My tree is just too cold
Gas is too expensive so I
can't run to the open road.
Reality hurts
My voice wants to be heard
My eyes are lonely too...
It hurts so much to be excluded
not knowing where to aim my sadness
or whether to call myself "isolated"
or "isolating"
I'm trying to say "help"
but no one understands my language
I am a different species
perhaps
is that why nobody talks to me?
I don't want pity
I ache for a moment
of connection and caring
and not-worrying-just-being
but nobody
wants to
connect.

I'm in the space between
wanting to cry from sadness,
and wanting to cry because
no one would care if I cried,
and wanting to cry because
no one would even look anyway.

Cruel laughter is in my mirror
and in my pool of memories
frozen over.

It's been so long since I've
felt so much at once
and wasted so much time
in so little space
and thought so much about
fire and music
and hid so much in
math and words
and wanted so badly
to have someone to share it all with.

[civiliz]ation made of a large
[popul]ation of people with tendencies of
[segreg]ation with no purpose and
[condemn]ation that just hurts us
[transl]ation: [****]ation


(suffoc)ation prevents (revel)ation

Wrap a scarf about your hairy neck,
something fur—something warm.
Drive an iceberg,
but don’t fall asleep at the wheel
(that is far too typical).

Follow the red dots lining the edge of the sky,
they will lead you to the drop-off
so you won’t be late for school
or work.
But leave time for coffee,
and always ***.

Listen to talk radio,
it will keep you in good humor
make your hair grow longer
fix your handwriting.
It is always important to listen with only one ear,
for you never know when God will speak.

Limit yourself to one meal a day.
You will shrink, sprout wings,
like the taste of beetles.
Remember the name of your grandmother, though,
it will be the password.

If your hair is long enough,
untie it and let it become a river.
It will stretch for miles
and you will never want for water,
but you might miss the stars
so watch closely, they like to play tricks.

Paint the trees blue;
they have never been that color.
And wash your hands—
the fine is hefty for changing things too much.
People become confused
and get lost when they do not recognize their own driveway.

When you arrive, present your passport,
show the whites of your eyes—
it is the only way to prove that you’re real.
You will melt and fall silent
your hands will become blue
(don’t worry, you are safe here).
No one will speak to you if you remember your ancestors.

Soon, you’ll reach the edge of the world.
Take off your shoes and drop them first.
Make your presence known
it is good to be small and silent,
that way, when you jump from the crumbling cliff of Earth
and you fly,
everyone will think you fell.

I get into those deep places
we're entering digestion
the inside skin station
where everything comes together
to admire each other in the most unconditional of ways.

people talk about people as if they aren't some kind of thing
animals can be things, passions can be things, kisses can be things,
even moments can be things,
If I had to measure the distance between you and me
there would be not one thing in the way,
but me.

You see, I've been trying really hard lately to forget you.
It's like you've got me walked with window skin so everyone can see inside, and my eyes are rockets,
exploding,
screaming,
telling everyone who can't read,
anyone who doesn't have the time,
someone writing in a diary with blue ink,
that even though we go by different names,
you and I are more similar,
than the same anything.

So if you thought I was going to talk about that
deep dark mask I hide behind, then leave
because the too soon has come and gone too far,
you came here expecting something,
and I tell you to go out of mercy from the overflow,
because this is me standing here naked
in a mask of who I really am, which really is no mask at all.

This is no show for sad folks who want to feel anothers broken heart,
this is a spilling of one to another, through the small crowd intimacy
we sometimes long for and are suddenly surrounded, because it's so much easier to say it's about someone else and to never use their name.

If in my eyes were your eyes
and yours mine,
then nothing would change but for the directions in which we look.

I guess this is about someone else,
but I want it to be about you for nostalgic purposes.

there's something different about wanting to touch your face and actually doing it.
that's how it always is.
you're the black-ink-on-paper-to-get-you-out-of-my-head kind of guy,
you're the never awake past noon because you don't want to deal with reality kind of mind,
you're one of those half-drunk, half-broken, half-idon'tcarebecauseyoudon'tcare kind of lovers.

one day I'm going to quit everything.


the cat laps milk
instead of water
from the palm of a mothers hand,
it's rough tongue leaving
purple lines
broken and deep
like the stretch marks that map her body.

She'll talk to me about her children
and the little things in her life that don't seem to matter much anymore,
and we'll watch people and assume things like people do,
and we'll kiss each other out of boredom
and she'll tell me to braid her hair,
because she wants to feel young again,
and I'll tell her to read me her story,
because I want to feel closer,
and she'll tell me about the cat
and she'll let me pet it
but she wont let me sleep in her bed
or put away the dishes
or kiss her on the days that she wears lipstick.

She reminds me of you,
except she's something I can feel.

What faults have the sword?
What weakness the bowl?
What strengths have their union?
What power the whole?

I wanted to believe my love was enough
to rid you of your demons...
but even if it was a good idea,
it was never enough.

Let me
trace your collar bone with my finger,
and then let my finger move to your neck
and linger,
if only for a moment or two.

Let me
feel your shoulder blades
as they sharply cut out of your back,
and confess to me
all that you lack.

Let me
put my arms around you
one more time
and tell you that I love you.

Let me
take in
the colour of your skin.

Let me
count the days
I've wished for this.
I'd trade them all for you anyways.

Let me
kiss the scars,
wish them away on stars,
and send them out to sea.

Will you let me?