you trace shapes across my skin;
shoulder blades of canvas,
          the small of my back your Starry Night--

oh yes, I overheard that
          perfect stars burn.
but it might be alright,
getting singed.

last night you let me dream you up,
and you looked me in my
black hole eyes.

with no shake in your voice,
and a sweet shake in your lips, you whispered
in the way you do:

"Let's spend all our money
on tattoos that look like
raindrops."

(we did)

in one blink I see--
the way you look in yellow,
the lids of your eyes.

you only snore the
first half hour after you're
asleep. I love you.

If I could stop the
stars from shooting, perhaps you
wouldn't bleed for them.

you earned your sadness,
but if only for tonight,
we live joyously.

the last drive away:
I never did mean to leave,
but I won't come back.

I was never told "no"
and thus I find myself
hopelessly wandering in search of the
Forbidden.

i wish i could coat my hand in paint
and leave the print of it on every wall
in London.

then there wouldn't be a place you could go
or a wall you could lean on
without

holding
my
hand.

here's the thing, Aurelia.,
everybody lies.,
out their fingers and their
feet.--even I lie to
you, Aurelia.

sleeping fathers mothers brothers
let them lie, because
Aurelia--they don't
mean
it but: oh, oh, oh

they want to mean it (is)
the key to a perfect lie
between your fingers and your
toes and my
teeth.,

I keep my lies
out for you Aurelia.--I
never hid a thing;
you are a lie,--
Aurelia

you should have
lied
to me

you hold the phone and 
your brother loves you 
/across a country
you lean just a little farther out
the window
/wondering if like he did back then
he'd still make it in time to catch you
/wondering if like he did back then
he wouldn't tell.

It is very cold Here, and very quiet
Unless I make sounds and
The tiniest of
movements and then it
Is less so.

Sometimes people come along to the
Edges and they pass by in whirls of
Color or sounds I’ve never made making
Movements I could only dream of if I
Dreamt.

Sometimes the colors leak inside of Here
And hurt my eyes so I
Close them but the colors
Leak into my mind so I
Close that too.

Only recently though has someone
Noticed me Here and stopped to lean
Against the walls and whisper into the
Cracks the color has worn open to say
Try. Try to get out.

For the voice my mind opened and I tried very
Hard but all that happened was the walls wearing
Down in the places where my hands had
Pushed the hardest but alas
Nothing.

The voice came back though and the Leaner
Said Try. Try again.
And I couldn’t remember the words
“I can’t” so
I did.

And when I tried a spot of cardboard beneath
My thumb fell through
And in poured the colors and they
Burned me until I was
Clean.


And I pushed and pushed until my
Forefinger fell through and then
I grabbed and tore and ripped
and swore
and tumbled into There from Here.

And the Leaner had been waiting
And said, Welcome.
And I was afraid. I
Crawled back into Here and sat in the
Cold and quiet.

But I knew what I saw out
There.
And I will go back.
And the Leaner will be waiting for me
Whispering Try.

Jay gave me this little shrug,
        Like “Lee,
        What can I do?”
And I gave Jay a little nod,
        Like “Jay,
        What can you do?”
Because we all gave each other
Little things.

A little love,
        A little ache.
A little bruise,
        A little break.
A little truth,
        A little lie.
A little live,
        A little die.

But all the littles
Grew up.
And his shrug hardly asked,
        “What can I do?”
the way my nod hardly asked,
        “What can you do?”
the way we both left it hanging,
        We both hung the truth.
For their crimes, here hang the criminals:
        We both hung the truth.

Now,
You’ve gone and taken back
                     All the tiny little pieces you gave me
                     Of you
                     Over the last twenty-one months
And all I’ve been left with
Is the color
Of your laugh

Something so deep inside of me,
                    That you’ll never get it back
Because you’ll never be so deep inside of me
Again.

“It’s alright,”
Shatter me.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I saw you
On the starting line.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“You watched me
Burn below the lights.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I think I may have died
Last night.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I’m taking all my
Clothes off now.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“Mind if I light a
Smoke for now?”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“I’m exactly what
You’ve heard about.”
Her hands aren’t even shaking.

“Go on,” she says,
“Shatter me.”
All mine for the
Taking.

I will love you everyday,
hard as I very well
can.

I will give you my love each morning,
(compounded on the minute),
and I will make sure you’re
well asleep
before I begin again.

I will love you for years at a time
without asking a reprieve
even if I grow tired. Because,
there is no honor
but the honor
of loving you everyday.

and if one day I should notice,
my heart running low,
I will gather up my heartstrings
and wring them out
until we have enough
or they run
dry.

if that should ever happen,
I will take myself to visit each place
I have ever told anyone
I loved them.

I will be unabashed in crawling
on my hands and knees,
gathering up any scrap of love
that fell lost between my mouth
and their ears.

I will weave a very fine net
of lace, you see,
and secrets,
to attract the scraps of love
and catch them from the air
of all those lovely places.

and should all the love I gather
still not satisfy my need to love you,
I know what it is
I will do next.

I am not proud to say this,
nor will I be proud to do it,
but if it should come down to it,
I will put on a nice gray blouse
and ask my big brother
to meet me.

I will explain the problem,
and he will understand.
he will smile sadly,
a smile not reaching his eyes,
(stopping just before the part
where his dimples ought to start),
and he
will want
to help.

he will reach into his bones,
where he keeps his given love,
and pull out a wisp—
then a wisp—
a cloud—
of love I have given him.

it will not even be a fraction,
but as I fold and press it neatly to my chest,
we will both notice its absence.
but, it will be
Okay.

and I will come home to you,
bursting with my salvaged love,
and go on to love you everyday
with that.

and should all of that be gone through,
should I still love you everyday,
it will so happen I need only tug my
heartstrings
a bit harder,
to make that bit more love.

and I will return my love
to all the places I recalled it from
(with interest)
and no one will have minded
because they will be in
lovely awe
at how much I will love you
everyday.

(at any cost).

January tore me to bits;
February’s always tough.
March began to stitch me--
April crushed me into dust.
May swept me up again;
June found me on my feet.
July slipped away too fast--
August gave me dreams.
September went and broke my heart;
October left me shaky.
November had me on my knees--
December made me crazy.

max
maxmax
maxmaxmax
maxmaxmaxmax
maxmaxmaxmaxmax
maxmaxmaxmaxmax
max
max
max
max
max

if you write it enough
it stops looking like a word
and starts looking like
it could love you.
at least until
it didn’t.

“why do you think I am
pretty,
         max?”
max is tired—
he’s falling
        asleep.
I am racing—
I’m falling
        apart.

“max?
why do you think I am
        pretty?”
max’s fingers
find the waves in my
        hair.
my fingers
find the waves in the
        linen.

“why do you think I’m—”
pause.
        “pretty?”
max’s feet
fall against
        mine.
my feet
are falling off the
        earth.

“max?”
nothing more
        follows.
I don’t need to
repeat the
        question.
because max
yawns out the words-- “I
        don’t.”