motionless pull up and drag
sick leans on my bones and up through them,
I look at something else and see death

sitting plainly
not even twenty feet away
quietly seeing back at me,
seeing only black and feeling only what I feel

you’re next to me and a minute later you see it too
and as with you, you see it as something else
you get up, “let me show you that.”
stride, as you do, to its side and as if it were truly a thing,
pick it up
stride back to me and turn it over and over in your hands
and I am shuddering in your affections
my clear reproaching eyes
are adoring you

oh, solemn and before I can think again
I am moving away and seeing in reverse the things I saw when
I was about to see you
the sky is opening up for me
I am flying with the sun
but you’re fading out,
sleeping radio static
becoming still
and I am finding it difficult to remain in motion

my faces are the
about faces, my little breaths
are little deaths
I am like your cry at night

my time of day is seconds before dark
when suicide is a life-long contemplation;
a standard deviation from the sidewalk,
and the sunset is a reason

my day is the day when
suddenly,
your addiction makes you sad instead of happy
so why don't you stop

my breaks are all the breaks and
window sill stair fire escapes
used for smoking under-age
I've got it figured out early

my ocean beats against the rock of ages
I'll raise my fist and ***** on my own defiance.
I'm aching over my forgiveness, begging,
is Jesus still in pain?

well

I am the backs of everything,
bring me out
only in your holiest
of holy moments.

Consistent like middle eastern conflict.
The corner of the pantry holding the infinite consumer
The pound of the waterfall
slow, slow.

This grace is sick like
bringing some dark of disease to
every place God gave me
to escape to.
The Midas of somber sad
begs them all not to come any closer.
Curled up to process, process, its such.
Each cry stops the tracks flat
everyone please remember to remember that you’re forgetting.

and remember too
when you’ve read enough to put the gun in your mouth,
to stop reading.

The recognition was incomprehensible and I thought of my face in the mirror
the look and the sight of the white line cigarette pinched narrow and thoughtfully between his very first finger and his thumb. It was the pose of vocabulary. An expression of the understanding of words and the pauses that build them. A sigh for the sighs that frame them. He was an only. You don't look and forget.

I lean over throw my shoulders right in front of you towards the far corner of the room. A deep breath and my skin fills my dress. This is the physical of release, and the fabric falls. You fall into the light laid out on the floor your face follows up to me while it turns into a question. Adhere to vertices and hide the lift of your lash.

You want to know which way I'm going you mean by that which line of verse enunciates me next. I understand but you don't. In tiny things we find enough to let go. To demolish wholes, flood systems, blink. In tiny things we are commanded to go on. You’d known, but I - I had not yet walked home of solitude since we had spoken to each other without interrupting with another.

Open your Bible to show the empty room static that with more knowledge comes more sorrow you are very sad. You’re on the cross of tired and hungry because man does not live on bread alone and can we ever be sure of what God meant by that - especially when he conceived of distance. When you read the red letters give your eyes to the sky and keep a hand on either side of my face.

Deep underneath my eyes I think of you (I think you see me thinking you) and see you trying to write into crossing paths with poetry itself, specifically, the ****** embodiment when your words expand beyond yourself and with a turn envelop to evoke another. I open my mouth slightly, shut it and lift a hand to you to say: it walks in with it's own grace, beyond force. wait, love Everything, you try to create into it is only taking - only sit and wait. Until you stop taking, nothing. but you had known, the wait, I had not yet not known

the pause was helpless but the silence was becoming. There was no choice, we kept going

life flashes of electric blue glancing out from every strand
you soared in a circle around my head
little wide angled hands reached for you
alight on my brow allow me to
cut angles into your wings
cut angels into your wings
I don’t know when I’ll raise you once again over my head
to push you away from the earth for only I and
the sky,
can bear your lightness
every dull
cold spinning remnant of of a vast fury of fire,
circling into itself to fit into the shape of infinity,
long since gone, the last bits of you form
a raw shape of my being, draw my soul into substance
fall away, dissipate, and unlike everything else
you join nothing
do not begin again.
and so much more
you take it all with you and
I have no words to tell that
no one can hold onto the last of anything,
you are no more

It is her warmth in a cup of tea
her whispers that rattle the window screen
her eyes that open as mine close.
Her shoulder that holds my head
when I fall asleep
on a pillow.

She colors everything.
She brings exquisite language to my lips
she sighs,
before she speaks a different language that
I understand.
(the a’s sound like raindrops)
that leave trails along
the windshield.

When once I belonged to
a life as delicate as lies and grapefruit knives
I read her
brief and clear
on her own face.
accidentally bare,
precious.

Life saved in the turn of a head,
at the sight of a name, a familiar name, more than
a name. in
a hand on my knee
in little things.
I took to the street to the city and the bridge to pass as a cliche
I thought of everything about her wrong
remembered that I forgot to say goodnight
before I turned around.

We talk in the way words fall
off and away,
as the melody subsumes the lyric’s soul
the sweetest notes of digression
waste the abundance.
Reduced to the center and I am less
all that I need and
nothing more
hanging from my shoulders;
skin that is white
in evening light
when she touches me
she makes me, I look at
the world, is small
sitting in the palm of my hand.
and I can see clearly from one end to the other
this is why I love you.

I am the brick and she is the window
when I kiss her cheek.
In the words good morning
I press my lips to the shape
of her eyes and feel her hovering shadow
spreading cool over my skin.

When I say no
I reach my warmest corners
round her body
over her shoulders
and pull her into the late night
held against my bones,
I have no intention of relinquishing.

She is angles and degrees
walls and windows
the words written in book folds
histories and the aspirations of ages
tiny brash movements and sight,
all.
To armies and invasions, I lay down infinite surrender
in between our silence.

For,
a thousand words
and I could never tell her
what I've needed to say by
arms and legs pressed with heat wrapped
round her waist.
Theres no explaining the way a heart aches.
What I’d tell say is                     (quiet [skin & heart{beat}] friction)
somewhere between this line,
and the next.
Let's talk about something else
Or our heads will float away
----------------------------------

love is the way my body leans
Can you see the way my body leans towards the east?
your words weigh light, their trails are long
through me, I say
love is that

in the morning, softly
I can feel her
still
against each point of my body
And my aching arms

whisper three words
and,
back again
to the beginning.