Trying to love other people begins to exhaust me
the third time I walk into the ring wanting a knock-out
and find two people cowering in opposite corners

with their gloves on.

Next time,
I will come to you bare knuckled.

we will pretend to circle each other
              pretend to

I want to love you without having to admit it.

                                spar kick punch

You never look better than when you've got blood smeared
over your front teeth, stringy curls in your eyes,
and bruised knuckles pressed to the cut above your lips

Next time,
I won't hand write it first.

Medical school and boxing are the same thing:
a desperate swing when you're back into a corner
roads and rivers and highways
                                                      I want to love you without getting hurt.
away from                                                             me.

Before the match is over:
seven years and I still dream of the single moment before
                                                                                          you kiss me
a bloodied hand in my hair, a stethoscope cold against my chest,
our boxing gloves hung up side by side in the closet.



                                                  and the Winner.

i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried

I keep my face bare
Saving my make up for him on weekends.
I count every calorie of every day
Hoping he will grab my waist more tenderly.
I rid my body of hair until it bleeds
Just in case he visits.
I push my heart rate daily
Willing my body to burn itself.
I cut and pick and paint my nails and their beds
Dreaming in a haze that he'll hold them.
I whisper loving words in his ear and leave him love notes
Praying one day he will return them to me.

I.
You are my shipwreck,
I am your siren,
It's an uneasy game I play
Dragging you down to the depths...
Dragging you down to your death.

II.
I always get lost
Looking for something to open my eyes;
I've never really been awake.

III.
Swearing to hurt anyone
Who
Tries to **** me...
Do those same rules apply
When I try to **** myself
In your ******* black hole eyes.

IV.
The galaxy has been filling me
For years and you find
Beauty in my stone cold shell encasing.

V.
Maybe we should wait and see.

VI.
"Give me time."

VII.
I hope your favourite sound
Is the dah-dum
Of my heart beat drum...

VIII.
I love you.

he can’t tell a baby
here
not from

a hole
in the ground

a white sock in father’s stomach

the rabbit’s head
we use
for mowing

saying
instead of chore

char, mother

saying
it’s his
her blood

sleepwalking

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"

if he asks who i was to you
glance sideways & lie a little
exaggerate my mistakes &
laugh with him about my shortcomings
then feign bewilderment at the question

if he asks why you skip that song every time
lie a little & say it doesn't play all the way
through anyway but don't
tell him it was our lullaby for the rainy nights

if he asks how big it was
don't hurt his self-esteem
lie just a little bit & tell him
i had chapped plump lips carved from **** roast
a long curved nose like the scroll of a violin
& a heart like a busted squirrel cage
but omit the weeks we spent sprawled naked
on peyote friction furniture digging
our toenails into the floor

when he asks you what you're thinking
don't hint at the nostalgia
buried in your eyes & throat

if he asks what you're writing
on the edge of the bed first thing in the morning
lie a little lean down & kiss him
but never show him the dream journal
you stole from me & are keeping
as your own now

if he wonders aloud how you got those scars
after months of seeing you naked
tell him a little lie & never whisper
the names i gave them that first night
when i kissed your whole body

don't ever show him the tearstained
underside of your pillow &
act like you've forgotten my name
when he claims you say it
in your sleep most nights

if he corners you after work one day
& demands to know who i was
distract him
tell him you love him
& **** him right there in the kitchen
so he forgets to ask about the extra toothbrush in the shower
or the old flannel work-shirt hanging on your side
of the closet that smells like nothing he's ever smelled on you before

when he forgets your favorite flower
on your ******* birthday just shrug &
blow him in the car on the way to his parents' house
so that he never wonders about
your finger on the trigger of the gun at his head

let him fill the spaces i left between your fingers with his fingers
let him plaster the hole in your chest with new promises
let his toned shirtless testosterone replace my warm soft flesh beside you in bed
let his brass belt buckle be more comfortable for your angelic head
than my bare waist
let him replace the lingering scent of my insecurity with the new stench of his over-confidence

eventually he will learn to ignore the way you
twitch when he says my favorite curse word

eventually you will forget how my
bare feet used to tie into yours on the sofa

have you left yet?
are you gone?

i miss you.
i love you, koala.

you're free.
wrap your knuckles around the steering wheel & don't look back.
think of me as you drive into a west texas sunset.
shout my name as the thin mountain air puts pressure on your lungs.
stop at traffic lights & expect to be enlightened.
look at the clouds every day. i mean really look.
stop & cry by yourself on the side of the road somewhere.
stare into the fantastic sun & don't blink first.
return light to the world like a universal mirror.
take a bath in a hot mountain spring & learn to breathe underwater.
fly in vulture circles over the deadness of your past.
never stop writing & painting & singing & reading.
turn around & surrender your heart to the void.
take the list you wrote of the things you learned here & burn it for fuel.
cut up that credit card & use a sharp piece as a guitar pick.
laugh at your warped reflection in a rippling pond's surface.
let light dance around you in a lush green valley.
look at life through a thrift store camera lens.
abandon the road before the road abandons you.
go chase a rabbit up a mountain in tennessee.
go nowhere & i'll meet you there someday.
go find your friends on couches & balconies.
talk to strangers every chance you get.
pull them back from the ledges they're on.
hug a quarter million people.
by the time you hit kansas i hope you love it.
by the time you hit asheville i hope you love yourself.