toothpicks
won't pick
the ****
from out beneath your gums

nor will
denial
cauterize the memories
off your nerve endings

por algún motivo
la noche me quiere matar
déjame en paz
oscuro y hiriente
encuentra otro hijo
malvada existencia

según tu me amas
que chiste mas cruel
dicen los segundos solitarios
que pasan entre nosotros
cada vez mas largo
y infiel a tu memoria

te mando una de mis manos
bésalo cariño
y seca tus lagrimas entre los dedos
devuélvame lo, da prisa

haré bien con lo que tengo ahora
la sal de tus ojos entre mis labios

index
Ba-Be

Back dimples,


pg. 22-?

i've only ever

wept
over welts
left by those folds in your sheets

creased and creased
one on each cheek

roll over now

play red and fed up

what's the matter lady
moon is always waning
smile fragrant paining

grind those whitewashed tombstones
into a fine dust and blow it my eye
so i might cry
over you
and the distance
and have it be half hearted
but still textbook lacrimosa

don't forget to stir
otherwise it all goes down bitter

and the very last
              bit
is almost too sweet
to swallow

******* Then/Take The ******* Sun With You (Tongue In Cheek)

mother
watch me burn
through
these matchbook girls
all flimsy cardboard
and acrid sulfur
so dim
a soft spring whistle
blows them out

El momento que te largaste,
la luna se colgo como espejo,
un recuerdo doloroso de tu existencia.

Güera;
brillando porcelana y distante
pero presente
en la noche de mi vida seguiendo tu partida.

Ahora que es invierno se ha puesto peor.
Caídas de nieve hirientamente blanca
forman tus costillas en mi patio,
manchas de tierra visible tus lunares,

y cuando miro por la ventana

lo tengo por seguro que mientras viva tu memoria’s melliza en mi cielo,

yo me morire con cada atardecer.


—


The moment you left,

the moon hung itself like a mirror,
a painful reminder of your existence.

Pale;
shining porcelain and distant,
but present
in the night of my life following your departure.

Now that it’s winter it has become worse;
downfalls of agonizingly white snow
form your ribs in my backyard,
visible dirt stains your beauty marks,

and when I look out the window

I’m assured that as long as your memory’s twin lives in my sky,
I will die with each and every sunset.

syllables flicker
between
unrelenting self pity,
and berations
poorly disguised
as remorseful verses

we're not here
to serve as a distraction
from the real ignorance
that plagues you
like jaundice
on a yellow moon

you
poor
naive
thing

city buckles under smog
while rat friends feast
on it's underbelly

second place ribbons are usually red
they're all i ever win
or lose anyways

so i'll knit myself a scarf from a hundred of the fibers
and when i've clawed at my neck and started to bleed
no one will be able to tell red from red
dead from dead

back
to
morning ***** tonics
and
*******
white ****** cigarettes

you're a real piece of work
all rothko
and no manet

boring lines
keeping the colors
from conversing

tie back
those homely strands
with extravagant bows

you're nothing more
than
a box
inside a box
inside a box
inside a box
inside an empty
box

i treat you like i do a ripe peach
nuzzle smooth skin
and search for that scent
which tells me to smile
and sink incisors in

the world isn't ending
don't try carrying me away
with swipes of a double edged sword
verbose lunges
now that kisses aren't so quick and
sharp

leave it to the espresso machine
to laugh at my loneliness

a *** is meant for two
not one
not three

fists like a side of raw meat,

these streets creak with downtrodden snow

(words) hands bent on leaving you breathless

eight ante meridiam

cinnamon toast in the solarium

i'm not much different than the mutt basking on a chaise opposite

buy
back
the vast grey
and reclaim
pluto as a planet

maybe the martians
will better understand
those childish musings
that are your thoughts

frantically
retreating
like my ******* father's hairline

a coatroom*

there are hooks where your words go
they’re hung every two of four synapses
and when the coats are missing
they shift and snag
on nerves and loneliness

where are your kinder syllables
and why don’t they mind
a lacking or longing

if the sun should forget me
if the moon should forsake me

there will be no need to worry
now that you're here

what's that there in your hand

it's nothing

less the gaping cavity in my sternum says otherwise

Player 1 Dead

I
arrhythmia,
the crocodile surface of this steamer trunk as irregular as my breathing
hurried while my fingertips run over the ridges of words or a beat of my heart
everyone's felt it once before,
in jealousy.
when your teeth scoured the valley of his upper lip

II**
weightless were the days you called me darling
and abandoned your clothes beneath my sheets
don't forget it was me who cooled your legs
keeping veins from throbbing with a fever from our tension
and skin from clamoring for more attention

thin lips = cruel sips

at my resolve
and three quarters willful
need to do away
with your memory's
hips.

all that matters then
forgiving yourself for those moments

force feeding yourself caffeine to stay awake for that eclipse
you watched all your lonesome clouding the moon red

an apology to my urges
forgive me for being alone

stick it to me

with false pretenses and fluttering lashes

waylaid kisses and promises of breakfast

the constellations
i could
draw
with kisses
in the valley
between
each
milky rib

here's to
ugly green envy

and hot water from blackened and forgotten pots
boiling over onto things you thought were clean

where
one
begrudgingly
learns
a cruel lesson or two
in
humanism

I
tin cups become cold the fastest, with breath distracted by air more or less filling with smoke
i've got to stop picking such nostalgic scents, they stick to the wrists of all my coats
and when I go to wipe my nose, my mother's right beside me
really she's those hundred miles away
dancing one step
or two closer to my new room
but then one step
or two back towards home


II**
it's like this
roses and a
musk
settled in with old dust
she's not to share it with anyone
because it's swimming in streams with my platelets and memories

of black **** carpets howling at the kitchen door
a bed nestled in drawers
and iron gated windows crowded with fear

i refuse to do what i'm told

shovel the driveway

why?
the snow's not doing anyone any harm
the concrete is no less cold
when bare
and buffeted by small, stamping feet

shaving means mirrors
and seeing your eyes in mine

making it more difficult for those throwaway razors
with a face that's furrowed

suffice
it to say

i don't care
for the way you sell yourself

in all illogical functions
and song lyrics

i
for anyone else wondering when it will stop
it won't
stop trying to fill the cup
bottoms been cut out
we'll always move across dimly lit rooms
and lick at our petal blossom wounds
waiting on someone to dress them
while ******* themselves

ii
if i could hide in the valley between your milky ribs
i wouldn't mind the sand
or storms
of stranger's fingers
i swear

yesterday
you said yes
and let me
come close
enough
to count
the freckles
i never
knew
you had

what use are such soft lips
if you kiss
even the most beautiful words
so brusquely

can't you see what i'm trying to do
it's about ******* time you knew

so cold it's almost hot
your face an apparition in the backyard lot

broken glass above snow above grass

i'll never again
look at any girl longingly

the glint in their eyes
never means
come here

instead it always says
*i know

lay low
in the grass
and laugh
as red sweeps your wrists
hands sway with stalks
of golden wheat

if only
just for two
or three
ticks
or
tocks
of the clock
you stopped
thinking of me

respectfully declining
an invitation
to have at
the pieces of your heart

overcooked, i would say

we don't all know that sinking

feeling

thinking

nobody else wants to understand me

as haunting
as the rigidness of your back
or suppleness of where that straight line leads

the windy city
won't let me light any cigarettes



no matter, second hand smoke rules these streets
and i'm already in love

no perks to being this wallflower