you tell me
that we should
take things
slow
and I hope slow
is sweet like
how your words trickle
out of your mouth

I hope it's
lasting like
the smell of smoke
on your jacket at 3 am

and I hope
it's honest like
how it feels
legs tangled up in each other
and I'm awake counting shadows
on your ceiling

thinking that I've heard
of slow before
but it didn't quite feel
anything like you.

I want to be the
fallen eyelash on your cheek
carefully collected
coveted for a wish
or two
or three
I want to be the tree above your
head
and the roots below
I want to be everything
and so much more

however I do not want to be your cage
or your basket of broken eggs
I do not wish to be
your scratched records
to be replayed
I want your freedom as
you want mine

I just want to be the fallen eyelash
on your cheek.

tie smoke in
knots
and watch the
stars
fall faster
than
anyone will
ever
fall for

you

Sometimes
I wish my body
Was softer
In hard places
And my mind
Would soothe
In dark places
Sometimes
I wish I could
Press my lips
So quick
To liquids
That could numb
And other times
I don’t wish at all

You know those moments
Where your heart sinks into your
Finger tips and
Seeps from your eyes
And your stomach is thrown
in every direction
Rattling around in your emptiness
In darkness
in cool
wet complacency

Those moments when your mind magnet
Sticks to every minute
Detail
every smirk
and every imperfection
created by the human hand

When
Every anxiety
every foul taste
And putrid smell
Rush through your body all at once

I'm sorry
and I wish I meant it
It really ***** that your cozy,
cushy life here wasn't what you needed
but I already knew that
I already knew we were just a way
for you to get by
That my dad meant nothing to you
Now you have to work for yourself
and I bet
you
regret
it
don't you?

I’ve been seeing
Shadows at the foot of
My sleeping sound
Sleeping so
Much my back creaking
At the thought of moving
Moving on
Moving forward is
so hard when
You won’t let me go
Like the thousandth
Cigarette smoked
Back to back
And discarded on
My porch

I wake
I see you
And I beg
That you leave me
Alone

I dreamt you cut your hair
galvanized and grey
You are the graze
Of finger tips over
A dropped knife
Stuttered speech
Is the same as the way
You catch me
From across the room
And I’m sweeping
The fondness shed

I’m hoping the sunburn on my left shoulder freckles,
White spots to the white smoke
Pouring from my glove box
While I take the highway in
Sweat pooling at the base of my spine
I’d like freckles on my shoulders
More than crying shuffling around
Brownwood
More than the big hoodie
I can tuck my knees into
And more than
Any love thin
And distant in dialect

I’d like just a few freckles

my teeth crumbled
                        and
                      tumbled out of my mouth
      moon mask
why do you
bleed     green                blood?
              manifested
                lumps in my veins
    time can only tell
how    long        death              might                              take

It is hard to find
People
Who for small periods of
Time
Make you forget there is
Anyone else
In the world with you.

Try not to let those
People
Go.

Everything I made today broke
And I keep telling myself that
It’s ok
And to
Love the impermanence
And imperfection of
Creation

The disappointment of it all

And I just
Feel
Go-to-bed-at
8 pm
Sad about it
Ya know

I cried
Driving home
From the bar
But I just work there
Mostly
The moon I poked out
Of the clouds to
Taunt me
maybe -
I’m not sure -
But she was Beautiful
And big
And she was taking up space
I want to take up space
Steal light to give
Others when it’s
Dark

I’m no good at
Crying &
Driving
But I think
I’m good
I think
I’m good
At other things

How simple would it be if I were a tree?
My only worry would be growing
And bathe in sunlight one should see
How simple would it be if I were a tree

Tall and beautiful; aesthetically bright
For who sees trees and sticks their nose in the air?
Who shouts at the top of their lungs
"How awful! God did not want that there!"

How simple would it be if I were a tree

It’s 8 am
And I was writing
Poems in my sleep
Perfect prose
If every
Mundane minute
Was at least
A year
Coffee stirrers
And reaching
Into the glove box
For ribbon

8 am and it’s
The third morning I’ve had today

I dove into him
Broke the surface of your ocean to feel
Ice cold lust
Crashed into your rock hard arms
And slid down your rough terrain
It took me years for my glaciers to reach the lake
To melt into your soft summer waters
To melt beneath your surface.

Why has love become so obsolete?
She asked as the forest floor pierced her feet
Broken homes and collar bones
Never known

A lush land burned by empty beings
To build fire escapes
And something attached called homes
Boxes and rows of superficial success
And fraudulent faces

Your chances are 50/50
maybe less
so why should I be a part of this mess?

Poems
Like the flowers you keep
Pressed to pages
Mythology of the
Soul
Or your shoulders
In motion
The summer time
And salt on
Your lips
I found out
Barefooted
On asphalt so
Hot

Puckered lines
Filtered out time
And a somber soul to face
Throw me in a tin can
Drown me in preservatives and peace
Comfort in inertia
Comfort in complacency
Comfort in a numbing confidence
that some how it'll work out
Wait
For change that's running
running
away

I miss when we were trees
All we knew was growing to the sun
And God was in my shoe box
When he gave me a shower
In purple pagan rocks
Coiled seasons were never
Created by a big bang
Rapid sings like vapid
With TV waves in brains
Colors smell like black and white
Greyscale is just your head
(Melted membrane to the third)
Why did our lips still taste like living pine
That's what I was waiting for
Our completely open sign.

An emptiness
Like sitting down
In the shower
Not recognizing
If hours
Or moments have passed
Letting plants
Starve
Chain smoking on the porch
Like no ones ever gonna need me again
I’m so tired today

I've never told anyone
About the boy
That lived on the edge
Of my street
Growing up
He was about 4 years older
And
Whenever we'd play
Manhunt in the neighborhood
He'd find me
First and
Shove his tongue down
My throat
And touch me
I was four
He was eight

And I saw him on Facebook
Today with
His three year
Old daughter
In his arms
And now my
Throat hurts so much

my stomach
hurts when
I think about
how much of myself
I've given to
"you"
indefinite or unspecified
"you"

Seven
Six split
I keep telling myself
That I'll quit
Eight
Nine
And ten
Somehow I'm back
In bed with you again
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Tell me how to
Surface
Tell me how to be clean
Eleven twelve
And thirteen
I loved you at just a baby soft nineteen

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

The toasty warm water
Synthetic nature, fluid in my veins
It almost felt like christmas
With jalapeños on top
It almost felt like the night
Your dying heart stopped
Wheezing beats poured in
And you washed your hands
Never ever to touch that needle again
But if only you had taken the chills
And the tired pain
You wouldn't be on this path
Of winter rain

Depression sinks like a ******* stain

I'm a waste
(More or less just breathing space)
Florescent bulb
Midnight pulp
Synchronized sinking
And one brain gulp

Our time is short, sweet,
And something bitter in between
Scratched glasses
And a baby soft sixteen

Giving blood
to make
sense
of letting you
go

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

still
the night
she reaches through
hazy and taciturn
leaving me
with memories
of myself echoing
into her breath -
staggering into
the grip
of planned
obsolescence

no one likes to talk
about the waiting,
how everything is patience,
sweat to
tear muscles down
so they can regrow
and it hurts
but it's good

you said you liked me
wintered
weathered
working
you said you liked
the crease between
my lips and nose
from the pack and a half
a day
you said you liked me
but you said you didn't
need me

Loving you is like wanting to know the softness of an exceptionally beautiful cloud. One can only know its touch in the form of rain.

Slack jawed
and wilted like the bud that
bloomed too soon
hunch over into my knees
the room sweats
some sweet southern sadness -
the kind a mother makes
when she remembers
the way you used to
wrap your hole hand
around one of her fingers
and you'd smile a bit more
- my hands now cupped
so I can pour pieces
of myself out,
b r e a t h
then repeat

Slack jawed
and wilted like the one track
wonderer who has lost his thought
press my lips to the floor
when my white noise
sensitivities and speculative
perceptions become too
populated to
preserve
pour pieces,
b r e a t h
repeat.

On those nights
That I dare
Sleep alone
I toss
Until my
Feet tangle
In my hair
My back bone
My wind earth
Air
Just missing
The fire
That once
Lay there

Last night
You visited my dreams
You wrapped
Your fingers
Around my heart
And told me
That you really did Love me

I don't
Think I've ever
Been so upset
To open
My eyes

he said he's just a man
with teeth tearing God's back
he's running on putrid plaque
fate can't control
a foriegn face
in any unknown
place

Looking for
God
Somewhere between
A love letter lost
In a landfill
And hitting
A hundred
Miles an hour
On the highway

I want to write
A book of poems
But lately words have been
So scarce
However precise
And so painful

Then again
Sometimes you’ll find yourself
Lost like keys in the sofa
It’s so easy to forget
That you’ve been
There before

spider hands
with your whispering
webs weaved
in place

cold carbon
carrying
songs of
somber souls
sick sickle
someones

spider hands
you wrap yourself
in your own
mesh

Some
days all I want
is to be
the sun
that kisses
the freckles onto
your shoulders

Walking down memorial
the smell of hot & wet soil
packed into plastic
making walls along the sidewalk
the gardener and the garden
both remind me
how the seasons begin to turn
like pages in a book
that was left
without needing to know
the ending

and yes
how sweet is that scent

as your palms,
much like the ink pressed to my face,
melt and drip
all over the floor
leaving me in
such
       a lonely




          place.

No one wants
Broken goods
finger to lips
Stolen sips from
Those sweet honey hips
No one wants
A melded mind
Mineral mounds
And uncommon sounds
No one wants you
But mostly no one wants
me hung from a tree
Spoiled she
No one wants my broken
Goods
Baggage Claim
Swallowed in flame
No one wants
My mineral mound
Pumping heart sounds
Tossed around
Abandoned
One two three
What could it be?
No one wants
Damaged goods

and what a flower
you've picked
crushed beneath
imperfections of the human hand

every day
i roll over
onto your
sweat soaked
side
of the bed
and i
remember
you thrashing
around
kicking
whimpering
all night
and every day
i wonder
why

Today it
Occurred to me that
I could dissect your dialect
Savour every breath
And take notes
Of when and why
I thought
Your heart was
Pounding out of your chest
I could pull meaning
From your lips
Like lust
Or
Lovers
Maybe?
I could try and understand
Why I felt some days
So soft like summer
Sun and others
Are as if I've been
Frozen all along
I could fight
The fact that I'm
Always afraid
of your
Fleeting
fingertips

Today I realized
That if I did all of this
I wouldn't get the chance
To know the flashes
Of light that sometimes
Fill your face
Or hear tales
Of dancing shoes
Hallways of birds or
To count the freckles on your shoulders