the inside of her legs are numb
she spits poetry out like chewing gum
tan thighs - brown eyed
"you're a monster, kiss me goodnight"

spinning lights inside her head
the blind spots come, she'll leave you dead
ask for taco bell and then she runs -
leaving your trousers half undone

black and blue drip from your eyes
"she said she loved me, then she died"
sleep in the backseat to sweat her out
i have no idea what this poem is about

i
She was sick of hero's,
of the boys who tried to save her from herself.  
Her world had become a constant blur
of innocent liplocks and hair neatly parted,
of well-made beds and early curfews,
of speed limits and no trespassing signs.  
She was trapped within the parameters of goodness,
condemned to the ideas of sweetness.  
She wanted to succumb to something,
to submit herself to the darkness of a boy who didn't want to be fixed.  It was a realization she had the night she saw him,
truly saw him,
a boy who had been a stranger in a bar
and weeks later became the fixation she couldn't manage without.  

ii
One night he appeared in the doorway of the bedroom,
soft blue light illuminating his face,
nestled behind his nose
and under his lashes.  
The crease of a smug grin forming at the corners of those lips.  
He knew exactly what he did
and it tempted her all the more.  
He was a villain, a cold blooded creature, a criminal.  
His mouth reminded her of the demons in all of her nightmares,
the hooded figures reaching out to grasp her hands
and pull her in with only the gentlest touch
to let her think she was still in control.  
Those haunted sheets and his pouted lips
were enough to keep her stirring until dawn.  
He hadn't even touched her,
but he managed to keep her squirming under the thought of him.  
He was salt in her eyes and sugar on her tongue.  
He had shown her the true meaning of corruption.

iii
And then it was over.  
She wasn't sure they were done,
but she left anyway.  
He screamed and told her to do what she wanted,
but she chose to live.  
His tousled hair had become too messy for her,
his temper didn't exclude her anymore.  
She was not weak,
she was terrified.  
She was drowning.  
And when the sea had finally come for her,
he didn't follow.  
The swells pulled her deep beneath the surface,
invaded her lungs
and the strain on her heart felt like his fingers across her ribs.  
He let the seas foam lap against his toes
and then watched her foam at the mouth,
her pupils dilated,
skin pale.  
She was swallowed by the swift currents,
consumed by bursts of blue,
his eyes no longer defined the color.
He wasn't there.  
Those nights spent over the bathroom sink,
perched on the fire escape,
hidden beneath sheets,
he wasn't there.  
She knew the feeling all too well
and that things lose their shine under water.  
But at least she had found a home in the abyss.

i dropped to my knees
digging deep for water
     and felt the clay take shape beneath my fingers

this place
     this is home

so from the dust i sculpted doorways
          and windows
          and halls
     lifted up walls
and made myself a castle out of the sand

now i drink beer at the edge of paradise
and ask the thirsty to come inside
     and play in the shade


i never ask them to stay
     but neither do i point them towards the door

Autumn racing red and gold
behind half-open eyes of icy blue.
27th Fall. Step into cold
          and race through
          alleyways I've known.
A crunching stride, solitary breaths.
               Staccato notes
banged out on sidewalks' grey scales...

               ...I'm every inch
          of this softened ground,
these shoe treads, hieroglyphics...

               ...My town appends
                      its runic fate
                                    onto
              my story's granite page.

Crisping air, engulf my lungs.
Ensconce my face in drowsy weather.
Sleepy eyelids, sliding down
to Main & Dow Street. Watch me hover
                                         along the margins.
These last 4 months of quiet aching
engraved in me come roaring out now.
               Autumn streets stay silent.

And Kendrick Park
               has whispered low
                              in bashful rustling;
I climb the boardwalk,
               my thoughts are gilded,
                              responding slowly.

The breeze abates,
               it's halfway warm.
                              Bellevue & Lewis
I am a statue;
               smooth, cold marble,
                              still in November.

And, soon, the Summer comes with angry glares.
And, soon, this stony face will disappear.

These months will always linger in me.
Does my ghost haunt this place already?

I'll return here every Autumn when

October signs off on the Summer's death.

And I'll be tracing all your features with

forgotten footsteps' ancient hieroglyphs...