed
I found myself

I awoke into
A graveyard of bronze horses
The metalwork entwined with dead roots
Upon their backs were words I could not read
About lonely hands
And a plaque was set into the stone
That I could not remove
With dry leaves blown round my feet
I wondered how I'd returned

I love you more
than the air in my lungs
upon which I'm carried
away from your arms

I burned my fingers
thinking about when we met
and your nitrogen

you are the ugly sweater of this city
someone loved you once
back when you were new and sincere
and you got all stretched and worn
tossed in a box
donated
like your plasma
and you didn’t drink enough water
to ward off the pain
of how now the only love you can find
is in irony

and she calls you an ugly sweater

if I wasn't on beer three
you know I'd write something pretty,
and dark, and sad, like you and me,
'bout how "The One" is no longer thee

My chest filled with rice

Boiling water, your mouth

We could have fed nations

I thought I heard a mirror rattling

Loose upon the wall

Shaking as you hurried past

Trembling in the dark

It’s not a metaphor

The pennies in your empty mug

It’s bad luck if you don’t clean up the shards

sadness* is the tip of the iceberg
visible
while depression resides just below the surface
bobbing, in and out

but this body lingers far beneath
the tension
at the most jagged points
and I can't hold my breath very long
                                                                           ...I have asthma

in the cold night's air
you cannot cling to it for safety
your skin sticks, rips
your feet slip

you try to let go
floating in nothingness
infinite
body weak, lungs crystallized

submerged beneath the surge
I wonder to myself,

                                             ...if i could drain the ocean,
                                                           what volumes lost could raise me now?

and my only wish
is that the Titanic come crashing here
******* me down to the ocean's depths
in the wake

as she sinks

I am planting flowers in the blood-soaked battleground
I light the soil on fire and spread the ashes of the unlucky fruit
The elephant turns to me and gives me a hoot
He's telling me someone brought a clock into the garden!
I smile and breathe in the thick citrus air
"The ticking stops!" a tiny voice appears
"We haven't a care, we haven't a care"
She wears a hat for every occasion, and her hair grows out her ears and down across her nose
Her body floats in a fizzy sea far away from the place her mother was born
We cried so hard we laughed
Our faces like ice

i'll be the toxin
if you wear me on your skin
if you feel me in your veins i'm working
my way
into your heart
across your lungs
and take the blood from bone
let me be the toxin
and you'll never feel alone
but i'll leave you
barren
bony
cold
and dry
just the way i like it
just the way you died

How I wish I was the cigarette
that brings you back down easy
pressed between your soft lips

How I wish I was the sheets
that keep you warm and safe at night
wrapped around your delicate frame

How I wish I was the guitar
that sings familiar to you each night
caressed by your gentle hands

How I wish I was the book
that spoke understanding to you across time
gazed upon intently by your longing eyes

I believe I was the poem
that you created in your sorrow
crumpled up and thrown away

...were you ashamed?

Dear Mr. Bukowski,

I found what I loved the most in this world,
and I let it **** me,
destroy me,
devour me...

...now what?

If Insanity's doing something again and again
expecting different results every time
then lock me up, dear, for I'm afraid that I've been
insane all along, trying to make you mine

but I see now where the mistake was hidden
I've simply been out of my mind

Take back your records
I'm moving out west
need to fill up this hole in my chest
Take back these pictures
you left in my head
in my bed
but no copies to hold in my hands
as my memory alters
the state of what was
and what is
but honestly, I'd rather forget
and my height fell
too short
now you make me feel small
all
i'm left with are stories to tell

Take back the skin that you left in my clothes
'cause I don't want nobody to know
Take back the song that you sang in your sleep
'cause I don't think
that you even know what it means
and your heart is a piston
I'm pulleys and weights
you're an engine
and
I'm easily moved by your hands
but I ran this machine
for you
my dearest friend
in the end
I'll be with you in dreams

Take back your records
I'm moving out west
I was wrong
I was you all along

My love for you is the universe loving itself

I remove all human qualities and emotions

All thoughts and feelings

And I am left with infinite energy and love

and I give it to myself and I give it to you

hoping that one day it will return to me

in whatever way I need it

exactly when I need it

for my faith in these beliefs

is thought that becomes feeling

which I know is pure and eternal and perfect.

everything is as it should be.

I've been looking for you
you were lost from me quite some time ago now
but I think I found you today
in that moment
after you've just stopped the water running
from the hottest shower you could tolerate
and your skin is bright red
and you pull back the curtain
to a room filled with steam
because you forgot to turn on the fan
and you've forgotten to set out a towel
and the cold of the air starts to settle in
and you glance over at the mirror
all fogged up
but you can see the traces of the past in it
(you see, mirrors don't easily forget)
and you can't make out your own reflection in it
(you see, mirrors don't easily forgive)
and you stand there exposed
as the brume floats all around you
and the haze begins to settle
ahh yes...there you are...
I've been looking for you.

Your driver's license
says your eyes are brown, but I
know better than that

this time you're really
dying, and all i can do
is sit back and watch

Depression
is not romantic
it is not
tear drops on rusty guitar strings
accompanying a soft trembling voice
it is not
cigarette smoke from soft lips
highlighted by pale moonlight through the window
it is not
bitter black coffee in recycled paper cups
discussing how much it can compare itself to you
it is not
somber solace found in between the lines she wrote
displayed as the flower-adorned suicide note you hang in your locker
it is not
being held as you weep
your lover's soul pouring into your cold body
it is not
a gentle touch wiping away your tears
and fixing what was never broken
it is not
romantic at all
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that my depression
is a human
or any sort of noun
when you've never felt it verb
through your temples
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that there's anything
romantic
about it

There once was a boy who felt hollow
The hole inside him grew and swallowed
He filled it with flowers
For hours and hours
But still, deep in pain he would wallow

There once was a boy who felt empty
His troubles he thought no one else'd see
Locked away he'd cry
Til the day that he died
And never saw, next to him there, me

There once was a boy who felt alone
He wore himself right down to the bone
I did all I could
Loved him more than I should
If only, if only he'd known

There’s a sick, sad little space
between tea spoons and midnight
where the teeth on your fingertips chatter
and the ink in your forearm prattles on
about which bone you’re going to pull out this time
and how your chapped lips taste like poetry
but your dry eyes can’t bend around the prosody
and it’s in that space that my clothes turned into feathers
and flew away with the *****
the one that pipes out those same four chords
and tempered breath made into rotting elephants on sale
but the bazaar called for more than just pennies
and I don’t think my cough medicine blinks enough
to make this dance hall stop spinning

There's a hole in my chest where your soul used to be
One day he decided he'd rather be free
I begged and I pleaded but he just couldn't see
Then he floated away, screaming "please rescue me"

There's a hole in my chest where your soul used to be
But my ribs held no comfort, unfortunately
As he drifted away while I flew toward the sea
I cried out, "I'm sorry," and hoped he believed.

Something funny I’ve noticed is that when people are honestly just sad about something they tend to use hyperbole and end up saying things like, “I’m so depressed!”

…and what’s strange is that when people are honestly very depressed they also tend to use hyperbole and end up saying things like, “I’m sad.”