we were
standing
on the fault lines
of our ugly shadows　

and whispering
through
heat and dust
when

we remembered,

sometimes

it is okay
to scream.

we might
be cursed with
ugly shadows
but

just think

of how
the sun
loves:

loudly.

you are here because
you come and go.
like a tide pool, she said.
the waterbottles have gone warm
and you don’t mind.
by the ocean you already understand
that you cannot know everything.
there will always be people
who decorate sidewalks
in a sleepy slaughter,
stepping on berries
they don’t even know
the name of.

and you remember that program
you stopped on while she was out
fetching the mail. the camera locked on
to people painting their bodies
with the seeds of fruit.

the moon and your candles,
that night.
washing you both
in a pineapple glow.

you are here because
you come and go.
it must hurt, to have a body
nineteen years young, she said.
crawl out of the cave
and listen closely, now.
the ghosts on the shore
are here to tell you
a sad thing.

love is no longer
the summer solstice
you dreamt of once.

a man,
walking
in a slow dream

caught
in the last light
of who left before him

follows
a lost youth, where
the air is still sweet,

where
the shade, wild
as the flowers

who carved them
on her shoulders:
the very same ones

violins
all over the world
ache for.

beyond
the lazy labyrinth
of fingerprints,

beneath
the spring dust
settling atop

the sun
hiding under
her half-moon eyelids,

his fluency
returns to him
in her taste.

love:
to be stung
alive,

love:
where all are wise
but he.

for the man
who walks
in a slow dream

knows
nothing
of she

who
put him
there.

moss outgrowing angels
in the baby fog
of dawn.

the place
peeling stories
out of you,
the pretty face
invading you,
making you want
to talk to someone,
anyone.

he calls it eden.

here, the fingernail moon
is playing modest.

here, the stars
have room to think,
and because they think

they also want to know

about why words tremble
under the tongue, how
body beats brain,
and they beg, but

how do i tell them
about the man

with the laugh like confetti
breaking the sun into fire,
that sweet, sweet fire
of constellations that bite
my nerves, about the man
forging the sky on his chest,
the lightning in my legs?

he was there, you see,
from the first handshake
to the fatal heartbeat
at the other end
of the vein.

blood thinning under
quick kisses of glass,

the words fidgeting
out of our wounds
mean nothing,

the mouth spreads
like butter.

ankles protest
and i float to you,

but it looks like
you're leaving
for that world,

back to that world,
where we smile at screens
instead of at each other.

i take Solitude by her hands
and tell her, i'm in love.


fingers ripened by
moonlight, milky
and cold, like stones.


my skin changes colour
when she touches me.
it hurts, lately.
i wilt, i pray
she doesn't see.


but the dark, heavy
gloss that becomes
her eyes.


i distract her, sometimes
the truth works, too.


i take Solitude by her hands
and tell her please stay.
i tell her don't leave me,
i tell her i need you.


she calls me a liar, she says
there's no more room
for me in your heart.


it's the way you look at trains
until they are no longer.
you wait for the tunnel
to swallow.  


i've never taught you that.


you think i can't tell?


how you watch the marquee
for anyone else but you.
god, i can hear you so clearly.
"that's the one you want, sir.
it leaves in four minutes."
but please, won't you stay
a little longer, and
speak with me?


it's the way your body responds
to the doorbell, she says so
quickly, too quickly, it gives you
away, even if it were the devil
himself, you would not hesitate.
but please, won't you stay
a little longer, and
speak with me?


i take Loneliness by his lips
and tell him, this should be
done slowly, i tell him
to be careful with her
colours and lovely guts
and creeks, that lazy water
happening, happening
when we sleep, i tell him
that i need her but
i don't know how
to need without
wanting any more
anymore.  


i take Solitude by her hands
and tell her, i'm in love.


teeth get in the way and
her eyes close, she says
i cannot feel you.
you've already left.


i take Loneliness by his lips
and welcome him, inside me
a storm steeps, cloudy
and somewhere else,
a fire, snapping.

one day, a name
will escape the body.
the lungs, the mouth,
the minute hand
happening
   just
      like
         this.


shelter has changed,
no longer being
disguised in you--i
disappear. your shadow,
too, no longer shade.
it feels like smoke.


(such sweet smoke.
darkness, **** on
the tongue, sweet
down the throat.)


and while all this was
happening somewhere
inside me, the nectar
dissolving, the poison
becoming--i bet
you could not ignore
the sorry taste of hallelujah
dangling
   from
      your
         lips.

the view out the window from
the night stand. not as colourful
as they make it seem. more like
an accidental
discovery. more like
the last traces
of winter.
clouds that look like
chalk. communication
in a coma. i am overflowing
with empty words.
i am being
extinguished. by
feelings that
are not there. by
feelings that
should be there.

i had a nightmare about you
afterwards. and even there
i only thought one thing:
this isn’t what i pictured.
this isn’t what i pictured
at all.

someone once told me,
“distance suits you.” i think
i finally understand them.

wouldn’t you agree?

after all, no one can
pull off the look
of two strangers
better than we can.