you are a body in a boat
on the lake with the shadows
of a million birds over your chest
and you are breathing with them all

and the waves want you
like I want you
and we will both kiss the tips
of your dripping fingers
stretching from your crinkled
hand, like all of Tennessee
in your palm.

oh, how full of fog you are.

you are a body in a boat
on the lake with that shore
covered in rocks, unskipped
the plants unpulled,
roots unslipped.

but as your fingers drip
from body to liquid
the discs of ripples
                     spread
to me on that shore
holding my own
               holy head

so little did we know                          (so little did we know)
those ripples were not our own
but instead
the alternating white/blue
of iris and cornea
of skin and vein
of hand and sky                                  (of iris and cornea
that all go away                                    of skin and vein
that all die                                              of hand and sky)

and one day, we will find
(beneath the shadows cast
by temporary leaves)                        (that all go away
our own bones, buried deep              that all die)
under the roots.

                                                         ­       (our own bones, buried deep
                                                            ­      under the roots)

                                                   *and you are breathing with them all

Tribal paint flickers
as illumination passes by
packed platforms of private souls
spilling into peripheral vision
Saturday nights
create fresh perspective
on unconscious thoughts
An unpulled can
of tired, bow-tied Spaniards
and white-clad partygoers
Tinney earphones
thrusting Brooklyn's finest
99 Problems aren't on my mind
but in my (un)willing ears
And I saw you on the street
42nd I'd say
I was filling my lungs
with the poison,
beautiful,
you showed me
You walked past me
just another stranger
you in 10 years time
They say everyone has a doppelganger in NYC
I haven't seen mine
but she's seen me
and Brooke saw her too,
rolled up Levis and a frown
you looked as beautiful as you always did
but clean of everything
you'd ever touched
or is yet to touch you
because nicky clouds
my thoughts lift me higher
I wanted to tell you that
I pray now
But I let you walk by
and disappear
leaving me with myself
coffee spilt from matches
got twisted and wouldn't light
I'm one handed,
crowded city but you're not here.

you undo me.
no edge left untouched
no string left unpulled-
you undo me.

but underneath these tattered edges
and this unloved spine,
and inside of my burning ember eyes
and blood/love drenched heart,
is something that loves
something that's loved.
you undo me.

i don't want to rush this
because even without the
butterflies in my stomach flying
into your lips
you undo me.
god, you undo me.

a single word,
rejiggered
refound in the endless, floundering
someday~possibility bin of my
unbalanced brain, noted forlornly
on March 13, 2017@5:28 pm, the
trigger unpulled, the triggering,
long forgot, but my sense of duty
quizzes me, howling,
“how long you gonna run
that body’s words~worthiness down,”
leaving it orphaned, I’m surrounded
by finger pointing, some grand waggling,
and my genetic J-guilt is overwhelming,

rejigger my schedule,
rejigger my responsibilities,
email excuse~me apologies

and think upon the vastness
of the worded task, an eleventh
commandment that requests
a close examination of your
life’s intentions, and begin to
curse my two thumbs stumbles
in to files, chapters, notions
best forgotten for reasons quite
good enough

**** this uncovery discovery
and my sense of injustice that
now condemns both of us to a
tirade of remorse reminiscences
removal and so many re-verbs
-erations shaking me up that
this task now demands is
an old battleship
recommissioned,
a ship now
forced from retirement,
wantingretrofitting,
when I’m, my useful life
way past
my/our sell/use-by-date

so I do what any good theater loving
fool do, start singing
“Tomorrow, Tomorrow,
you're only a day away”

and beg for a one day extension,
a 24 hour forgiveness pass,
cause pressing matters
demand my immediate attention, like
finishing my epic life’s œuvre littéraire!

“How I Procastinated My Life Away”

Miss A held up the card
with a word on it

who knows
what this word is?
she asked

the class stared glumly
at the card

a girl put up her hand
is it monster?
she said

no it's not monster
Miss A said moodily

another girl
put up her hand
is it mouse?

O’Brien snorted
a laugh behind
his ink stained hand

it is not mouse
the teacher said
her eyes lifted
ceiling ward

I put up my hand

yes Benedict?
Miss A said

can I go to the bog Miss?
there was a titter
behind my back

yes you can
but no you may not
she said sternly

I pulled a face
she looked at me
I unpulled my face

anyone else
have any idea
what the word is?
everyone has one
she suggested

O’Brien whispered
to me a word
I could not repeat

what was that O'Brien?
Miss A asked

muscle Miss
he said
(not the word
he said to me)

no it is not that
look at the card
look look
she said

we gazed at the card
in her hands

who knows
the first letter?

a girl put up
her hand

it's M Miss
she said

and the second letter?

I put up my hand
it's O Miss
I said

she gazed at me
and the third letter?

Helen put
up her hand
it's T Miss
she said

already whispered O'Brien
ain't long had dinner

Miss A glared at him
the fourth letter O'Brien?

aitch
he said

Miss A sighed
H
she said
one breathes
the letter out
H not aitch
next letter?
she said

it's E Miss
a girl said
on the floor
sitting crossed legged

and the last letter?
Miss A asked

it's R Miss
O'Brien said

so what do all
the letters say?
she asked

Mobster
a girl said
with glasses
(who often
wet herself
if she couldn't make
the bog in time)

no no
Miss A said
look at the letters

I lifted my hand

and she said
yes Benedict?

I need the bog Miss

GO
she said loudly

and I got up
and sped as fast
as I could

just as I got
to the door

Dennis said
it's Muvver Miss

Miss A looked away
she looked
distressed

it had been
a long
hard day.

How many of you would like to know me?
Because I'm an open book, and that has been said to be a crime.
But I can sit here and tell you about my life thus far, from a to z, all of the things that have haunted me.
A product of divorce.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Trauma consumes me.
And all I can do is just keep breathing.
Most days I'm thankful to do just that.
To open my eyes.
To realize.
And acknowledge the beauty in all things.
Drugs started me on falling in love with dead trees.
Getting on my knees and begging,
Please.
Please.
Don't think the words you speak about me.
17 to 26.
Packing concrete into a broken foundation, just for a quick fix.
Drunken mistakes.
Violent shakes.
Unpulled triggers.
All causing me to grow bigger.
Inside.
Inside.
Most times, always pondering why?
Most times wanting to ******* die.
Being willing canceled out the unwilling.
Times you search for deeper healing.
Deeper meaning.
Deeper ******* feeling.
And in the end, all you ever have is yourself.
You alone have to be good enough.
3 am thoughts.
Coping mechanisms can surely be taught.
But they don't ******* work.
Because I'm always left distraught.
What else have I to cover?
When I was a child, I used to hover.
Witnessing shadows beneath the covers.
And dead bodies really do get stiff and cold.
Never enough for anyone to just hold.
Binges of binges.
Lies untold.
Just trying to find another old soul.
Lies untold.
Solice in silence.
Two years a prisoner.
Suicide attempts,
And hospital beds.
Copious amounts of pills.
Provoking a complex
Of conformity.
Breaking free.
**** normality.
Opening eyes
But what do I see?
Is all of this really me?
It's not.
My depths go deeper than these words.
I soar higher than birds.
And you'll never really ******* know me.