it’s hard to know what i’ve truly written
and what i saved to rearrange later
but tonight a mother pulls her daughter by the hand and
walks her down the beach
thigh deep in water, a daughter holds her breath
dives under and is no longer hungry
tonight i dream her love is a needle I can see the point of

tonight i’m finished with god
i’m tired and i’d rather my words incoherent
and my eyes a distant place
tonight i’m seven and it’s the first time
i’ve breathed in to feel my rib cage
scraped clean

i sit indian style
core deep with space clear for you
a child’s heart is no place for
white powder and mailboxes
but i sat there, indian style

i cleared space for you
on the curb on palms and sawtelle
i learned here that no levee stands a chance
against people flooding over

tonight holy water burns through a house
with an ornamented christmas tree
two cars, and a beautiful daughter

i am still learning to forget claw marks
on the doorframes
that the crossing of state lines
doesn’t always turn wreckage to flowers

Let's ride on
sepulveda avenue
from sawtelle to encino.
Lets believe
we are alone in life
and there’s nothing else to do.
Lets make all the links
we failed to make
living with no threat
from tomorrow.
Lets not think at all.
Just believe
there’s no one
we should follow.
Lets pretend you
have that dream.
Even though I know
it’s not so.
Lets just paint
this sunset
as if we’ve
felt no sorrow.