on the borderline, simple
thoughts guide breathing
patterns out from
the front porch: i
dream we
abscond, out through
blurred fencelines in
low light we trickle
through pockets of
wheat, the tumult of
everything under a
moon first distant,
gleaming and moving
creeks in your skin, pale
gold like i so often imagine
your eyes would turn
under the soft parting of
my lips. a ghost yet
unmade. haunted i, already.

in dreams, i do not have
you but
still, you take me by
the hand, utter warm silence,
make small motions, closer
by the day. i take out
my hairs one by one, clog
the sink a
tiny bit more. build an
ocean. sail to make
us, halfway. a wider
range, the only way out
a kiss on the wind. i
sent myriads, all lost;
still, maybe someday you'll
find one.

out under three thousand
shining points unstitching,
we mutually profess undying
nothing and graze skin. my
fingertips will never know
you.

dawn's echo, tender or fierce,
takes grip of looser teeth. these
loser teeth, i won't eat anything
(again).
this cold, immutable. frost-
bushed lungs. you'll
figure it out before i do.

one by one, my motives
are culled,
sugar for some crueler
weather's onset. i just
wait, and in the end
lament all stillness. peace
takes time, but mine is
all wasted. as if i'd drink less,
though. you'll get sober and
i'll find another gutter.

for a moment, i
believed i'd turn out
okay. i just lost sleep
instead. dreamt of nothing.
you are what you dream.
wake up earlier every
day. turn. pass time inside
another headache.

this crestfall yields but
permanence. make it out
south. i could drown i could
drown i could drown i
could drown but my lungs
are already full of water.

this: when your stomach
                                     hurts,
and you can't remember why you were ever happy and
           nothing is really even important,
                           especially yourself;
and you just sleep because you can't cope
                                                 and the sky is so beautiful,
but you can't feel sun dripping on your skin,
         and your bones are numb with electricity,
                             but it's just rubber,
               and you can't do anything,
ANYTHING.
           anything, because you're you and nobody else can be you,
       and the world is there to look at, so full of pretty things,
but, why look?

and it doesn't matter if there's somebody or nobody
                                                                or everybody, by your side,
because it's just this permanent moment
                           when the sharpness in your body is a droplet:
           it hits the ground and wrenches itself into shapes,
         patterns that coalesce,
      you are enraptured, the sight is burning
    into your retinas the emptiness that is
being.
   the glacier that is your soul tills white light and branches out,
      this creature that is cold and full,
               folly with soft ears and sharp teeth.

                             *****
                 patches of grass
         the birds are landing in your branches now
       congregational hazards
     social anxiety
       disillusioned, giving in
  but you don't mind the rest, there's only:
-you're on earth, and
-she's a star, and

stellar beings never come closer.

not for a moment.
they enjoy all views, from afar;
             witness your retching in a
          sad spectrum slideshow
       the bile spills out, tumbling
       across the sidewalk made
     out of her tied veins
   she is no god
we are free
   be empty
listlessly dragging stones
be empty

in singular dissection by batting lashes,
a regular pattern emerges:
to fall in eyes, change mind,
a hermitian allegory spun out
fingertips clustered on lies and
lonesome seeps in through the
concrete floor. i can't stand up.
i can't hold myself up, now.
i just collapse, most days.

the tides roll up and engulf the city in
a single blow. there is nothing but
drowning; i am so used to this that
i do not notice the corpses. just
my own, in the mirror. there
is no difference today. there is
nothing that is not the same.
the iteration carries through.

circles traced circles. curses
thrown to the wind. you don't
even know. you don't even
know. you don't even know
and i could just tell you.
but i won't. i'll just be sore
and sorry. bloodied, like usual.

and i can't hold myself up.

but i can carry you home,
tonight i could feign anything you
wanted of me. if only you'd want
some small ****** up something
like me.

if only

everything else confines a
space between eyes an
informant, i, capitulation
finally breaches the wounded
water. you facilitate this,
with only a small clue. i
didn't write conviction down
my arms for nothing. at
least i hope not, this hopelessly
dawning i, this reality in
which we gravitate. find
a path to your palm. a
visceral obeisance you
may find in my eyes. a
low hiss, my heart leaks
to make space for you,
oh darling anew, the
inside of my chest
is snowing.