You planted galaxies inside me when we met
and now they're pouring out of my mouth,
stretching their curled limbs skyward from
the abyss of my stomach; they travel
up and up across the expanse between us
and down your throat like some sort of
invisible (and magnetic) parasite.

One:
Brown eyes remind me of Chernobyl,
                        but on you,
I see the Wilson Park Ice Skating Rink where
my mother first taught me to skate.  I see my
tiny hands wrapped around my first dog, Kelly, and
the Beluga Whales at the Shedd Aquarium
in 1999.  There’s a six foot deep hole between us
that makes me wonder if cataracs eclipse your
perception of me like they do for everyone else—
I wonder if you worry about
teetering over the edge
                                          like
                                                   I do.
Two:
If I’ve learned anything from math class it’s that
a negative times a negative equals a positive so
I guess it’s a good thing when it comes to you and I, because
how else would two equally bashful people ever work
together in harmony?  But then what about science—
positives and negatives attract, so I must
be the latter of the two in this electrical charge
         electrical attraction
         sparks fly
         fires rise
other cliched forms of saying that I just like
when your hands are on my hips and your
lips are on my neck and somewhere
in the back of my mind, I hope to God
that this new age romance is not all for naught.

Three:
I met the devil when I kissed your lips.
God was pushed out when the space between us
shrunk and shrunk until there was not enough
room for air nor biblical commandments nor morality nor logic.
We fell together, tumbling over the clouds like the
awkward first steps of a child, unsure and panicked;
our clipped wings, like birds in captivity, did nothing to
prevent us from ripping the pages of His thick book
and mixing and matching His words—
“burn[ing] with passion,” “two shall become one flesh—”
we folded them into fortune tellers.

Four:
When you first told me that you thought I was beautiful,
I did not believe you.  You looked so unsure of yourself—eyes
downcast, bottom lip tucked between your teeth—that I thought,
“How can this this wide-eyed boy think that he can
spot constellations that the Greeks and the Egyptians overlooked?”
Then I realized that the words that spewed from your
blood stained lips were stars of your own creation.  Somehow
you compressed and fused your perception of me with
interstellar matter and birthed a new stencil in the sky.  You
created a cynosure of me.  You look at me like you’re
gazing at Polaris, a perfect doll like Helen or Marilyn;
something I am not.
But I like it.

Five:
We make up Sirius, the Dog Star—
you, the primary, and I, the companion, we are
the brightest in the heavens.  Canis Major would
be nothing without us.  Circling one another in a far,
spread out pace, we take our time in dissecting
one another’s intentions.  You are my horoscope and
I am your zodiac sign; both born in the year of the pig
we display the raw, open wounds of altruism to one another.
I wonder when you look in the mirror,
if the reflection that you see is that of the Milky Way;
the barred spiral that contains
our solar system
our planet
my
      home.

If being with you would mean spewing galaxies
from my lips for the rest of my days, I would
gladly regurgitate a whole new universe
just to hold your hand.

The body of a woman's neutral fineness embraces the chords of my steel guitar; laughing about all the points that I've been chasing after. Or just running away- no more for today. Christ, you slipped but lied too many times before, and while you plunge your wrists into your knives, I thought we had a second chance. But that was before, you throw sticks and stones and store your anger in the three fingers of the drink that clinks against our first date when I bought you a 25¢ ring. It was a children's vending machine, that brought me three years of happy things.

I don't want to be fake with you anymore. So go and find your Milky Way. I'm staying dumb, Britni I'm in trouble. All the stakes are different when you are chasing yesterday's killing.

And even the sound of the gunshots don't overcome the voice of the human tongue, in violence and war and all that's abhorred, even the smallest vesper or prayer a whisper of three little words can always be heard, even the faintest whisper can always be heard, as long as the voice that says it is honest and pure.

I was too tight to drive with your hands over my eyes, even in Inverness valley and South Santa Cruz, the wheelbarrow of berries I brought home for supper, ingested in each little bite we cut in half, was the best of the worst time that we ever had. And always we were. In love. In parking lots, playgrounds, at concerts, on airplanes, in bedrooms, custodian closets, laundry mats, and carrying our nap sacks, while we attempted to sleep and hide all night in the Shedd Aquarium. I just should have known better, it'd wouldn't be easy, with you I'm always wrestling sharks with a mirror, your pink sugar perfume from the chains on my wrists ******* across the room. While you didn't trust me I was always at home. Trust isn't love  unless it's enough, unless it's enough to quit drugs. It's symptoms are the same as that of great madnesses.

I wish you'd tell me things
big things
little things
like
how your mom and dad met
did you fail your first driving test
if you like your sandwhiches cut
in triangles
if you like eating alone or being accompanied
if you like or hate soy nuts
how you spend your Christmas
which contries have you visited
which of your friends do you really trust
do you like sunsets or sunrises
do you like old movies
if you like the lights on or off when you sleep
what were you like when you were small
what genre of music do you listen to
where did you get that scar above your brow
what is the meaning of your tattoo of a girl's name
what type of girls do you prefer
do you like girls who smoke
do you like girls who shedd a plethora of tears for you
do you like girls who are fragile
do you like girls who write poems about death
would you drown with me if I asked you to?

Contained in this lonely shedd
Ingrained are the words they said
Fearing as she misread
Sewing instead with a broken thread
A mouth that was unfed

Man captures more of the unpredictable mission
Vision convicted up midst in plightful souls
Call's attempt had been brought down for your repent
Cast out the odd and old, ring in the new
Few had got the work that's been left for us

Refuse in your days of age to become bad memory
Carry on still with the life as that of a Shepherd
Shedd; it was on many occasions we were with him
Shame, leaving out the poor wife, and a little boy an orphan
Brighton kicked the bucket on nineteen, his family was strained
Dead with perceptional talents, Perfect was so perfect

Mate the same happened to you, dying so young
Among us, who's to pass on next, we'll never know it
Late it may come; everyone shall pass the sorrowful sow
All we only have is the life based on sentimental
Judgemental will reveal at last, prevailing the lust
Fast moving is the time that we have, just imagine this

This is the preparational period for the lasting ever
Favor it is, and blissful it is to put much hope in death
Faith without pure actions is wasted effort
Content is there, show mighty in lightful practices
Tears eventually tickle down with folded grief to seize pain

Plain truth; we cry for meeting you up, not that you're gone,
Wrong impressions lifted up by bad decisions
Days were thrown, and all i could, i wrote
Fought vigorously in harshness, life's phases
Pass it on, Peter reach petter, and failed to make it with you

Blue skies were my clues to find hue
Glue it onto your mind, not to err
Everson was ever the son of the Legendary Ronald
Lloyd was with eager to see Arnold succeed
Indeed Sophia the old lady was so sophisticated
Educated were all the people who passed through school and church

Teach about the collection books' looks
Crookes were from my time an usual fate
What later happened to Marvin the bride's groom
From their boom, had they found genius in expectance
Existence was it ever with the presidents and prophets
                                  
Folks in foreign lands, did they ever came back home
Game of making it is it still with my fellow Owen
Men across the river are they making any progress
Seriously bad, the last time I checked Romario was a chain smoker
Tracker on the invisible prints that’s were reality resides
Ravis; did he made it out with all the hope
Pope Francis after Benedict had he managed to change the world

Mildly I’ve hope that you buried me swiftly in the sand

Keep trying to come out ahead
Barely ending up even so over the shame
So much internal pain, bad memories remain
Grew up poor trying to move up to the next level
Fixing my car feels like I can only get so far
Showed up to work doing extra, no one take pride in their work
They been there so long just collecting
Waiting to reitre, they BS so much, want to get away
Keep working hard make me out to be a ****
They don't care, mad my efforts make them look bad
Part timer working twice as hard to get hired
All the fulltimer take pride in being a part time worker
Everyone wants a job, no one wants to work
If stuff goes wrong probably be the first one fired
Bite my lip, smile; do what I'm told
All the talk scandalous lies are getting old
Years of looking up while all this is going down
Seen myself there but not going away
Anxious to try somewhere new, pay cuts and more struggle
Keep telling myself; I'll get through it, it's no deal
Some days those tears build up, refuse to shedd them
Asking for help no one is listening
Wondering when my time will come
Use to be fun don't want to do it anymore
So much on my mind I'd like to crack the code
So I can live life, be on the right path
Over being told NO another detour
Taking me no where, no where near, I'd like to be
Fell hard, failed, keep learning from the lesson