I’m sorry, can we go back?
I think I’ve left my head at the door
I think I let myself get lost
I let myself forget myself
I meant to let myself out earlier
I met you to meet myself
I’ve left myself to meet you
I think
I’m sorry, can we go back?

you know i'm in trouble
everyone does

but i'm not going to stop now,
i weave you into my mind's tapestries

i make up stories about us, i choose
you to star as the lead

i miss you when i'm with you, the parts
you choose to hide
you remind me to be calm and
accept what i can't see

but i want you to be mine
in all capacities

under the pretense of sleep
i lay down to be kissed and constricted

your fingers, the rolling docked boats
my mouth, the harbor

it's too easy, us,

and i want to keep it that way

I have made a flight
to the shining lights
subway cars rattling and rolling
shouldering groceries with raw red hands
rooftop champagne sunsets

I have been carried by winds
and currents who
tell me to try in the face of failure
and debt and loneliness and heartache

I have grown and wrapped my
hands around the sizzling iron
held ashes and dust and let it fall through,
crushed the doubt

Little bones,
covered by the tissue paper white skin,
is going to hospice,
is going home.

He is thirteen, with the body of an old man
and a frail voice that is beginning to
float away,
and no one can stop it from happening.

i'm imagining a hike in the Appalachian
next to pine trees and waterfalls.
my heart is a dali painting, dripping
goo for you

every conscious wave of breath
i'm wondering how you feel about it all
and i'm crossing myself mentally

because in 30 days i'll be in the City
and i won't be your wife in the forest
and i won't be here to notice how empty you are

where do i put this un-used love?
i ran out of reasons to call you, i fought against it for years,
and now you know.
where do i put all of these tender touches?
my pockets aren't deep, my hands are full.