"you don't have shoes on"
poetic lush and the
fires i've always wanted to start
heels dug into asphalt
that's been cracked
by the trees in my
trash filled front
page
front yard
where I yelled
at you in
drunken rage
i wasn't all that
wasted but
my frontal lobe
gave out of me before
it could really let go
of all the
toxic treated
brain stuff
keeping you
at arms length
from me
throat painted
with a dagger and
i'm starting to see
that it's for a reason

"you don't have shoes on"
and i'm trying to be better
and i love you


please don't go

bipolar is
collecting
ten baskets of
fruit
and the next day
realizing that it
was never
quite ripe

grey tiled
waffle house in
Atlanta, Georgia
I'm about
ten coffee stirrers
apart from you and
my face burns
for the third hour awake
and the mundane
act of loving you.

blue eyed and built
with barriers
that are so silent
you'd think that they
were made with
ghost bones
whispering willow
says I love you
late at night on
a cigarette strewn
porch
and i can
believe and be
patient
because you make
my head so heavy
when i'm close
to you.

intimacy,
she wraps around my legs like a cobra
and i am afraid

"get better"
pictures of an exhausted illustrated sun
pulling itself up over the horizon

i wonder if the sun ever has struggles like these

umbrellas in bloom
a city rushes like
water down to the bay
my hands sit still
on the coffee table
cupping my drink
watching the canopy
of covered swarms
make their way to
work
it reminds me of
the schools of fish
i used to watch
race around at the aquarium
because
occasionally
there will be one
that seems a little
                                      lost
                      or                             out of place
in the way
they move