call me Pluto--
for I am tucked
Away into the
darkest corner of
the universe where
forgotten stardust collects,
hidden behind gaping
shadows--
never with the  
the privilege of
being sun-kissed
and obliterated by
the warmest star.

Soft and smooth, I am not
married yet but
the bed knows me
well.

Jazz hands, sucker
punch, daintily like
ballet -- I am in
full bloom.

Crescendo with my
fingertips, petunia,
rose. The bed knows
me well.

Warm, disgust,
the ****** of the orchestra.
Plush, a slight stir
and a deep breath.

I marry in the bowels
of the night, ink,
glint stars. Lovingly and
pressing, I do
my own.

Death
the final vacation,
destination unknown.
I just hope its all inclusive,
I left my wallet
in my other suit.

i've written sixty eight poems
on adderall in an hour and all of them
are living up and getting married
having kids and taking three week
vacations in the carribean
living fulfilled lives under no control

healthy, fruit dripping naturally
even when things go wrong
they sleep soundly.
i am distracted by how perfect they are
and admire them with jealousy
when i should be asleep

woke with hypothermic and shaky skin
a thought: we are made of street lamps
and damp grass feet dripping dew tonight

we live in the color blue under electric moon
and my skin and clothes will be lined up
on top of the dresser for you to sink your teeth in later

my hands are cold in their lipping grasps but your
hips are warm, and desert breathes dragonfly
and smells of chlorine, our legs kaleidoscope

in the pool's reflection.
i am still cold, i am still in spring breaks
broken and inviting your scent back in my life.

your absence is
like the aftermath
of the storm

i'm left to wonder
whether i prefer
the desperate
insanity you blew
into my life

or the deadly
silence.