I've grown far too old for this body
and dragging these bones feels like a constant battle

I tire of the Venice Beach lifestyle
all the ******* romances,
those hot sandy beaches
and one night stands,
strange sunburnt embraces
and sideways glances,

won't you take me to Paris?
where the skies bleed in colours
with its cobbled streets,
cafés and nicotine tainted prophets
where the dreamers dream deeper
and the kisses are sweeter.

he says don’t get too comfortable
i say it is not in my nature to do so

this is a man who stood on the edge of the mountain to make me laugh
and moved across the country three weeks later

he invited me in to see his stained glass window
but i had work in the morning and anyway his hands felt like

the roots that grow out of potatoes that you leave too long in the cabinet
knobby and altogether alien, uncomfortable and unyielding.

he plays with light and i have nothing to do with it
no emotion compared to Popsicle Boy or to the ever-logical Elbows.
(i thought i should bring him up because i love him)
but he let go on the day that I was concerned with the pottery wheel
and it was graceful and unimportant at the time

now its all a wash
and i miss the clay hidden behind my knees on the days we’d climb up to mountain for ice cream and giggling.

Artichokes will always make me think

of you drunk in Vermont on your 22nd birthday.

Giggling and tired from the rocks of the mountains

you spilled both our drinks and wrung your hands

in complete defiance of giving a ****.

the cab drivers always look hopeful
and the bicyclists always seem scared
but it feels like my ribcage birdhouse could stay

it’s my version of home that lives in my chest
past the honor of winters plaid sleeves and silver glasses
it’s room for just me and my clothespin wrists fold up to fit inside
and my braids tickle my nose while i’m there

i can get anywhere from there
and it’s exactly where i always return

there’s a dinosaur on the corner of my favorite place
and all his friends remind me to stay happy
as they stand by and good bye the places i need to go


and i walk up the thousand and six stairs to the top
more alone than i wanted to be
and i am quiet
and i listened but that was the day that the city shut up

and i’m always looking for motorcycles out of the corner of my eye because you pause conversation to watch them fly by
and i know for a moment there your head gets lost

just exactly where you like it


or at least i think you like it

I lost my heart when I moved to the city

and I lost my Sunday blues

I found myself a new kind of family

and I found my way back to you

It was a long long road past the bones of the lonely

where my wandering soul met yours

there was a garden filled with the promises of Sarah

the day that we walked blind

to the ghost of the moon and the men that we left

but I found my way back

Sometimes the days feel like a train

and I’m running and running

and the wheels turn louder and louder

with those weird bar things that fascinate me

steel on steel on steel

And it’s too loud, I’m going too fast,

and just when I think I’ll be thrown under,

I remember that I was just riding my bike anyway.

You are the moon in my sky

And the only hand to hold mine

You turn my long braids into time lines

past the world and before we both were here

past everyone and everything near

back before the sun could shine

back before you were mine

From London

From Home

From Places Unknown

The snow falls around me

in the peacock window light

the trees wave hello to me

while I find a candle to fight

Just let me catch my breath

we spend time wandering through the towns that our father chose

and we spend days looking for the perfect garden rose

because i’ve seen men who stand behind their father’s grave while they hand a gun to the hand they shake and they wait and they wait and they wait

a woman walks into the street with a gun and a boy walks to school wishing he had one

and we hate and we hate and we hate

I’ve stood at the wall and I chased down the hall your sister ran towards the light

we danced in the morning while my brother was snoring and we held each other tight

I’m learning to travel light. A backpack, a mandolin case, and a water bottle. That’s enough. A black skirt, an extra pair of wool tights, and a teeshirt big enough to sleep in. Headphones.

my sister asks me when and where and why I’m coming and going and leaving and staying

I’m packing up

I’m always packing up

but my suitcases are getting smaller, more efficient, less attached.

I can’t keep track myself