I find myself watching
movies for the purpose
of having something I
can relate to you about
the composition in
American ****** is
amazing Or asking
what video game you
think I should buy, I
remember your punctuation
and you use none in your
replies, I'm beyond being
in love with you, so i don't
understand why i'm still
trying to be your
perfect
girl.

if you're still out
there and if you
still read these and
if you still remember
the password to my
private blog, if you
still have my diary
entry and that painting
that flask, that TV that
shirt, those jeans, if you
still remember me, my
skin, my hips, the way
i smile, if you haven't
erased me off your
elbows, brushed me
off your chest, wiped
me against your pockets
find my chapstick in an
old jacket and call me



hey, chris. call me.

(today)he talked a whole
lot and i only listened
till i realized that stupid
satillo blanket was over
my knees and you tacked
that little 3x5 dia de los
muertos card beneath
my corkboard and
wrapped me up
(14 months ago.)

personification and retreat
I am here like I am here
like I am or have been here
overridden and steadfast
folded like wideswept domains
I broke walls I count splinters I pack light and swing heels I am broken most of the time and I kind of like it
it’s easy to construct
socket set memories
a forest of meaning sprouting up defining swan songs
and their resonant structures
crawl down the valley all sweet and serene

You are the wilted flower in the sea of the dead…
The last beautiful sign of a world forgot –
Your beauty stretches beyond the words,
Tipping over the cliffs of tongues,
Crashing into the abyss and swallowed –
Eaten whole,
Forgotten…
You are the last droplet of sun,
Kissing the horizon as you asunder from the day –
Leaving your taste in the sky,
Painted with the colors of your soul…