How do you know that the pilgrim track
Along the belting zodiac
Swept by the sun in his seeming rounds
Is traced by now to the Fishes’ bounds
And into the Ram, when weeks of cloud
Have wrapt the sky in a clammy shroud,
And never as yet a tinct of spring
Has shown in the Earth’s apparelling;
O vespering bird, how do you know,
How do you know?

How do you know, deep underground,
Hid in your bed from sight and sound,
Without a turn in temperature,
With weather life can scarce endure,
That light has won a fraction’s strength,
And day put on some moments’ length,
Whereof in merest rote will come,
Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;
O crocus root, how do you know,
How do you know?

Wine comes in at the mouth
And love comes in at the eye;
That's all we shall know for truth
Before we grow old and die.
I lift the glass to my mouth,
I look at you, and I sigh.

9/18/09

The Boy With the Birthmark on His Right Lower Calf

1/7/10 8:36 pm
The first boy that left me was my first love, he was the first boy who ever called me beautiful and he made me feel that way for about 3 and a half months until the distance became to much to bare, but we kept in touch for about 5 years so I guess you can say it never really ended because the pull of our hearts still happen to burn for each other every now and again, he is one for the books because he's never walked away from me he's stood by me through countless arguments, but I think we will always be connected. He taught me what it's like to fall in love unfortunately he didn't teach me how to stop falling face first onto cold hard gravel because now that he has someone new, I'm completely off the rails. I hope he comes back and saves me soon. He is the only boy I can't ever seem to get enough of, he is like a drug, the minute he touches me my veins fill with a substance of desire and my heart speeds up to about ten beats a minute and all this proceeds to happen within mire seconds of reconnecting I can't even begin to describe how it's been these past 5 years still being able to get that same rush around that boy--and only that boy. He is a drug I would gladly overdose on.

6/20/13

The Boy With the Cold Heart & the Four Glass Eyes

9/3/13 10:45 pm
The second boy that left me was no where near as beautiful as the first but he was one for deep talks and insecure walks. He told me what he hated about himself and how self-conscious he really was, that before he became "Mr. Player" he was a loser who always felt alone. His body was not beautiful he was destruction at its finest, his skin stretched and felt like scratching cold silver, in all respects he was quite a disgusting filth though at the time I found him to be made out of gold but I was dead wrong for he was the worse kind of killer-- a true sociopath if you ask me but I mean what do I know I'm a ****** right? Although the only thing he wanted was to toy with me and trick me into trusting the devil, granted I should have never gotten involved with him in the first place, because he truly tore me to shreds and he was still a baby so maybe that's why things ended badly between us, because even though I was naive then, he's still quite immature, I wish I could say he's changed but he hasn't.

12/6/13

The Boy Who Made Me Feel Alive Again

12/27/13 1:08 pm
The third boy that left me, well unlike the second boy he didn't do damage he actually did magic by gently outlining the curvature of my spine and liking the thoughts inside my head before we ever even came face to face, he knew me through words and kissed me like he held a secret between his lips. He didn't like books but he liked my thoughts on paper and he listened quite intently, so I guess that was enough. I noted little details when we walked home in the dark, like the fact that he lit up whenever I spoke and he always looked me dead in the eye, however neither of us had been murdered. Or the way he sounded when he told me about his life, or even the fact that he'd risk injury from oncoming traffic because of his fearless physique, maybe he was just trying to impress me but these are a few things that were beautiful  about this boy. But yet again, happiness in the form of Father Time only stands at my doorstep for a month or so because on the 27th on the coldest month of the year he walked out without even a proper goodbye.

*(vm)

He poured the coffee
Into the cup
He put the milk
Into the cup of coffee
He put the sugar
Into the coffee with milk
With a small spoon
He churned
He drank the coffee
And he put down the cup
Without any word to me
He emptied the coffee with milk
And he put down the cup
Without any word to me
He lighted
One cigarette
He made circles
With the smoke
He shook off the ash
Into the ashtray
Without any word to me
Without any look at me
He got up
He put on
A hat on his head
He put on
A raincoat
Because it was raining
And he left
Into the rain
Without any word to me
Without any look at me
And I buried
My face in my hands
And I cried

I remember the days of raisin boxes and paperbacks,
when it felt like the worst thing in the world to be climbing barefoot up a mound of dirt in the rain because you wanted a friend.
I couldn’t watch movies, talk about cigarettes, or listen to operas,
but I was all right when I saw my mother pouring out my father’s bottles into the bushes.
I looked at the round tummy in the mirror and wondered if it was okay.
It wasn’t. I was eleven years old when I learned how to **** it in.

-

The first came in middle school. I had a dream that I kissed a boy while on an exercise machine.
It was real life when he took my hand in the backseat of his mother’s SUV. I closed my bedroom door and danced.
I still think of him when I hear that stupid song.

The second time, I was fourteen. I met a different boy who peeled away my skin as if he were unwrapping a Christmas present.
And the present? Just another pair of socks. Throw them in the drawer with the others. Shut it tight.
I’m still missing a lot of skin.

And then, there is you.
You know the story. Five, four, three, two, one, happy new year. I kissed you.
Remember when you noticed my wrists? Remember when you didn’t believe my excuses? Remember afterwards, when you pretended to forget all about it because you were scared, scared of the kinds of girls who hid secrets under their sleeves?
I went to all of your basketball games. I hate basketball. We watched movies that you projected onto your basement wall. Your attempts to disguise your impatience as admiration were poorly executed.
Maybe our first kiss shouldn’t have occurred in a count-down. It made everything else that happened feel that much more inevitable.

-

I take stock of myself. Three hearts, like an octopus, and too much blood. I am saving it, I am saving it for the person who offers me something other than the dusty space under the bed.
I never want to be like my mother, and there is a certain kind of power in this. The power of - of what, turning inward?
I am learning. I am learning to stop looking behind me in fear of pursuit. Let them come and let them drape me in meaningless velvet. I will not be deterred.
Look for me, up in the constellations. I am a passing comet; it’s impossible to predict if I am destined for destruction or for greatness.

I’ll wait at the sunset for the sound of your voice.

You said the anger would come back
just as the love did.

I have a black look I do not
like. It is a mask I try on.
I migrate toward it and its frog
sits on my lips and defecates.
It is old. It is also a pauper.
I have tried to keep it on a diet.
I give it no unction.

There is a good look that I wear
like a blood clot. I have
sewn it over my left breast.
I have made a vocation of it.
Lust has taken plant in it
and I have placed you and your
child at its milk tip.

Oh the blackness is murderous
and the milk tip is brimming
and each machine is working
and I will kiss you when
I cut up one dozen new men
and you will die somewhat,
again and again.