The craters look like a rabbit where I’m standing, and I can’t stand it
The poor thing is stranded up in a cold, frigid space
that’s reaching down to pull out my breath and water my eyes
It wants to **** me out and plant newer seeds
but the street lights have burnt out so I can’t bloom here
and god, I really, really hate walking home alone.
I’m craving sun and company and passion
but when you’re around, it’s a wonderland
The moon pokes its head out and now all the side-view mirrors are shining
dew sparkling and small eyes staring from treetops
And I love its light because I can finally see you
smiling at me in the dark
The crater on your cheek that only shows its bright side
when you want it to
I’m squeezing your hand so I never forget the feeling,
and dragging my heels so this never stops
I’m feeling small but I like the way your shadow towers over me,
floating down the street and away with our breath
And maybe it’s because we’re young and drunk
and just as scared of death but just as excited for the future
And whether that means we’re in this together or not
I’m happy to have known your name
at the very least

What do your ghosts look like?
Do they stare back at you from a sidewalk puddle below,
Or greet you with half-shut eyes from a shadow?
Do their hands lift you up in the morning and tuck you in at night?
You could lay me down but you could never pick me back up

Where do your ghosts live?
Do they haunt the places on your body where nervous hands were laid,
Trembling at skin, at stretch marks, at dips.
Or do they spiral up from your feet,
Wrapping like a boa during suffocation,
gasping for release?

How do your ghosts feel?
Like a tightening grip on the handle
Of a car speeding through a blurry city
Of a plane dipping too quickly
Like palms sinking deeply into your throat
pulling too quick too quick too hard, too bad
“You’re a shy girl, you know that?”

What do your demons look like?
Are they as scary as a lion showing its teeth?
Are they as tall as redwood trees?

Given the power I could make you weak
But maybe I’m as scary
As two eyes poked through a white sheet

If we’re stuck inside with snow up to our doorbells
Would we learn to play nice?
I can be a recluse on any floor -
Buried deep in the basement’s cobweb corner
Into the arms of an evergreen gently tapping against windows, ushering us down & out.
The thin line of sunshine from an attic skylight
Reminding us that winter has stolen our passionate burn,  
Or could we sit by the fire, rubbing hands
Breathing into palms,
feeling warm, alive, at peace.
Building snowmen with twirling hands,
packing memories & stories so tightly
that they could never melt.
And as the fire builds
As the winter drips away,
Do we love the roof we’re under?
Do we need the light of day?

look around
and what do you see?
tiny typewriters and woozy tightrope walkers
swirling in brain juice and memories only tangible in
lines on my palms
art on my arm
blinks of eyelashes
press against my eyelids a little harder
be a little sweeter
open the floodgates
banish the winter

i’ve ruined a lot of good pieces
by hitting the wrong spin cycle
putting them throw the ringer
dripping soap into their mouths
dampening their eyes.
impatience snaps the seams
of colorful fabrics best worn and torn
it’s still warm
and i think there’s still time
i need to set up the strings
and take my ***** laundry outside

small words
and lines
can be enough
to jog the mind
see, you’re doing just fine!
one
Small
Step
at
a time.

i want to be so in love and so enthralled
and so unassuming
the earth stops moving
and light pours in and pours in and pours in and shadows
dance in peculiar corners, shadow puppets laugh and fuzzy silhouettes
twirl on carpets, ankle twists and jumps
into your arms
For the last time
as if it were the first and time never
moved