her mouth was sandpaper.

her mouth was sandpaper
and she spoke like
a smooth surface,
words scraped into fluidity
like a wooden sphere,
turned over behind teeth ‘til all friction
is lost.
she spoke like the walls of a birdhouse
in the room of a dead carpenter:
pretty unassembled things.

her mouth was sandpaper
and every kiss chafed,
rubbing raw my lips
and tongue
crafting with each touch
drawing blood like
juice from an apple,
like sap
from wood already cut from the tree.

her mouth was sandpaper
and she told me
i bite my lips,
rip at
the inside of my mouth,
cannibalize myself cell
by cell.
bone saws in her mouth.
the only difference between teeth of jaws
and saws
is mercy
(and she swallowed her mercy long ago).

her mouth was sandpaper
and she spoke like a carpenter’s hands:
rough palms,
tough pads,
a utilitarian artist
a crafter of dead flesh.
a mortician for dryads
and kodama.
the art and the artist
in lips
tongue
and teeth.

her mouth was sandpaper
and i brought mine to hers
again and again,
her bitten-rough lips
opening like doors to
purgatory.
less entrapment than addiction -
returning once more to nails and hammers,
hell’s blacksmiths below
heaven’s painters above.
coming back home
to the space between,
to bone saws
and a carpenter’s hands.

her mouth was sandpaper
and her voice was carpentry,
her teeth bone saws
her words
birdhouse walls.
her mouth was purgatory
but her hands
were hands.

her mouth was sandpaper.
i held her hand
and chafed my lips raw.

a child
unassembled
and loved
by two
     strange
women-

a man breastfeeding in private-

this love
only a mother
could face-

overexposed photos
of a healthy
family-

a gathering
of bird watching
great
uncles-

     great
blind
aunts / with empty
pill
syndrome-

a prayer basket in the lap of a boy
sitting on a swing
during
a downpour-

     a disabled brother
and his three
rubber
nails

stepford wife, smile bright
cook, clean, fix, listen, shine
a trophy, prize, conquest
overused, underloved, broken, dies
unassembled puzzle, incomplete
pieces an unclear fit, break
silent muzzled, scattered, quit
exhausted, out is in a box
for puzzles, games, like little talk
brought to shelved bars, stay
viewed only, never touched
succumb, suffocate, decay

Jack could fly, had he wings,
and would die, had he not the mind.
The clouds above were his limit,
and no further would he rise.

There were cities in the clouds
made for those who could reach,
and Jack's new springboard
could launch him a hundred feet.
He could arrive just in time
to claim his prize of pride
if he jumped now.

Jack's dreams mocked him,
but with his springboard unassembled,
he told himself "In due time."

Then the day came.

His palms were sweating,
his heart leapt,
he shook with the raw ambition
he was famous for
to join himself to that city.

He ran, and worked up a great speed,
hit the springboard,
flew upward and hit the ceiling
and fell to the carpet.

Finally seeing his springboard
for what it truly was-
worthless,
with broken breaths and watering eyes
and a seemingly indifferent disposition,
he placed the springboard in his closet,
and jumped back into the hole he had crawled out of,
months before.

One.
She said it was gonna be tough

I didn't know it was going to be 1am still awake kind of tough

I thought I would be old enough now, strong enough now to stand up straight and on my own but I've never been on my own like that.
We were in this together from the beginning but he always ****** at keeping promises, and keeping it together.
And I always wanted to fix everything.
But we weren't broken, we began unassembled and we were to naive to even glance at the instructions so we put together this unbalanced time bomb of a thing, called it us. Called it trust, called it innocence. Calling it everything but the truth until we started calling each other out on our mistakes.
it just hurts man, it hurts like not being able to breathe, like being punched, it just hurts like I didn't think it could
I don't want to cry about him anymore, it all just hurts

                                                      
Two.
It snows heavy and it snows quiet here

The light leaves this sleepy little town without a trace, without even the smallest of goodbyes to hold on to.

How heavy are these burdens that we carry on our shoulders through hallways, into classrooms
we crumple and fold our heartbreak and failure between textbooks and notebooks and pencils

I have lost myself in more places than I have lost hairbands
There is no cheat sheet at the bottom of my book bag for this kind of broken

I play music loud these days, I put on headphones at 1 am so I can forget every angle of him
I don't want to think of him anymore, he has run me dry

                                                     

Three­. I wake up every morning hung over from the times I kissed him in my dreams
                                                     

Fou­r. And then come the nights when I think about him like crazy
These are moments I cannot escape. Nights where I lie awake.

                                                     

Five. It is an unnerving cycle of my heart wanting so bad to put it all into words, and my mind thinking he doesn't deserve them.

                                                     

Six­. The distance between the reality I want and the reality I have is so great that when standing between them equally, it is impossible to tell which is the lesser evil.

We're moving house— he takes you a-
Part, piece by piece, picking, pulling, long thin
Steel supports from your joints. He holds you together,
          unforgiving tenderness in steel arms as you crumple into a
          pile of wood.

It's done— he waves a *****-
Driver, drilling in reverse, you watch him work
Metal out from your bones, skeleton  scattering limbs about the
          floor, which he meticulously collects and arranges, good as
          new, unassembled.

Thanks for the help, you've been— it's alright, see you soon.
Next time, I'll take the bed.

We're moving house— you are driven a-
Round, missing a turn, new place, unfamiliar
Sights you do not see, your eyes on the frame in the back (of
          your mind) as the van stops and your skeleton is
          unloaded onto a trolley.

It's done— you pay a hundred in two fif-
Ties, broken like the bed tugged through the new
Doorway and left in the living room, with the parts laid out
          neatly beside on cold marble, readied for examination and
          elimination, remnants

          of a time past—

When can you collect your stu— next week at the earliest,
One evening, Wednesday. I'll bring a van.

& like a tent,
unassembled,
pieces scattered on the ground.
step by step
is all it takes
to see that purpose can be found,
if you seek.

It's been four years
And I still wear our rings

But im forgetting about him
He doesn’t visit my dreams anymore
Melodies of his laughter,
his steady heartbeats,
his soft breathing
replaced by grainy voicemails on repeat repeat repeat
I     wish     I     could     touch     you     again

12% beer on her front porch planting flowers on valentines day,
Remembering the short-cut on the running trail
Heatstroke and search parties
Ravines swallow last goodbyes.

A new and empty house
Unassembled furniture
You died on a Wednesday
And I told you:
“you better not leave me to do this alone.  I can’t do this by myself”
I look at the disembodied, sprawling collage of wood on the floor.

“I can’t do this by myself”

All that responds in the empty house is deafening static before the voicemail cuts.

He lacked the skill to make it true, the crib,
so he  assembled it from a wordless diagram,
an ark of 5 panels, 32 screws and bolts, 3 tools-
tightening it just enough, until the memory
of its creation fixed solid in his soul, well past
the 1000 days of the child dreaming in it,  
the 30 years of lying unassembled in attic dust,
its existence cradled, tightened and retightened,
in lullaby and bedtime rhyme- until the child
reached his Jesus year, and needing a
second-hand cradle for his soon to be first born,
noticed it in the growing dawn and dust and
thought “Dad, I know I have the screws for that.”