Hands, plural to make us one
Near the end of August the heat told me to stop
It's vicious, wanting you
No milder than the jaws of winter

And every person not you cuts
On the street, our wounded lips
Before October and on silver screens
Your face projected on everything

You wanted the cinema, I thought
So I spoke fumbled niceties at your door
But the camera was stuck in my eye

And the words I scripted shifted into your mouth
The breaths I take, the breaths I shout
Your smile corroded in the rain
Your endless longing,
My endless shame

It keeps me in this thought
That what I feel has no name
But the credits crept up with the dregs of December
Money is noisy, and I liked your quietudes

But the snow will blanket my blood-buoyant bright
And I will drown into night
To lay by you until dawn
To lay by you until you are gone

Tonight I want to speak until my voice does not exist
a word is only worth the breath a speaker gives to it
absorbed into a tongue where comprehension has a name
Where everyone is part of what makes all of us the same
and you can dot the eyes to keep the pressure in your head
The movement of the earth around the sun above your bed
But in the windy cities there is nothing you can do
To open up your lungs enough to permeate the truth
My teeth are falling out but I can mumble what I mean
The syllables enough to take this matter to extremes

carved on walls
where fires burned
-indelibly etched-
the hunt and dance
our story

flint to moss
sparks ancient art-
tinder for desire

tendered flame
has seen us
***** unclothed-
an ivory venus
burned into my bones-

making fire

r ~ 9/3/14

long breath raked out, length of
day. thought pattern diffusing;
shadows cast on a broadening strip,
wallpaper hung close. stolen breath,
an orbit about you. consistent
glow. hinging on ripples, cut around
this field by clear breeze. branches
stretch, churning in the swept
air. held aloft, in their self-arrest.

i do not echo. this frictionless glimmer.
the vanishing extent to which i
can stop falling.

oh, but i do not want to. not
this time, sweet. each day reaches
out with tender hands, to pull
me up& out of this cavernous maze;
undoing meaningless shovelwork.

i find myself, under boughs, amidst
flowers. it's only slightly difficult to admit
this smile was smeared over
my freckling jaw, for nothing,
save for you.

even birdsong seems pale in comparison,
distant bells, ocean mist; undertow
beneath soft waves rolling
from your lungs to lips.

I didn't know you could read lips,
so I laughed unreasonably hard when
people were telling you their *******
excuses for not being able to
donate money to you
and your family for Christmas.
The irony being I gave a stranger a
roll of quarters the other day
because they asked,
and I'm eager to lose all riches and go insane.

Yelled at my girlfriend for the first time yesterday;
she was frustrated that I wasn't frustrated that
she was upset, so
I banged my head against the wall and screamed
"What am I supposed to do?"
Still have the mark somewhere under this free haircut.
I don't get how we all push people away
and beg for them to chase us.
Never give me a word, but always
want me yearning. Not old yet,
but not from lack of trying.
Not wise, but it's not desired.
Fools make kinder people anyways.

Amen to "I'd rather get ****** and keep giving."
Guess you could say I make it rain on those in need,
but please don't. Don't ever say that to anyone.
Write it down somewhere unspecified and
lock it in a drawer, or light it on fire.
Put it through a shredder,
I'll tell you a little secret,
I'll try to tell you a secret;
Most of us are more selfless than Christ.

Merry Christmas in August.