you know?
sometimes you think
          i am the only one
          writing the whisperings of the world to eager pages
          they strain their lined ears.
but the lines fall flat
hang limp as clotheslines
wait for the next dull batch of words to droop on the line.
hanging the writer out to dry has a completely new side to it.
you are not the first to shiver during a goodbye kiss
taste nostalgia in an ice cream cone
marvel at a shattered beer bottle on the blue-black asphalt.
and you’re not the first to believe you might be the only one.
but you know?
you know?
you are the only one
          who makes me shiver
          i remember to eat between spoonfuls of you
          admired your aim and laughed when you missed the trash can.
i’ll pick up the words when wind blows them off the line.
i’ll pick you up
my ears are eager.

you are not in your room
i throw up the things i want to say
all over your bed
they are messy and violent
will you sleep tonight?

i have not slept since that time
under the monkeybars at the old playground
your mouth held the taste of old love
when i wanted something that was entirely mine
i was selfish and a child
i did not understand
how she ate chunks of your heart
and left only poison
my stomach cannot digest leftovers
not yet.

i burn in fires
but flames do not scorch my bones.
i walk over the ashes---quietly, invisibly.
i am not the type people would look at and say,
          juvenile delinquent.
          that’s a bad, tough girl.
          there’s a girl with grit in her mouth and a tongue coated in ash.
they see quiet and good; i wear glasses.
it is two-thirty
the darkness outside makes me itch.
earth blisters under bare feet
face wholesome and clean
no char marks on my cheeks
lungs burned to the third degree
and i cannot stop. do you not see the pyre i’ve lit?
go away before i brand you too.
kick down the doors on your way out; they're crumbling anyhow.

I think I have gone quite mad at times.
People with vague faces in the walls, in the
Trees laughing, swinging on the set no longer there...
You there, you! Prove to me
Your reality.

Crush your pinky nail for me now, sweetling, let
The white material spread softly as a cloud
Under that ridged keratin, smash it
Gently with the rough love of the snakemother to her young.

Who are you, who stares with pleading eyes of insanity
And trembles open-lipped with devils stuck
To the backs of your molars---bite down,
Crush the ******* already.
By god! Only do not
Bite your cloudpinky off.

Save it for an ungodly sunny day.

he was so alone
standing under that tree in the dark
scuffling at the wet leaves with toes of unlaced sneakers
one earbud in, no music playing

i wanted to reach out and touch him, walking by
dig my shoe into the leaves by his foot
make a tunnel for he & i to escape
          ---run from dripping branches and the crushed smell of autumn
          that constricted the air above us---
but i passed the boy by
and pressed myself to a tree twenty feet from his

he dug up the dirt with busy feet
my feet itched, they twitched with his
we deepened our tunnels...
i guess you could say?
would it be right to think,
we are alone together.

Full of cliches,
My words are trapped---twisted
Around and under thick slabbed
Tongue that fumbles
Unconvinced of its syllables.

Smokethoughts cling
Sullen to enamel backs,
Graveyard angels
That smirk at those heavy
Tombstones;
Monument to language’s death.

i keep on discovering words, finding them stuck
fast in tight corners and under dust
on the top of a bookshelf, they gum to my shoe soles and rub
against my pants when i walk.

they are everywhere, they are in the air
i breathe, they describe the inside of me perfectly going down
swallow and choke and burp words
they will not leave my mouth alone.

when i apply lipstick they wait eager
little children on the cap
          can we describe, can we describe?
firetruck sin apple-picking stopsign pomegranate candyred.
red red red?
          ---but it can’t be just red!
let us name it for you, let us
stiffen your lip and curl your tongue with the perfect word.
scoff. red?
we can do better than that, my dear.