"bedframe" poems
when I see us its at the white-sand beaches
the scent of turmeric in our hair and
wild quicksilver kisses—
why does salt turn up in your
sweat when inches away from you it laps at your feet miles
away crashes against the
cliffs of dover
does the sea rush through your
veins through your eyes is that why our
seagull cries scatter to the
muriatic air the buoy of the
bedframe bobbing against the wall my hips anchored to
yours should I learn how to
sail
Sep 27, 2012
Sep 27, 2012 at 1:45 PM UTC
Spanking and biting
Tying me to the bedframe
You make pain pleasure
May 23, 2018
May 23, 2018 at 8:12 AM UTC
I awoke this morning with all my
nanoseconds whizzing by—
spiraling, they broke for their exits,
they disarrayed my sky.
Each now and now and now
seemed a face, flash color,
many worlds. I could not sense
their place of start or stopping.
Morning sun peeped blue curtains.
I tried my usual breath, felt
heartbeat, wiggled foot.
My dog, he stretched
and bumped my bedframe
with his chest.
Against my fear I placed and pushed
messages of gratitude.
I thanked all things changing
and all of changing time.
Rather than elsewhere, I was here.
Instead of dead--
alive.
May 24, 2015
May 24, 2015 at 7:35 PM UTC
She said
When you're done slaying dragons
and fighting for thrones
will you come back and stay for a while?
But there are not enough puddles
Not enough dirt
He is the king of the living room
when the carpet is lava
Don't come out of the kitchen
The carpet is lava mommy
She says okay
and watches as he jumps from couch cushion to chair to tile
to save her
There will never be a man in her life who can save her like he can
No man who knows the exact distance from doorframe to bedframe
so the hands underneath will not get them
if they jump right
No one's ever thought to save her
From the things she cannot see
I wish I were old enough to use a saw
He is stomping a tin trashcan lid flat
Cuts kite string with his teeth
Discovery says its duck season
If I have armored wings
and get hit by a shotgun
I'll still be able to fly home
I wish I were a shark
I wish I were the wind
I wish I was a lost boy but didn't have to be lost
Can I be a boy forever
and still get homesick?
If peter pan came and offered to whisk him away to neverland
The hardest thing would be for her to let him go
Maybe he can be a boy like ten more years
she thinks
With fistfulls of crayons
and constant pleads for one more of everything
Just one more night as a boy
Just one more day as a dragon
Just one more day as a bird with steel wings
One more day as the wind
But she knows he'll be a man
And he'll visit
and call
talk about
The damsel in distress he met in college
When he saved her at a party
How she spent the whole night laying on his chest
While sleeping on the grass
And for some reason
The cold biting air smelled like home
She knows mothers raise the best men
Because they know what they want in a man
It's not always okay to be your father's son
She says,
When you're done with dragons
and steel winged flights
and being emperor of the living room
Be honest
Women love men who are honest
Smile about everything
Smiling is attractive
and sometimes it's all you need to make yourself feel good
Call me now and then
Or I'll call you every five minutes
Now go
The wind is calling you home
Apr 21, 2012
Apr 21, 2012 at 3:17 PM UTC
With frosty breath and empty-shell shoes,
I await the steady driver who returns for me,
to hurdle our car down cliff into sea
with cracked headlights and bowtie come undone,
what more could Night or Water honestly have won?
Moon painted gleam masterfully upon my eye
from falling trees and ivy-shined leaves,
whispered in their ears from knoll-bound knaves,
"The sun gone over, never to return for you."
They watch for pleasure, sent-to-ground from dew.
I ramble on and on along rocky coast line
over iron guard rails with trusty companion,
head-tilt weighed a stone above water,
gone plunging in toward black surface below,
face-first and tongue-tied with heart so hollow.
Up, up, awake. All but a dream.
Soaked tie above bedframe,
slept in mustard blood sheets.
Aug 28, 2012
Aug 28, 2012 at 12:06 PM UTC
Leave, left, leaving
I never felt the grass weaving
I never felt my skin peeling
off my shoulders and into my hands
Bent, break, breaking
I never left my hands shaking
I never held my throat, aching
down my spine and into the bedframe
Held, hold, healing
I never kept my knees kneeling
I never felt my mouth bleeding
off my chin and onto my chest
Heal, hell, heaving
I never slipped my hands, thieving
I never caught my feet leaving
off the grass and into the street
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 2:15 AM UTC
Tie me to my bedframe with shoelaces
Touch every inch of my body when I can't resist
Touch me, Please me, Long for me
Tied to my bed with shoelaces
Dec 26, 2019
Dec 26, 2019 at 1:47 PM UTC
He’s screaming your name
In the middle of the night
You run down the hall
Ready for a fight
Your gun is drawn
And you crash through the door
Your bare feet are cold
On the old hard oak floor
He’s tumbling and turning
And can’t keep still
The nightmares plaguing him
Of those he’s had to ****
He’s tangling himself within the sheets
So you step forward, put your gun away
Your expression drops, just like your guard
Just for a moment you watch and stay
After a while
The nightmare seems to settle
You return to your room
Legs resting against the bedframe’s cold metal
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 9:50 AM UTC
it's 5am
they lie down holding each other
they can't sleep
she gets up
she's sitting on his lap
as he lies on his back
she stares off, out the window
of her college dorm
with wooden closets and a wooden bedframe
with drawers underneath
and a wooden desk
the light from the sunrise barely reaches over the horizon
a moment of silence lingers
"what are you thinking?" he says
"why... are we still... up?" she replies
"i don't know"
she notices him looking deeply at her
inquisitive, curious, affectionately
"what are you thinking?" she asks him
"i kinda want to kiss you"
"why are you asking?"
as she brings her lips closer to his
Jan 24, 2018
Jan 24, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
From my bedroom, I imagine what it would take to become nothing. Some days, all I am is the comforter. Others- the mattress. I could waste away and become this bedframe forever. I mean, I've been thinking and what does it mean to be here anyways? I mean, how much effort is required to exist in these tired sheets? This narrowed gaze some called alive once is fearful of the windows now. The walls shrink across these hallowed bones and here is heaven. Spirits rising or angels falling. Here I am. The casket sits below this windowsill where the dust collects and dares me to make the first move. Home is stuck between these rib bones and I've been looking for a way out for a while now. Existing just hard enough for a pulse. Some scattered breaths. Feet face down stuck above the floor boards- quivering towards their next step. Yet I am here. Seem too worried about the timing of it all. And how I never loved the ground enough. Never cherished that fertile soil swelling beneath these feet until it could become me. And what now? Escape this body? Suffocate under the promises these pillows keep? Or stand.
Feb 9, 2016
Feb 9, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
I locked you in my closet,
And put your memories under my bed.
But now,
the flesh has fallen
and you are the skeleton in my closet
and beneath my bedframe,
your memories have spawned
a monster.
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 12:18 AM UTC
I find bits of poetry in my bed.
Who left them there?
They smell of neroli and wax...
Are they not missed?
They are not particularly beautiful or true...
They speak of a lonliness,
the impression of my spine,
My heels lightly digging in,
Of a passion my bed once thought it knew.
They tell me how the rattling of my bedframe (like cold bones)
is only my constant readjustment,
The facing and de-facing of my world.
Nov 15, 2010
Nov 15, 2010 at 8:08 PM UTC
Tell your secret to the nourished grass,
And your secret will be swept away by the wind.
Tell your secret to your bedframe of rusting brass,
And let the polish cover up the secret, hidden.
Tell your secret to the broad cobblestone wall
And let the ivy cover it up until it’s tucked away within the cracks.
Tell your secret to the grains of sand
And let the ocean sweep away the remains.
Tell your secret to the flame of candlelight,
And the flame will die down before telling.
Tell your secret to a crystalline raindrop,
And it will become one with the earth before whispering.
Tell your secret to the moonlit night,
And dawn will come before dusk can begin singing.
Tell your secret to an autumn flower,
And let it be crippled by the winter’s frost.
Tell your secret to the running waterfall,
And let it spill down into the river with your secret, lost.
Tell your secret to the tobacco in the pipe,
And let the smoke be lost within the brilliant clouds.
Tell your secret to the buzzing bumblebees,
And they will never say it aloud.
Tell your secret to the purest snow,
And by spring, your secret will melt away into the well.
Tell your secret and let the fireflies know,
And your secret can’t be retold; there is no one else to tell.
May 16, 2019
May 16, 2019 at 1:23 PM UTC
So I'll let you bruise your knees on her bedframe
The way I did last Friday night
And after subtle thoughts and unpublished words
Will I still reach for her hand,
But with apathetic eyes and ebony hair,
She grows distant
I recede
May 20, 2018
May 20, 2018 at 5:26 AM UTC
Her body’s speaking in tongues
and I'm falling in love
her vibes fit me like a glove
in my eyes, we've already made love
she was sent from above
therefore delivered with love
I must do my part
and spread her love...
two finger lengthens apart
and give her love....
until my pleasure touches her heart
Mar 16, 2024
Mar 16, 2024 at 10:26 AM UTC
It had been
one of those
microdot nights.
I woke up feeling
like I had run
three marathons.
All I could remember
was feeling good
& flesh-blurs,
those patterns of
sweet movement
etched on the inside
of my aching skull.
The bedframe
had been destroyed
and gossamer
floated from my mouth.
Magenta lip-prints
made a trail
down
from the middle
of my chest
to other sensitive-places.
It appeared as if
I had pulled out
all of her tail feathers
in the place she was lying,
a true fairy in repose,
I drowned in her spirit.
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 11:24 PM UTC
i have these dreams, smelling
the three-AM summer night
through the screen of my window.
my hands are pressed against my
stomach. i am in bed and i keep my
eyes shut the entire time. i am
trying to hold everything inside.
my hands trail up and down my
arms, im begging
myself not to forget your lips,
i am holding every place you touched me
permanent. i am tattooing the way you
look at me to the spaces of my ******* ribcage.
in these dreams, you have always just
left. i can still smell you on my skin and
in my hair, on the clothes that need to
be washed, on the sheets.
my fingers are gripping the bedframe
and im begging it not to change. the Sun falls
in and the dust falls over and over the blankets
in a rhythm that makes it look like your
side of the bed has life in it again. my hands are
around my throat and on the back of my head,
looking for places that have a trace of you on
them, looking for pieces of you that you might have
forgotten to take with you.
in these dreams, i am hollowing out the
walls of my body, trying to find every memory
so i can feel it vein-deep and to the bone, you have
always just left. i am always just looking around for things
to replace the space you used to occupy.
when i wake up, and its still dark out, the dust stays where
it always has. the Sun won't even help me pretend that you're
still here. when i wake up, its like you have just
left all over again.
Jun 25, 2017
Jun 25, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
Wrap my hands tight to your bedframe
tickle softly on my arms
use your tie to tie my feet up
so my legs are wide apart
As you make me think you'll kiss me
hold a hand behind my head
And the moment that our lips touch
grab my hair and pull it back
Put your body in between me
be my master everytime
that I push my hips towards you
to get your flesh so deep in mine
Make me rules and make me break them
for I crave your punishments
Comfort my skin after and
drown me in your sentiment.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
I woke up this morning to you towering over the foot of my bedframe.
Anxiety
When I stared blankly at my cereal bowl, disinterested and afraid to eat.
Anxiety
I take a shower at a snails pace, petrified of returning to the mirror to be bathed once again in your foul cocoon.
Anxiety
When I leave the house I look down at my feet, to escape the gazes of strangers with motives unknown to me.
Anxiety
As I cry alone in the bathroom stall, not knowing who to turn to for a problem that never leaves.
Anxiety
I just want you to know that you're killing me.
Anxiety
Dec 15, 2017
Dec 15, 2017 at 9:13 AM UTC
Dawn breaks on the quiet countryside.
The nightlife ghosts shuffle away to their daytime hideaways.
The strand of oak, bough of pine,
crevice of cypress.
The final inhalation of night.
The early bird janitorial crew wakes and makes sounds
to each other as the sun spreads across
the quivering Bahia yard. It drinks up the dewdrops
and straightens the fenceposts with kindness as it finds error.
The sun finds me, too, naked again, on the porch
and seeks to stretch my skin taught against my frame.
I scrape a toe callous across the brick of the porch step.
It is Wednesday the nineteenth.
It is 6:27am and I am grateful to be here.
As the morning mist unravels in the exhalation
and the crows set to work aerating the soil,
my attention drifts to the breeze and how I can nearly taste October on it. A red-tailed hawk observes this scene as well,
unbothered by the fettering mockingbird,
patiently waiting for the over zealous rabbit
or the confused field mouse to make itself apparent.
The girl in my bed routinely suggests coitus
on mornings such as these, with crispy autumn leaves drifting down outside the window. Which begs to be painted, white chips peeling in the dry fall air, but she says leave it --
she likes to pick them out of the flowerbed
after we ram the bedframe against the interior.
She likes to keep them.
Instead, this morning she’ll settle for bacon and eggs without much complaint. Although she will leer at me murderously
from behind her mustachioed cup of creamed coffee. She won’t tolerate my advances afterward, either --
insisting on her lateness, or mine,
or the cat pawprints
on the hood of her car.
She’ll hum through my comments
about the sunlight, the dew, my personification of the hawk.
She looks over the top of her phone when I mention ghosts, but happily returns to scrolling when she realizes I’m full of it.
And so, then, off we go.
Each with a bushel, and a peck, and a hug around the neck.
The quiet morning has been ruined. Although I tried, I failed to grasp it in its totality, failed to convey to you its extreme beauty.
It lies at our feet in shreds.
I know I will never have
a morning like this again,
not exactly like this,
and I’ve let it slip away.
Oct 19, 2022
Oct 19, 2022 at 7:33 PM UTC
The steel bedframe you helped me pick
Is so cold
and Now you sit
In the cafe we used to
And we'd argue the most complex things about whether we'd work or not
And that time is long since gone
Facing away from the street
You have your next man cornered
So he maybe gets his stuff together better than me
While you inquire
And offer him the world
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 3:41 PM UTC
I hear people say that
"Oh if these walls could talk, the stories they would tell"
With wry smiles
And wistful looks in their eyes
But my stories could never be told
By walls that see only in the light of day
My stories reside in the dark
With whispers that fly soft
On wings of thick velvet
From impassioned lips to ready ears
And with thoughts that are never fit
To be known by day
My sorrows drip like pitch from a bedframe
That rattles not with love
But with sobs so herculean that
They could rack the ribs of mountains
And drown the mighty
Rivers
In a deluge of raw emotion
My hysteria bubbles like a hidden pool
Deeper than can be seen
From a position on the surface
Nights when I tire
It explodes upward
With enough force to put fear in the hearts of those around me
My joy undulates like a thick wave
Heavy as the waves of land stirred up in
An earthquake
And can brush aside all in its path
As if the mighty hand of a vengeful god
Were seeking to punish all else
That stood in the way
My stories were born in the late of night
Among nights of tar
Crawling blind and untold
Because the sun would be too powerful
And might simply wash them away
Like flood waters wash away
Unsuspecting nations
And crush them 'neath the boot of values and respectability
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 11:03 PM UTC