to beautify the dust of me
someday
to call the will tamed
away near
to specify a psalm
heard once
to once touch
in eternity
to calm a worn frazzled
mind in
reminiscences looking
out  of
an old window stuck by layers
of paint
and sainted dreams withered lost
and quaint
all that is left like an elm leaf
blowing
in the winds of time and serenity
I hope of
destiny

the only difference between a safe house and
a prison is intent,

so don't lie to me.

i've bent bobby pins enough to pick it
apart,

the too close for comfort, the itch on your back,

how we tally it up, rally the rebel yells and the
outliers like broken lighthouses.

train tracks out of me, tack the endless question,
tackle me to the ground and start over.

I have enough scars, so forget it.

the food is on fire, but at least it's cooked.

cool metal handle, lukewarm water and smoke,
candle-like in the candlelight.

what was raw before is now ash. you've
made a difference, but

was it an improvement?

You haven’t
So we sing.
Off key
Out of tune
You and me
Swing dancing
To the sound of me
The sound of you
Fine, the sound of we
Swing dancing to our heart beat
There’s beauty here
Spin and dip
And our eyes lock
The microwave beeps

What if I told you I cannot breathe
For I know one day I will not
would you understand me?

Let me explain...

I get out of bed and sigh
I make my bed and laugh
I return to bed on time
I get out of bed and sigh
I make my bed and laugh
I return to bed on time
I get out of bed and sigh
I make my bed and laugh
I return to bed on time

For I know one day I will not

you're never too young
to have dead friends.
we take it in turn to read
every headline and obituary
just in case you turn up
while the police are out searching
for your body.
we tracked you to a train station
at five fourty five am this morning,
clearly leaving.
we'd spoken on the phone
for as long as i'd known you
but now dial tones don't
mean anything.
i'm almost certain every photograph that
you ever sent was of a different person
so who am i supposed to miss
and which face will i mourn?

there is ice cream in your hair again, it's strawberry like last summer and pink like broken plastic
there was a pretty boy on 38th street, he made me laugh because i used to think i could only love a six-petaled rose or a green garbage truck. but there he was & i think i might grow old
you hate when i complain, don't you, but that's okay because she'll always kind of make me want to die, or move to venice. either way i wouldn't get to see you again & i guess that's supposed to be sad.

hey isaac, it's good to have you back. i think we both changed a lot, you're a little dizzier now and im a lot less purple. i still can't give you my address because they repainted the old house. isaac, it's such an ugly shade of (beige?) now- it makes me want to forget the last four years. they cut down the juniper trees, too, i saw the dead flowers and i didn't cry
i don't think ill ever grow out of the shower or the floorboards. ill sit here forever, waiting for cement blocks & burning hair & suffocation

I saw him
wearing that black shirt of his,
and a tight brown pants.
riding his skateboard,
towards me.

he raised his hands,
signaling me
that it was him that i am looking for,
and that was few years ago...

Today, i saw him again
wearing a different black shirt
and a sweat shorts.
He said it's more comfortable than wearing a pants.
No skateboards,
just bus rides with me.

He raised his hands one more time,
signaling me
and still, after 3 months,
it is still him that i've been looking for.