I want you more than I can currently say,
Literally, I do not know how to say
in this dimension I hear, do, know
nothing but my place on the line

Treat everything in terms of its relationships
then it all looks to be made of the same stuff
why not know what’s a few leaps ahead?
I guess you should know—

Maybe (a point) would bleed, feel splendid as silk,
But why weight a blooming tendril
Which has been there since forever just now zoomed
enough to see? Can’t you curl toward another infinity?

I don’t think anyone remembers the language, but if you touch me
I’ll stop thinking, and everyone is fluent in that.

There’s a crown around your earlobes which nobody can see
And if I pushed in the right place you’d wind up like Rose Kennedy
But maybe there’d be no difference from the person I see now
The probe that’s reaching out to find a hollow in your skull
Eaten by wasps. They’re still alive, you know.

By my feet I notice coffee dregs
Drip from your eyeballs, with each trail
A garden sprouts. The hearts of roses
Stare me down, wishing me dead.
I pull out my handkerchief and wipe
Your brown sclera.

I’m hollowed out from
thorns slurping up juicy sugar, pumping venom
into my lovely bones.

Moth wings at my feet I feel like I’ve swallowed icicles
Circles circles
Ahhh yes I curl back up on the highest shelf and glance at it
in my tear ducts as I go about my day.

A rusted automaton covered in ivy
shakes off debris and thatch as it rises, into the sky.
I’ve never seen it before but its iron wings
bar the sun and I know to plant the carrots now
the painting completes itself

I find comfort in
chomping arsenic,
frightening girls and
hiding garlic under my pillowcase.
I smiled at a cashier today,
gave him my face by accident.

Swirling the muddy imprint, your
finger slips past a divot from my elbow joint.
One day here will stand a woman who spoke to
a man, who thought of her as he got hit by
a delivery driver.
And later lilies will cluster around the barred shop
quasi-eternal concrete smelling of coffee.

Your eyes pore above me, inkwells from
which your curls spill forth, dripping down
on unwritten I, down, down comes
a splash on my collar, splattering spiders.
A feather traces my faultlines, miniature quakes the only
sign, the meteorologist who breaks more than he heals,
for once.
Your eyelids burn, a candle burn, revealing handiwork too numerous to read.

not one but 20 stars power your fortress
the essence of a narcissistic shadow
hidden by the overwhelming brightness of
our universe, or another planet, molten with
no new discoveries since
yesterday.

Is what I think of poker chips colliding
Across the rosewood furniture so smoothly they can’t breathe

Orange
A autumnal of gothic branches
Which bring back Massachusetts, blocking every passing beam

Green
The fuzzy wilted leaf in your incisors
Which you found with rising horror on the night of our first date

Blue
A file containing years of conversation
Tucked away from memory to not be read again.

I want you to peel off my skin
**** brisket off my bones
wear a veil of my clanging
twined nerves, hold my
still heart in your hands 
and sink your teeth in
​ gasping and pulse again
build a boat from my bones and 
sail it across a river of my speaking
 
Untwine my brain from the snap of 
my spine into one long scarf and 
tear it in half until you’ve made confetti
I want to enjoy it.