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  Nov 2015 Nicole Hammond
Tom Leveille
someone's in the next room over
having *** while we
are weeping
what a way to mark the occasion
the day my fingers found a wound
you let someone else doctor
it's upsetting see
the bible in drawer next to us
the way our hands still
fit together
like the torn halves
of a love letter
the way you got
all dressed up like the rain
and how we couldn't tell
the difference in the shower
it was the longest hour and a half
spent crying
the hot water wouldn't give up
so why should we
right?
even though it was scalding
neither of us touched the ****
we knew this was supposed to hurt
your hair
a black mess against my shoulder
my fingers
oil in the vinegar of your hands
our bodies
the great divide
all the sobbing
a river runs through it
without the courage
to carry or **** us
so we step out
and drip dry
down to a mute breakfast
composed of quiet
and last nights liquor
as we came back in
there were people in our room
at first i thought them detectives
dissecting things
to see who had died here
i had forgotten this
was a hotel
and they were only
cleaning up after us
i wanted to stop them
plead
that the sheets were still perfect
that if they clean the bathroom
no one will know
what happened here
someone has to remember
"please
i know
these cigarette burns
by name
i will bury the faucet
let me take the tub
i don't care how
if i have to
i will drag it home by hand
"
  Oct 2015 Nicole Hammond
irinia
“Johnny's always running around
Trying to find certainty”*

you know this, don’t you?
I only knew you forward, unbearable
when I felt the foam of dawn
on your lips

and how wild fields bloom backwards
in the secrets of wind
in the culture of shame

that helpless zealous boy
with his eyes turned inwards
we are light and fiction
depending on the various proportions
in the geography of sight

we haven’t found out yet
the hidden geometry of thought
I’ve carried around this silently violent lover
an offering to the disappeared
to the void between your teeth

I never knew you

but your screaming point
  Oct 2015 Nicole Hammond
irinia
the weight of tears leaves no traces. apparently. pain has no axis of symmetry, but petrifying meanings. everybody must be afraid. there is no point. there is no point in the scream of windows, in the continuity of doors.
in a turbulent ray of light. this destructive force, the orphan desire of a child. its autistic strife. pain, the silent witness of unlived lives. streets keep their rhythm and pretend all is forgiven. rarely is. there are more pains than people. hear the steps in the geometry of desire.  reinvented desire to love. to let live.

every full stop is an abyss of breath.
Nicole Hammond Sep 2015
maybe the night the entirety of my skin
sighed under the weight of your touch
you, boy of silence,
were deafened by my sound

maybe there was something in my kiss
that tasted too much like her

maybe there was something about my eyes
that reminded you of why
you were always afraid of the dark as a child

maybe it was some animal instinct
to flee to higher ground in the presence
of a flood

maybe you were reminded of the first time
you laid your hand on a hot stove
and the pain you swore you never wanted
to feel
again
written after a dream i had
Nicole Hammond Sep 2015
i want to grow up next door from you
i want to be seven years old with you
i want to put band-aids on your
skinned knees

i want to meet you in a book store
i want to talk about poetry and art and trotsky
i want to buy you a book like i'm
buying you a drink at the bar

i want to sit next to you on the train
i want to make small talk about the weather
i want to lend you my coat and forget
to ask for it back

i want to be a field nurse
if you're a wounded soldier
i want to change your gauze
and sneak you extra meal rations

i want to be a bystander
talking you off the ledge
i want to lead you gently back into the world

i want to be careful with your heart

i want to love you softly and abiding
agapē love: selfless, sacrificial, unconditional love
Nicole Hammond Sep 2015
i am forgettable
i am dull
i am a background character at best
never the hero
never the love interest
never the happy ending
always the passing glance
always half acknowledged
always the plan b
never the apple of anyone's eye
nothing special
nothing new or brilliant or beautiful
nothing memorable, no spark
i am beige
i am boring
i am only loved out of obligation
i do not exist
to you
or to anyone
or to anything
at all
vestige: (noun) a trace of something that is disappearing or no longer exists.
Nicole Hammond Aug 2015
forgive me for the three times I denied you
forgive my tears for their taste of salt
from the nights I looked back
forgive me for taking your hands
and turning them into bread
you are not to be devoured
your body never was mine
consecrated to be broken
and even if it was
what disciple am i
to be worthy of you
my love is not strong enough
to hold another lover to that cross
my soul too undeserving
but i need you to know
like you know the cracks in your ceiling
from staying up at nights
i need you to know
i will lay these palms down
lining your path
anywhere you choose to go
even if you find someone
who would rip apart the seams of heaven
to hear your prayers
even if she carries your cross
even if she washes your feet
i would part seas for you
i would spill this wine of my blood
to make you smile
i would write a new covenant
to every morning you awoke
i would give to you all the pearls
in heaven's gates
because you are my patron saint
you can sharpen me with your iron
you can refine me in the fire
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