while I chase the sunshine
& clouds framing the
shape of your mouth like
who am I to think she can fly or
get that high
but it's Sunday.
I am
asking the air a favor
that your thinnest shirt might
remind you of me
that the next time you run
the sun could burn you some
that we might get a drink and
blink a thousand times in a bar
is nonsense
is
weekend news
like a shovel to help make your pretty bed
call me your
friend and
tell her yes
wake up again and against it
ask me
if I am
in love

I tried to trace our shadows
left and right from the wrists
but l'm pacing
back and forth I'm
waiting
waving you in.
rearranging my mornings
adjusting my sighs on you
so they sit right on my feet
so I can say love and take it
we
belittle forgiveness
you made the sea find its way through
my throat
you took sentence after sentence from my hair
& burned a beautiful mouth
turn my hands to rust
my body to weeds
and anyway
fate is for the birds
it's seems
when the bats start biting

oh limp morning, take me early  
I taste June like burning
sometimes soft like cinnamon
filling up for hollow afternoons.
French-kissing myself and
all my, finely laced thoughts about you
all of that heat spread in pots
I call a garden & slowly I let you
spread me thin again

spilt on
spinning
another metal-goodnight another
"I hope we're alright"
darling it's Sunday
honey it's numbers like,
four and
ten; it is fourteen, I'm spent
I'm done saying I'm
bent and yours and-or-hers, I'm
again I am, against this
might as well say
tired, my god
I'm allowed to be quiet
I can't fix tired or change what's burnt
I won't
move for you if it hurts
I won't
if it hurts
& I can float from humility but
I won't if you serve it
I
do not think it is worth it

love isn't every when you're tired
but I dance I dance with love every hour
foot step on footstep, right now
you're on the couch
you're on my mind you're always
doesn't mean I'm being still
am I and am I ask me if I'm ever still
and I'd still tell you sometimes
I'd still say
sand and
please
I'd say I
love you too and
everything

I've felt as, left-over as
last-night's left-hand & her
reclaiming, uncanny way of
well / of
my oh my, what a
good morning, I'd love to but;
I'd just need my heart back

it's the cartwheeled chaos
slapping against,
counting again to see if it works-
I'm calling my bluff I've had
enough of all the nothing.
you're the little tag on my red
the writing in black
every time it is grey until
there isn't anything left of you but
a hundred poems
the striped gills of my sorrow and
some slang cause
I ain't got it in me anymore

Last night's courage not to call you
last night and every;
peel off pretty, it's six it's 7,
Is something
is tired, rewind her

I can lie down, longer
she's got it, going on.
stitches and weekends
never with you on the weekend
isn't cotton
it's-red
isn't your mouth either

living up handstands
living down longing
is really
something
is lonely
in yellow
I don't want, sometimes
I still want you shouldn't you
ever want me
isn't poetry
isn't easy
on
weekdays
and every
on
blisters on
forget it
my lips on
holiday