i burnt
in
time
with the staccato
of the rain
howling
against
bars round
my room

i burnt
in
twisted words
an
unsaid
anger
and
riffing
nerves

i burnt
in
sanctuary
ice
cold
air soothing
frayed
hair

i burnt
in
whispers
echoing
in my
ears

i burnt
to
the ground
in the
heat
ed
words

P. B. J.
Peanut Butter and Jelly
P. B. J.
I eat this everyday
Is this really healthy?
Who cares? We're rats anyway
P. B. J.

Lying back on the scratched bench
I heard the sound of horns approaching
A sign of sorts maybe for me to move
I tempered my urges and looked up at the skies
As kids of the night chased each other
Through streets in dreams that stitched together
Their own world where socks were plentiful
Their cuts were because of paper and
Their houses were free from debt collectors
Flashes of yellow made me pitch forward--
I sat up, my back striped and riddled with
Holes of a dream that did not belong to me.

lately ive been lost
looking at others
hoping that there is
a life beyond and
bigger but reality
gets and stays bigger
with age; bills are
no longer in hand
they are just like
everything else-
numbers on screens
too bright to see
through the glare

They stand next to a kitchen island.
One clutches an orange peeling its layers,
her sweater casual and her hair tied back.
The other, with a tight smile,
gazing down at reflections on a bottle,
her hair loose and hands clutching the counter.
This is not our home but we break bread and
drink wine
on a night meant for blood relations;
we silently wish the world flat
so if we climbed high enough,
we could see them tonight.
I stand here soaking in the moment,
trying to capture the smells of cardamom
and cinnamon, sounds of the tv nearby,
Christmas lights strung up,
light-hearted laughter from
soon-friends soon-strangers.
We are perpendicular lines, meeting
at this house for a brief pause.
Our strange family of strangers
done up in monochrome-- our colors
brightened by laughter lines.

Dreamt of forcing politeness and eating
human flesh served at a dinner party.
We sat at tables looking our finest,
eating slow, my stomach and the knowledge
Taught to me in my crib fighting each bite.
That flesh continued haunting the inside
of my eyelids-- this was not my war; this
was not my struggle; this should never have
been my battle. Yet I see it in my
news, my tables, my tabloids, my back-alleys
and I-- I'm helpless, unable to move.