underneath me
my metal river flows still

these are my scars
and you will not take them
away

I used to long
for an eraser

now I will slash at anyone
who will slash at me

double strike them
remove the metal

but you can't remove
the memory.

Most days they toss me rocks.
I open the door and they
show me The Desert.

chairs litter the stage
and I carefully go
pulling the thorns off each
one of my cacti.

'drum sticks for you.'
'did you need a pick?'
'try that sentence again...
without that word...'

Door slam. Louder than the drums.

And during that time,
I am aware of the danger.
But it's not the kind you know in the
***** of a blade against your neck...
It quivers on the surface of
my reptilian brain
like a polluting film.

I go on blithely.
dancing on the concrete
jiving for education
slurs rolling off of
me like rain.

it's any day, in the midst
of the early morning car ride.
tears slipping onto my scarf,
down, into the lip of my traveling mug,
that it comes out to
my Father.

"Sometimes I hate this job...
but then they talk a bout love songs."

it's professional roulette
from day to day-
whether this afternoon
the trapped souls
will hand me coal
or diamonds.

Russian stacking dolls.

I layer like a jawbreaker
Folding one face
over the other.
My hello, smile, freeze frame.
Molten sugar shaped into points and curves
for eyelashes and lips.

In the days, flourescent and white
I lead, I direct, I juggle

Night spent, curled in the orange glow
bracing against the pain of
distance, wiping childhood away,
being the proverbial 'strong'
picturing your eyes
and mouth, both of us
mimes and mirrors for the other.

Conflict- do I open a portal
to the distance,
and
nod to our promise and hug you
with my heart

or fixate it on it, decline
and hold the refusal
in my mind, whispering into the pillow
consoling the dodge of not
trying to lie about salty cheeks.

'balance on the wet stones,
continue your creation.
You made this construct,
and you know the way through.'
-this is my feverish mantra.

But...
In this dimension I fracture my soul
to live forever, only to get through today,
this year
this week...
while we are on opposite ends of this
fearsome Bridge.

And when the lace comes, the celebration
the toast,  I ready myself to take our bright flare
the kiss, and our promise, back with me to my painful, green cave.

and hold it in the dark, cover it, too
in salt.

and pray with every bone and fiber for
the place where our timeline can
converge.

she said

"biology is ruthlessly cold, without a soul,
it makes you think
your only purpose in life....

is to reproduce"

but isn't that it?

that's the point.

to be blinded by biology, psychology.
neurotransmitters.
into reproducing happily with a partner.

someone to gently
warm you with their hand's caress
until death makes you both cold?

i remember the days,
i stumbled about the world
fooled blind by notions.

fool me again.

i learn instead
cells form tissues, organs, ***** systems, bodies.
that clench and bend with emotion and thought...

but never touch.
even when closest,
separated.

the pressure felt
our own cells squishing together
to make sure of that.

do you know...

do you know that?

we never touch...
betrayed by biology
i let science and fact go


the flood

the realization


we never touch...

we never actually touch.

and i never was actually warm.

My head falls
to the pillow

and I
breath in,
your soap
distinguishable.
Even in the night's dew.

it's all imagined.

you're not here.
we decided that
long ago
(or rather, i did).

We hugged this morning.
Breathing, as innocent as
the first.

The bee hung about our heads.
The only one who saw such an embrace.

Buzzbuzzbuzz.
a stolen moment
where our hands locked,
not intended
(like before),
only meant to bring you forward.

We were going to explore.

a lucky man hears daddy each day
twinkling braided love unveils clarity
thanks to the universe for silly cartoons
purpose defined in night light comfort

home
let me come home
home is whenever I'm with you*

Home is where I forget how the earth feels beneath my feet,
because you leap so high and take me with you.

Home is what you call the static the moonlight makes
when it bounces off my floorboards at
1:47 am.

Home is when my mind hears those three chords and
it hits the same way it did the first time
(even if the twiddle and the bend are different now then they were before).

Home is whoever makes me laugh until milk
(and soup and coke and twinkies)
shoots out of my nose in a fit of glee.

Home is when I forget to take out my trash but manage to hide it
)in my sister's room(
and nobody gets in trouble.

Home is your sweater,
(and socks and trousers and suspenders and cap)
on my floor,
letting blue
(you)
melt into green
(me).