child of two moons
        the harvest wheat grows
        diamonds
        on its stalks

daughter of the broken king
        your carousel’s chained bears and albino
        peacocks scream at night for
        their release

lonely lover
        the keyhole is  rusted since he last
        touched you
        the oil getting rancid

martyred saint
        your doe heart has an arrow of Cupid’s
        skewering through a demon’s
        confession written in fire

weeping widow
        your maid took your cup of tears
        to water the lilies giving
        root at his grave

sanguine seamstress
        do not stitch the bird’s
        wing that has bashed
        out its brains

non-existent soul mate
        your fingerprints stain
        my poems
        with star grease

lover whose number I lost track of
        I feel your footsteps ricochet
        within my bones please
        stop running I’m trying to sleep

Two cats were we, tangled together in the sunlight
drowsing in awareness of peace
and its war rising, with the proximity of our bodies

We die each night,  
Passports stamped
in invisible ink
to a realm where
the possible and impossible
shimmer
beneath purple sunsets,
Where the breath of imagination
bends eternity for a moment,
Wishes skinny dip in deep time,
Hopes burble into form,
And fears slither out to play.
As morning seeps into our lids
and the edges begin to blur,
We straddle two worlds
for an instant,
Then blink away the mystery,
a taste of death on our lips.

i can never find my drink
     it's not so much that i forget
     it's more so that i'm never around long enough to circle back twice
but that's alright
     i can always find someone's

i talk to myself
**** near constantly
     i'd like to think it's not to hear myself speak
     but to let myself think
the only time i get the chance
to say the things i've always longed to
is when i'm the only one around to listen

     i love to listen

i also love to eavesdrop
just to see how others talk
     when they're expecting only to be heard

i still don't believe in hell
     not as a destination
hell is some place within me
i dredge through it daily
and not a soul can save me
     guess that's why i've never feared god

no
     not god
but **** near everyone else

i've got this ******* anxiety
just welling within me
and what's worse
is that no one can see my crazy
     no
     just me
but it pecks at my brain
and howls at the moon
and consumes my thoughts whole

     i'm afraid of everyone
     always

i'm the most afraid of me

i'm afraid of the things i see in the mirror
     i fear for myself
that i'll never really grow up
     just more scared
     and angry
     and bitter
i'm afraid of my heart-rate
     climbing higher than your balcony
     until it factually breaks

but i somehow know i'll be okay
i feel it more and more each day
     because somewhere
     in my static-charged skull
     and double-time heart
     there is at least a little balance

     see
     i've got something that most people don't
          i really only know one thing:

if i ran into the six-year-old version of me
if we passed as strangers on the street
     she'd smile
and think that she'd like to grow up to be just like me

i still see you in my dreams

     you come and go in flashes of raw and sacred light
like heat lightning
     a mile and one half downstream
from my not-so-secret hide-out
amongst the limping cedars and smouldering sage

          and i?
i am the thunder

tap-dancing my way
through the ill-reviewed chapters of your life
     the same way that your nothern lights glow
through every lifetime of mine

          i found you, once
          and i'm miserable at letting go

for, oh
     you move so slow
          yet you're somehow far too hot to trail
like a commet lusting after its own tail
lacing our solar system
with the whimsy of wishes to throw in the air
     or the well
     or at the man in the sky
          who promises to keep us from hell

     it's just so bizzare
          how i find your missing heartbeat
               in every stray that mine picks up
and the way that you're stitched to my sole
     like my shadow's lone companion

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

i still can't write when i think of you
     my mind becomes clouded with scenes of the rearview
and of your freckles, too
and hidden hazel curls tucked beneath that dusty wollen brim
          
     oh, how i long to be the feather so lucky as to live above it

but sometimes we feel things
that can never be taken back
     not for a refund
     and certainly not for exchange

sometimes our hearts know more than our heads ever could

and your pulse should no longer be on the tip of my tounge
or the wheeze in my lungs
     though i'm starting to think that you'll always be

four years of scribbling nonsense
     and you're still the well that my pen tirelessly drinks from

Ill feed you honey off of a teaspoon in the morning
And I’ll cover up all the reflective surfaces and
hold you in the bathtub till about 2 pm

I’ll rub shampoo through your black hair until the water turns cold

We will read poetry under that big shady tree down the road
and chase each other in the maze at the library
but I’ll always let you catch me

You’ll eat out of my hands like a broken baby animal
on the back porch wrapped in an afghan
the colour of your eyes on a rainy day

We will turn on the lamps at night and count our freckles
while we are wrapped in the sheets

And if you still hate yourself after that
We will wash rinse and repeat
until you can look into the mirror and

see what I see