you make moments
into masterpieces

my room becomes a chamber
a corner in the casket of time
a jewel-toned golden age
with a glossy guitar
and a red velvet case
and jungles through the window
and sunsets in your pupils
and you flow, into the sepia
of the chaise lounge and the
pastels of the curtains
and i sway, criss-crossed on the
chipped floor
and we float, on each note you pluck
and mercy love, you play for hours

how does the universe know
i love frozen fountains?
and church bells
and jet trails
and popcorn clouds
and boys with bright eyes?

travelling, patio, windows
door wide, arms wider and, "hey!"
i have to swallow the phrase,
"it's been so long"
because the air quit being cold
and the street quit being loud
and my mind quit caring which way my hair was blowing
and every speck of me has been held by this man before

behold, comfort at its finest

i want to touch him again
not that i need to
i can't help but feel like we are
already interwoven
and right away, language fails me
but maybe that's okay
maybe it's enough to be silently amazed
for a second, or several

how come the nickels shook as i took my change?
why couldn't i thank the barista before clearing my throat?

alas, we savor the saccharinity
in how cinnamon compliments cream
as pb&j suddenly goes with oreos

still, how can i sneak a glimpse of those eyes
without parching my windpipe again?
and how does he laugh at my jokes
and clap to my tunes
and how come i haven't known this precious soul for all of my life?

of course, how can i be certain
that i haven't?

salt and pepper bricks and broken glass
graveyard tales and a christmas tree in february and,
"we should go star gazing sometime!"
although i swear i've already seen the stars with this man
maybe even numbered them, named them
may have very well visited each and every one of them, too

"look at that light streak in the sky!"
because it's cool, but it doesn't amaze me
because i'm coming to realize
i could watch the moon rise up purple
over a lagoon full of lightning bugs
and it wouldn't be a lick more extraordinary than strolling across an empty parking lot
alongside this man

my chest sinks and soars synchronously
i've been here before
not this bench
but right beside the other heartbeat
upon it

trunk, guitar
treasure chest, citrine
instant homecoming

how can swapping songs resemble
taking an oath?
how can nineteen years amount to a mere ode to this moment?

scorpions, lions, and a pom-pom dog
he mentions his grandmother's passing
and his uncle's illness
and my chest wrenches like it did when
daddy mentioned mama's cancer
all those years ago
albeit, time does not drag
only dissipates into the freedom
that follows
after some puns and dumb questions
about antique bean grinders
which don't feel so dumb after all
because he doesn't seem to think so

i'm not nervous, not really
just in awe

i hate to admit, i lost track of the lyrics
for his song felt like a lifetime of its own
and the butterflies quit tremoring about
so my existence could hitch
with his cadence
for each chord he strummed
struck a nerve and
stuck more arrows
through my heart and
i'm sure
i've come to a
conclusion
one of which i can't express in the moment
one of which i have a feeling
will put words to shame anyhow
but nonetheless,

i have heard this song before

perhaps, i used to live in it
and he in mine
perhaps, this is what resurrecting
sounds like

the strange isn't so strange anymore
my nose drips, my finger bleeds
courtesy of winter
and i could kind of care less
because he's speaking french over there
he's sharing stories of karaoke and concerts and kangaroos
and i'm getting drunk on every word
he's saying my eyes are pretty
and i'm blushing and struggling to imagine an adjective that tells him
just how much prettier his are

mirror shattered
before we reached it
maybe we don't need it anymore
not when we can look into eachother
and just know
i want to reflect him, i want to shine for him
and i want to wonder why
yet i don't

there's no time
it must have slipped and died back in the coffee shop
somewhere between the first hug and the first sip

somewhere between muddy creek cafe
and low gap
and ireland
it starts to feel like less of a small world
and more like fate

somewhere between the second hug and the see you laters,
the sun set in sheets of ocean and heaven
and somewhere between the gold and shades of blue
i saw it
so this is what his eyes are made of

how does the universe know?

where did she live?
nobody's sure.

was she nice?
sure, the nice that borders naivety.

did i ever meet her?
maybe once or twice.
but you were far too young, and she was too far gone by then to have remembered.

what was she like?
a lovestruck ghost.
a runaway drunk on stolen scotch and romance novels.

what was his name?
we stopped saying it.
he gave her hell, and then some.

what else did he give her?
envelopes postmarked "Vietnam"
then some from a prison in Vermont.

did she have kids?
yup, your cousins, Amy, Tab and Brandi.
she never knew them, though.

did she miss them?
she wrote songs, then hitchhiked to Nashville.
sang all about those girls of hers, but never really said a thing.

did you miss her?
she wasn't the missing type.
she was always moving, we were always guessing which side of her we were meant to love.

what was her favorite color?
never thought to ask.
but she wore lots of patterns, kinda like a mask, i guess.

what about holiday?
life itself was just one long day in her world.

were her eyes brown like ours?
probably.
but too wide and dim and glazed to spot much resemblance.

do you think she was lonely?
probably not.
she had him to chase, wherever he wound up, whenever she wanted to.

so she really was in love?
since she was thirteen, she claimed.
just a kid, and we told her she was crazy, but she didn't believe us 'til it was too late.

how did she die?
with his name on her lips
biting her tongue until she bled to death.

what was her name, again?
well, she called herself "Lacey Maye."

counting blossoms
can't smell them, not through the cold
few hundred on this tree
few more at my feet
tragic
last thing we need
is for spring to die young

"I meant to ask you how to fix that car
I always meant to ask you about the war
And what you saw across a bridge too far
Did it leave a scar?

I meant to ask you how to plow that field
I meant to bring you water from the well
And be the one beside you when you fell
Could you tell?

Gone now is the day and gone the sun
There is peace tonight all over Arlington
But the songs of my life will still be sung
By the light of the moon you hung"

i hit myself again
head to wall
knuckles to sand bag

i smoked too much again
dabs and backwoods
it was fun to hide in

i cursed myself again
spit to mirror
what a stupid, stupid girl

i ran too fast again
skin to pavement
it was fun to faint in

i lied to them again
didn't mean to, i'll do better
'til I can hit and smoke and curse and run
all I want to.

there comes an age
which i have reached
in which i love
to take my turn
at making Mama
laugh like a
little girl

They always leave me, dear
Where else is left to go?
There's nothing for me here.

Stars glint the wind as mirrored
Kaleidoscopes, but oh-
They always leave me, dear.

Not one, but days of tears
I reckon you must know
There's nothing for me here.

A night so dreamt and sheer
I'm lured by sleep, but no!
They always leave me, dear.

What life is mine to clear?
Which carousel of snow?
There's nothing for me here.

Paint sunrise in my ear
I'll welter, wilt, and so-
By dawn you'll leave, my dear.
There's nothing for you here.

from
forest to fireplace
trunks
were loaded onto log trucks
and, like dark magic
century-old trees
became ash
in an evening

my grandpa never smoked
but he worked in a tobacco factory
for thirty years
and one day,
on a wall of a bathroom stall
in that tobacco factory
he saw something scribbled
so he copied it down
on a napkin, he said
then carried that napkin in his pocket
until it fell apart
twenty years later

yesterday,
my brother wore a cap and gown
and gramps gave him a card
in which he'd scribbled down
"success is getting what you want
happiness is wanting what you get"
then he drove back to the cabin
in the foothills, where he lives
and my brother lit a cigarette

this is not a drill
just a miracle
we don't need wings
he has sunshine hair
and sky blue eyes
and they are falling
on me

crimson spray paint
chipped off the
dinged aluminum frame
our dear friend
"the steel skeleton"
daddy rigged that go-cart
to push forty
felt like

mercy, we charged
wild onions
bubbling sun
rope swing
whipped, weaved
clothesline posts
threadbare tires
churned the dirt
that'd raised us

you squealed at the turns
of course you did
i was wild back then
burning rubber
cross clover patches
racing crows
and then the bats
until those holes threw us off
the ones our dog had dug
the ones we never thought to fill
once we'd buried her
beside the barn

whack!

ching and crackle
we'd been flipped
fumes all around and
on the motor
steering wheel
clamped my leg to pedal
i shook it off
but the buckle
mama had installed
did its job and
trapped you there

swoosh of blood in my head
and heat closing in
i found my feet
our crash site ignited and
flames lost their lustre
once they brushed blond hair

crimson sprayed
over dandelions
dribbled from your chin and
as i screamed for mom
for dad
for god
for you
i swore
to never drive again

hours alive
seems like less
feels like more

i remember the day
i turned double digits
daddy's guitar and mama's punch
made sure
ten years old
was my favorite milestone.
nigh is the night
i'll strike double decades
and neither daddy's guitar or mama's punch
can stop twenty
from becoming
my least favorite milestone.

often i long for
the years we were kids
because all folks would ask was,
"aw, are y'all twins?"
oh, we were tickled
but nope
just brother and sister

now, that we've grown up
yet haven't grown apart
everywhere we go it's,
"aw, are y'all boyfriend and girlfriend?"

oh, brother!
we must be destined to laugh

Here I am
Powerless
As my teenage dream
Comes to an end
Pulse quickens
Eyes damp
Just like waking
From a nightmare
Here in the twilight
I declare
If I must chronicle myself
In accordance to calendars
That teenage dream
Can be crossed off
For as of now
It is over
This
Is where I really start

.
             I've learned some phrases...

She'd say
Goodness gracious, sakes alive!
To everyone and their uncle
In a month of Sundays

He'd say
You're dumber than a bag of rocks
And the straw that broke the camel's back
But I love the bones of ya

She'd say
I declare!
If wishes were horses, and
Wicked, in a good way

He'd say
No ****, Sherlock
That's what she said
Ya dig?

                     ...from some friends
                                                         ­            ·

cousin george lives next door
and he was pacing
both our lawns when
i showed up for supper.
see, he's the sort that sleeps with
his hands in fists and,
out of nowhere he spat,
"shirley ain't home!"
to which i said, "i know she ain't
i saw little shirley in town today
she got her nails done red
and some lingerie to match.
and then she boarded a train
down to baton rouge
after trading her tip jar in
for some shoes
without the ruby heels to
bring her back."
and he said, "well surely she'll call!"
i said, "i know she won't
you can hold back tears, but let go of
the hope
that you're ever gonna see your little
shirley girl again.
no, she didn't pack a bag
but she had her guitar
'twas all she came here with
and her eyes full of hearts and
you can't take a cajun queen
from lousianne.
seems your shirley's got herself a
creole man."
and of course,
cousin george didn't like that,
not one bit
but it wasn't my fault
i just said what shirley had requested
sent my crooked cousin george
on a wild goose chase
while shirley rode a greyhound
to somewhere up in maine
least i could do was
help that sweet little dame
finally get away
from my crazy family!