Television screen flashing. She’d drowned beautifully and balanced. Officials said she had a beautiful body. Officials said your
family will become your favorite T.V. show: family dissected
to display ****** systems. Santa Barbara. August 20th. Your
sister apparently killed. Welcome to the site of the endangered
bodies. Her body handed to police. We are excited to release answers.
Body believed to have belonged to your sister has been found buried
in a river bank in mountainous Santa Barbara. This is where you live,
in mountainous Santa Barbara. Authorities say that you should
look forward to what your future holds.

laughing at myself
silencing my grief
as the ashes of my death filled childhood are dispersed into the breeze
so i can breathe                           a     non-smoke filled sigh of relief
laughing at myself
as the morbidity slips away along with the anxiousness of a root chakra
disturbed in growth
whilst my worries of enough       are quelled with enough                      on my plate
and beautiful places to sleep
laughing at myself
visions of my dreams cast far into the future are coming back at me thru
the freed up space that still smells a little of pain
but is dotted by ethereal rainbows like the room of a tibetan monk after the Rainbow Body 'phenonmanah' has taken place
and
i am laughing at myself
in no forced manner
as the lightness fills my being
a bountiful glow

slowly
i laugh at myself

my mother brings out the rawest form of me
I brush my hair in a soapy tub
we talk about *** , i'm on the verge of tears most the time
about not respecting yourself
being born with the consciousness of 7 dimensions
respecting yourself
some of my words come out in paradoxes that have yet to be resolved
i tell her how my aim is to **** in his mouth one day
she tells me i'm disgusting and we laugh at the ****** hanging up my nose
I brush my hair in a soapy tub
It's 30 degrees outside
We have to turn on the air con
occasionally there is applause
as we talk
about how the best way to make a contribution to this planet is to be yourself , she says she hopes she offered me that wisdom as a child
I brush my hair in a soapy tub
and say that it was mixed - be yourself but then smack ! Don't do that thing. It was confusing.
She says she wasn't conscious , she was confused
she couldn't do it now
like i don't eat meat
certain things fall away when you respect yourself.
My mother brings out the rawest form of me
I brush my hair in a soapy tub

Boy sinking boy drowning this is not
the first boy I’ve kissed

boy walking across pavement like streetlamp
it is as if he has no mouth he is so light

boy in his car reminds me of Grandfather in
the nursing home we visited Grandfather
there every weekend until I was 6 years old
and then he died all of the boys I’ve ever loved
have died in one way or another I am sitting
in this car with this boy and my legs feel huge
like claps of thunder and I can’t stop eating
his skin as though it were a consummation of sorts

we are listening to a song with lots of piano
boy plays piano because the keys remind him
of bits of time (the way he presses down on them
lightly like buzzes of flies)

I want these boys to know that
the days on which I miss Grandfather grow further
and further apart like old magazine subscriptions
the days on which these boys remind me of Grandfather
are every morning they all drink their coffee black
they all eat cold pancakes they all die circles underneath
their eyes dark as their coffee dark as their mothers’ wombs

I got nothin.
It's sad, this aching to write and write,
But the words coming out sound so contrite.

Like that.

I stand up, stare down at my page.
I see the lines, those imaginary borders
between my stubborn head,
and my bleeding heart.

I pray that the division will have a remainder.

That forgotten piece, the inconsequential.

Because the remainder is the thing-
That space between there and here,
Where time sits in a chair,
staring at its own hands.

That no man's land where eraser crumbs
become mountains worth climbing.

Where the fairy tales of our own beginnings gather breath,
Spreading wings over the valleys of our truth.

what do you say to the ocean at your door?
lapping at your welcome mat
leaching dye with every push, every pull
slip sliding under the foundation
rendering it sodden. fertile ground
for the mold that you breathe in
with every pull, every push
of salt air entering your lungs.
what is there to be said to the ocean at your door?
there are claims that
making sand castles on the shore together
knowing the tide will come in
is still worthwhile
journey as opposed to product
but this is your home
being eaten away
this is where you live
and the tide is coming in
can you talk to the ocean at your door?*
anymore than you can talk to the ocean
in your mind, eating away at the levees
you worked so *******.
eating away at you.