je ne te céderai pas, jamais plus,
toi, le monstre, parti pour un carnage,
voulant montrer tes crocs, mais hélas, tu oublies
que je suis aveugle, et que toi, tu m'appartiens.

j'oublierai le goût de ses lèvres
et l'odeur de son cou,
et le toucher de son pull, oui,
j'oublierai tout.

je serai sans pitié vis-à-vis des mémoires
qu'elles aillent craintives se recroqueviller
dans un coin sombre de ma pensée

intransigeante. sans concessions. une statue
de marbre sur la joue de laquelle
coule une larme.

*i won't give it to you, never again,
you, the monster, off in a rampage,
wanting to bear your fangs, but alas, you forget
that i am blind, and you, you are part of me.

i'll forget the taste of his lips
and the smell of his neck
and the touch of his sweater, yes,
i'll forget everything, without exception.

i'll be ruthless regarding the memories
i hope they go cower, fearful,
in a dark corner of my mind.

intransigent. without concession. a marble
statue on whose cheek
falls a tear.

so you're disappointed
that you're disappointed
and maybe that's to be expected
some folks make beds
out of their catharsis
differently than others
it's this list
of things you lost in the fire
or how jealous you are
of people
who never came back up for air
you're crying
so the faucets leak out of solidarity
& someone asks you
why the floor is wet
so you tell them
"we've been weeping here forever"
then they want to give you
a mouth full of presupposition
by saying
"are you going down with the ship?"
& you look them in the mouth
like Leo is handcuffed to a pipe
five decks down
you look at them
like you just woke up
from that dream everyone has
where all their teeth fall out
maybe it's an intervention
a hearse vs station wagon origin story
a clearance sale
& everything's gotta go
or maybe it's the dream
where you're at the docks
from your childhood
and there's a little girl
unmooring all the ships
because she thinks
they'll float away
but every time
she unties them
they just sink




                                          they just sink

don't follow me
if you see me running
down the street
into the subway
into the train
into the seat

i'll plug music into my ears so
the words won't spill out

i'll watch people think over their day;
did you get promoted?
is your best friend a mess?
do you wish you could be free?

the train's wheels screech against the rails
like a fat metal monster calling out in pain
a sound so stringent it plucks my heart's cords
stifled only by the loud murmur of collective Life
my city, my city, don't follow me now
i'm headed northward, eastward 'til i'm out of earshot

you're too much of a perfect storm, my city,
my city, you're too much of a muffled chaos

you're on my heels despite my warnings
i would run faster but the train is deaf as the people who wear headphones and complain when they hear nothing

i'm on your train, dear city, going further than i should

in this way,

i flee conflict.

I could tell you of romance,
I could tell you of Sicily
and sanctity,
and what cold-blooded loving is like.

You can touch me like an iron blade,
rusted, perused;
and carve into me stolen serenades.
Jigsaw my dreams into sense,
I’m a little too tired of waking up alone.

We can do a give-and-take of hands
and we can go look for things we lost.
I could tell you how to love,
if you can show me how to stop.

Love someone who you cannot even
look in the eye:
it's not the demons in their self
but the way they make your heart
skip two beats instead of one
and maybe the realization that
they need not more than one look to know
you have already decorated a heart shaped room
in your ribs for them to find their home.

That's all they'll need to know
how once they let you in
you'll overstay
and lose your mind every time
their footsteps echo in the silent soundbox
of your conscious.

We don't talk of storms when they aren't already there;
if they can't fix you up,
they'll teach you how to ache instead,
and perhaps I'll learn to forget how to
give myself away in my smiles
and scribbles.

and scribbles.