I seem to lust over
Meaninglessness
Because
When nothing matters
Nothing hurts
But
I still crave your thumb
On the front of my hand
Because
When nothing matters
What the ***** the point?

she is a flash
across the wheat-field
a tribal dance of light
across the grass, even
her shadow is thrown
across the sky.

Time goes by slow
When it's cold
My heart beats sleepily  
To snowflakes falling

                                  I bury my feet
                                  Feel myself sinking
                                  Ice coating my face
                                  Frozen in place

                                                          ­                                       Footstep falling
                                                         ­                                        Getting closer, calling me
                                                              ­                                   Go to look,
                                                           ­                                      But nothings moving

                    Now we're face to face
                    Peering inside of me
                    Radiating like the sun
                    Warming everything

                                                     ­  I find myself falling
                                                       Can you hear me calling?
                                                       Breathing smoke into my chest
                                                       You pull me back

                                                               ­                                                     Wrap me up in your wool coat
                                                            ­                                                        Arms around me
                                                              ­                                                      Pain is surrounding
                                                     ­                                                               Fr­ozen nightmarish dreams

But there you are
With a cup of hot tea
To dull the memories
Taking me back,
As I was supposed to be.

my thoughts are caustic
our hips, smooth and spastic
in line like jigsaw rows

"where are you from?"
your voice cracks like a toy gun.
"come on—"

You were the words I couldn't say.
the words i still can't seem to manage,
and you knew them,
you could whisper them to me like pillow talk secrets,
pressed together tight between sighing information
but you are only one part of me,
the right atrium when what I really needed was the left.
you get me but your not what I need.

and i begin to resent that the notion,
that you'd say you were my best,
but your not,
you won't be,
you aren't.
Its not even vanity if I were to say that,
soberly,
The best of you is me.
time would tell you what others do not,
intentionality would broadcast the truth in the lies,
I don't expect roses,
in scripted jewelry,

just for you to think and intentionally remember me.
an aorta to your heart,
an elixir to allow you to breathe,
remember me.
when you reach for the next long legged cigarette,
with the the tattooed sleeve wrapped round his neck,

Remember me.
Because I do not forget you.

In the burning right hand of the bald city,
denizens frame calories and count instagram blessings
while beacons of hope refund inspiration in USADA *** cups.

Abyssinian maids wail over yesterday lovers
who wore Ginsberg’s skirt with less  pizzazz
and watched bedbugs **** blood off knee caps
wondering, what if Jesus Christ drove a Nissan?

As bullets of paragraphs fall Vietnamese pesticides on my head,
The dusts off my breath sing homilies
With letters of broken leather whiskey,
For even in the most dishonest jest,
clandestine toothbrushes are overrated
and every first false lie is the only truth.

He said, "These rooms are rarely vacant but so often they are empty. Darling, you can stay here tonight but don't leave the lamp on for too long. I know you've been up reading through the morning. I can see it in the shadows under your eyes & the red light seeping through them but I can promise you that no amount of literature will bring him back to the foot of your bed. He's nothing but a stale hospital scent after a wasted year in rehab & a crooked smile. It's better to forget what love is like than to crave it from the same **** boy for the rest of your **** life."