L-,

It's a lonely acid evening,
citric-salted, hung like a skin

on headlights that rise
& split into orange antlers.

A woman screams "Barry!"
into the alley, over and over,

until night climbs over her
with black, grinding knees.

Sweet Saturday carvings
are Sunday's rack and bone:

after your lobby debut
(your eyes fine as sea-thread)

you spun away, you are still spinning.
The heart's ever-after is knotted:

I thin you with gin, smear
that clever flash of teeth and lip

into the cold hollows of air
that clot the mid-month.

Listen: the alley woman
gave up on Barry.

Yours,
E-

Silky whispers slip
across the soft hairs on my neck
So, almost too, warm and yet?
Goosebumps all over
And over and over again you say
“I love you so”
And I, we, sink down into something
So unsavory to speak of candidly
But I will and I wish
Sink into me more, press down and say
“I love you so” some more
Again and again and over
It builds and swells and breathes with us,
This feeling, this warmth
And it pours from my eyes
And you kiss me in a way that I never knew was real
Deeply, softly, firmly, kindly, dangerously
Divine contradictions that coexist
in a little two-step tango

Her eyes are sinkholes in a quiet, sleeping state
and I was a girl, lost and misplaced at twenty-one,
looking for love in infinitesimal spaces:

on her palm creases and chipped, ruby nails,
and in the blown-out ends of her lotus tattoo
I find myself tracing a secret,
at the spiked tips of her hair tamed by fairy lights
and on the slits of her skin — a rabbit hole of wonders,
I always fall like Alice in sworn careful tiptoes
and crash headfirst; a broken wishbone, a tainted wish
some habits you just can't quit.
like —
October and her obsidian eyes, and the sunless ways we kissed —
being lost and misplaced made sense for a while in the detached comfort
of her cold bed, colder hands,
warmth has become an oppression.

But this dalliance has always been a disaster waiting to happen
and I am a paramour, a memory, a face in the crowd
swallowed in a seismic fall —

and losing October has always been a disaster waiting to happen —
this bed, always a site of a losing battle
and I find myself in a soiled, torn dress,
lying helpless on the other side of her war.

Tonight, I light myself a candle;
maybe one day, I'll finally learn to run away from a girl made of disasters

and not towards her.

In the garden stir the flowers
that whisper through the trees
a subtle hint of fragrance
fading on the breeze


Ripples over pebbles
gentle rushing of the stream
is the smile in cool reflection
that of you or Angeline


In the **** that's slowly choking
to stem the watery flow
do you find her auburn tresses
and that face as white as snow


Does she walk beside you
like she did so long ago
it was you that drowned her
so only you would know!

small village, mayhap a hamlet, named,
one forgets the rules with all that has happened.


nice to be out, to see the neighbours’ houses,
to see what has changed while i have been working