Pushing breaklights,
before jumping over the crown,
Taking drags,
in italics (makes us look like we down).
Slouching over countertops,
while hard water drops,
dreaming of minerals,
while the Blacksmith takes benedryl.

Receiving kicks,
from the ends of steel-toed boots,
act a champ,
he winks (we're in some sort of cahoots).
Tattooed blackeyes,
(don't wanna **** with these guys),
cool-kid-alert!
snorts lines in the dirt.

Back with a vengeance,
watching Batman and Robin,
breaks dishes,
because his headache is throbbing.
And I look and I see,
and it occurs to me,
and I forget the rest,
because it feels the best.

And, I left my dad's gun under my bed.

I don't know how to react anymore
and I don't want to see or read
or feel these words anymore.

I'm back to:
numb
too far past cold to:
feel
too close to warm to:
go back.

I'm noticing pieces of me
that are pieces of you,
and pieces of him,
all bundled together in little buckets
and big buckets and zip-loc bags
and old mint tin cans,
see them spilling from your open spaces,
and hear them ringing in all of mine.
Mostly from the half of you that cares
or the half of you the matters because of it:
the deeply-colored-yet-rarely-touched,
the wide-spread-and-beggingly-waiting.
the almost-loving-but-definitely-can't.

everything.

I feel you trying
so much harder than I do
and it makes me smile

we both need something
in between these parts of us
so that we can fit

power in numbers
our eyes reach a conclusion:
one plus one is one

I get home.
tired and hungry and so sick of school
shoulders slouch with comfort, crossing the threshold
between the public and my home.

It's snack time.

open the fridge and what do I find?
what marvelous things, upon which to dine?
a leg of chicken and a big *** of beans,
say what you will, moms can be queens
I chop up an onion splash! in the pan
a dollop of oil [extra ******, man]
add half a pepper, minus its seeds
yum! I think I know what this needs

A large pinch of cumin, a whole chicken leg
and so many beans, if beer twould be keg
then add some turmeric for fusion and flair
splash of red wine, kids: we're almost there!

I check in the freezer and Yes! I was right!
almost a dozen tortillas in sight.
I take out two, cuz they're pretty big
I yodel with pleasure, as if at a  shindig

warm up the flatbreadz, and pile it on
all of that chicken and beans and herbs from the lawn
get in my tummy, get in there so fast
that I dont realize I'm eating until I'm holding the last.

religion is dead
but the taste of butterscotch still lingers in my mouth.

I know it's freezing outside.
that's why I want you to hold me so bad,
it doesn't matter if it's you, it could be anyone,
but I know you need it just as much as I do.

I want to read you something
a little more meaningful than
a grocery list, and I want you to
smile more, but I want nothing to do with it.

I'm more situational than you seem to notice,
and I like how we can sit quiet and listen to nothing,
but I'd much rather hear your voice through the
haze of tension that seems to follow us, rather than
watch you sit alone on a welcome mat for depression.

I love you is a funny way of saying I love you,
but none of us really know what it means until
we know what it means, and I know how bad it
hurts when we lose what it means, but I'm sure
we'll find it again. Even if we have to be patient,
and scream a little, and **** someone worthless.

For what it's worth or how much you care,
I want you to know that I care, even if it's
only enough to dodge questions and push
boundaries and cross some t's or some lines.

You give me cold feet and hot cheeks,
but in the friendliest of ways.

Brosco sits,
feet dangling
at the edge of a cliff,
naked shoulders
wrapped in sunlight.


Brosco waits,
chews the air,
spits out the clouds,
gets busy and decides
to fall in love the sun.

Brosco walks,
steps like dynamite
(boom-shaka-laka),
and grinds his teeth
like the sound of a savage drum.

things that are the same here:
glass and silence
nails and chalk
comfort and ***
smoke and color.

how do you feel about the women called mother,
and the children that call to her and grab at her legs?
her legs: so smooth that their hands slide down them in the summer.
her hands: cold and soft and everything you need when you're crying.

I love you, darling, and I want to hold your hands all the time,
both of them, and please press your forehead against
mine because my third eye can feel your trying to see inside
but we need to break through the skin that hides them away.
I want to teach you how to share dreams so that we don't have to
set alarms any more, or drink caffeine anymore, even if it is tea instead
of coffee. or if your favorite is the same as his and it only bothers me
because I want to stop thinking about how warm, or thick, his fur is.
I can lose my hands

inside                                                           ­        the outside
                                                         ­   
of his beautiful mass.

He can knock down trees with a whistle,
or a flick of his tail, and he can make phone calls
with one long stretch and a yawn.

there are too many pockets of air in between the fabric
of all my ***** clothes and
we can't leave our thoughts in
open spaces

like this

anymore.

it's like looking at his smile and seeing what he's trying to hide,
those things are much too personal to be slurred from one bathroom stall
to another,
you always forget about all the people who don't wash their hands until it happens right in front of you.

I keep comparing you to:
all the people from my past.
She keeps comparing you to:
all the people from your past.
I don't want to miss you:
like all of those people from her past.

She looks at you like a vacuum would
but she feels like blue skies and tastes
like creamer or hot chocolate, thick
as she is you notice how thin she is
and point it out, try and make her eat
some of what you have to say although
you really don't know what it is she
needs to hear.

"that's why they call it confusion, honey,"
I had never seen you turn to stone before,
topaz and diamonds, "but crystals have souls."
and you have no idea what I'm talking about.