Where do the ducks go in winter?
Where do they fly,
when their lake is ice
and their homes are pulled from their feet?

But it seems if no one is worried,
no one cares if they stay
or go.
And they move on with their lives,
never stopping enough to care.

He grabbed at the fat on her legs with his tongue,
and his teeth.
He was going to devour her,
like the dinner she made earlier.
All he thought about was ***,
his friends all called him, "Caveman".
It turned her on
(especially when he left the lights on).
She was obsessed with the heat,
in her room, in the kitchen.
When he cut off the circulation on her wrist,
it made marks,
(she loved them).

I can feel this consciousness;
That it's nowhere, and yet it feels local:
It's not in the rocks or the soil, the trees
Or the sky; it goes where I go
And I know where I'm going-
But it goes, without knowing.

Time and distance mean nothing to it;
And I'm its parasite, all the while believing
That I'm the one in charge;
Keeper of the maps and the shoes,
The tires and the itinerary.

Without it, I'm nothing and nowhere,
Just as lost in space as it is.
But I can't help fantasizing
About being the kite for once
Instead of always being the kitestring.

She kept talking about the blood,
how it fell, how it wouldn't stop.
She believed in it so sincerely that you could feel it in her skin
and the way she held your face so that you couldn't look away.
It scared you how she could speak so beautifully,
how easily she could persuade you to follow her,
no matter where she went.

In her dreams, nothing could be more real.
The sarcastic smiles, casual conversations.
Everyone she touched, someone new,
someone she'd never seen before.
Never bothering to learn their names,
they weren't as important as their bodies.
It was alright that she acted this way,
she never pretended to be something she wasn't.

The dirt underneath her nails,
that filled her pockets,
was from the beach.
She was always correcting him,
"Not sand, *******."
Always with a smile.
He would stare at her, and she would try to read his mind.
She'd tickle him, but he'd shake her off,
she'd try to hold him, but he'd slip out of her grasp.

Anger: consumed.
She grabbed the broom, tied a shirt to her head,
jumped onto the table, (knocking his breakfast onto the floor),
"My dimples are waiting!" She screamed.
He stared at her like he had never seen her before.
She'd never gotten that look, not even the first time he saw her,
he'd always known her, (somehow).
Her face dropped, as did her body.
(and the table shook as he watched her fall).
He stood up, expecting something.

Indifference: something terrifying when it comes to love.
They kissed as though it would be their last.
She was social, he liked that, and he tried to escape himself,
(she encouraged it).
They loved each other, enough to forget the world,
(but not quite).
They laughed together, so much that their ribs cracked,
(like his voice so often did).

It seemed like they were lost in each other,
and they were.
He would ask her questions,
but she wouldn't always answer.


Confusion: it's something they hated.
She spread her body on the table, and he undressed her.
(with that same expression)
They had never done this before, but they kept at it.
(he left the shirt on her head)
He made no move, he washed himself with her image.
(she loved it)
Sweeping up his breakfast, his eyes fixed on her.
(as always)
They both loved it.

I pretend to be a doctor on my free time
Delivering free pizza to house wives

Playing games on my calculator
vs.
Arguing with the math teacher

Receiving a letter, spreading butter, taking my birth control.
I draw an animal poorly, and a corn dog.
Bottle rockets and fire crackers.
Steroids and M80’s.
I love life,
But not really,

‘Cause I have 18 kids.

You wouldn't believe
how much effort I put into
shaving my left knee.

It's impossible to breathe
at this height,
but I'd rather not
fall asleep.

My skin is moist
with conversation,
and sticky sweet
from an earlier time.

Strange,
it's barely a memory now.

The looks I got
when my skin started melting,
only if you knew,
or understood.

The words slurred
from everyones noise holes:
calm.

When I noticed one
of the lights were out,
I felt like apologizing,
or leaving; but I didn't.

I never do,
it's just not appealing
enough.

Even if I started screaming,
or threw away my barriers,
it wouldn't change anything.
I'd still be a slave
to dusty ambitions,
a slave to my heart.

Some attempts proved them
to be worthy,
but the faults ruined
so much more.

Truth isn't
as scary as it seems,
the hurt only stings
for a little while.