In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

The fragile space between each rib, with skin draped over it like a table cloth.
The fragile space between scars, between your eyes, between our hearts when you're in my arms. The fragile space between almost and never.
Why is it that so much in life is fragile?
I will look at each face I pass and memorize the number of freckles on the right cheek, the left.
I will throw my graduation cap in the air, and my first born child will be in my arms when I look down. My best friend married, another dead.
I will see my college essay turn into dissertation into report on fifth ****** this week, downtown D.C. Yup, it's serial.
I will leap into the arms of my childhood friend, into the arms of my mother, into the grave-
and it'll all seem so very fragile, as delicate and as beautiful as a bird's wing.

always take your shoes off before you cross a threshold
              you've been carrying your dirt around with you
                leave it at the door
         
wear your face mask
wash your neck
ask for no sugar
hold yourself center                        
   
                                               this city's crazy, child

be grateful for the sun, and getting to be outside
       buildings do not satiate the wild within
         when the sun kisses your face, feel loved

don't drink the tap
try to keep your bones intact
keep your eyes open
wear a helmet

                                               this city's crazy, child

speak and laugh as loudly as you want
      set the bar high, so that growing up doesn't make you silent
        the world should know that you are here
          you're so beautiful

wash your dishes
sweep your floors
grant your own wishes
lock the door             

                                                thi­s city's crazy, child

 try not to breathe in the fumes
don't go to school for something you don't love! ....
                                                                                           or do
                                                                                           who am i to say
    but from what i can see,                                      
                you have patience for your elders, child
                              i wish they had patience for you

I wait for peace to find its way into my bones and hair ******* with bows
by the train tracks.

I throw stones
that skip over a river like
r-r-records;
Sublime,
Bradley Nowell, slurring out
the same line
over and over and over,
something about a corner store,
a collection of words that when I sing them,
taste like July.
1, 2, 3,
the rock disappears.

A train passes by,
engine huffing,
wheels churning out a steady rhythm of
"Please don't leave me, please don't leave me."
Dead reggae and dead love,
tangled in its underbelly,
rusted metal guts.

I look into the river to try to find the stone I skipped again.
I think I almost see it,
dead weight,
a speck under the surface.

(Do you believe in ghost trains? I hear something howl every night.)

once i was told
by a man,

                   oh wait. i don't care.

i am dripping in blankets and warm light
laying here, with you
in this puddle of humans
regurgitated by the Earth herself
i am happy to be here, with you
        happily decomposing
        rapidly recomposing
my ways
        rearranging the staves
        no rest
here, in the dirt
with you
giggling and twiddling
the stars have been swimming
above your sweet face, which is hidden
and i am tripping
on mushrooms