There is thoughtful space
Laid out between
The electric architecture borne
Of this inky evening
In the rain.
Same space I wish were born between
Me and something that speaks.
I want to regret. But I have nothing.
Thoughtful space is reflective;
A muted ocean. She's
On the television
A pounding hurricane
Of an especially thick
Window pane.
Frosted with warm water
Steaming with decay.
Rest assured I will be
Agitated for you and you alone
A destructive gift of mine
Tonight's the metamorphic day.

I love rooms with natural light
And open windows
September mornings
When the air is cold and dense
And clean like running water
Running water fills the room
And washes it.
Above the town things
Start to stir
And cars, few, run on
The things that I love in life are few,
too.

I named her rayo
and in the mornings
carrying firewood
she walked beneath the trees
and never knew

We come out of the movie
Just the two of us
I don't love you
The sun is setting
But hasn't set
Trucks lean as they turn the corner
We are quiet
There's a park wrapped in shadow
"Let's swing"
You make me swing
I swing
how come you arent scared
I don't feel scared
I am scared

I know it’s wrong to feel
this way, the
fantasy of all of the
people in this world
who wronged me
all the people I could never trust
seeing them all
collected together all
the bad ones

Sitting still long enough for the
lights in the room shut
off on their own
and in the darkness
watch the carless streets
you’d think it were some holiday
I’d be dead too

they want one of those little mirrors
that allow you to see inside yourself
the one dentists use
so they can check for cavities
and places where they're disappearing away

What's the opposite of haunted?
I left work today and saw a ghost in the afternoon light in a vacant classroom
It filled the room like a soft voice in silence does
Like something was just born, or something was close to dying
It was strange not seeing a bed or a curtain in there;
Only the strange blinds, the reflective wood floors and drawing benches stacked like stones
The avenues and streets fileted out beyond the dusty windows like a sarcophagus in a museum
I wanted to enter but willingly decided not to
Because if I did I was afraid for that moment I spent breathing at the threshold
That I would never leave again.

the swimming hole we used to go to we don’t
go to anymore because it reminded you of
the time your uncle stepped on a
dead child in the sand there on the
bottom murky and dark at that
swimming hole with the
one dollar ice cream sandwiches
on the bottom that had drowned
hours before no one
had looked for it

when we moved into the new home
after the divorce, things were
still rocky, we had just
“left” them in the dark
still don’t address them, not a phone call,
not even
now, not after even a *******
deathinthefamily
they are like the side of a house
that never gets light
the side of the house against a cliff
and we live in the sunny sea side
windows open
they are threadbare ghosts
like an old wedding gown
used only once
moths also eat holes in my grandmother’s brain and she forgets things
but perhaps maybe she will start to remember
the reasons she loved my mother instead of hated her.
they live in apartments above beauty salons
and in oaky gentrified railroad towns
but I am a **** but I think
it’s justified that we cut
them off like a sore, well
it’s obvious. Because they
didn’t treat my mother
well at all
And that is
unforgivable.

forcing myself to say hello
forcing myself to say goodbye when you go

I swirl and swell around
I should be doing work right about now
For my college course
"film colour", something
Google doesn't cough up
Paper crowds with conversation
Faces emerge after a very
Long hiatus
I am proud albeit
Self concious that in a week
I will return and see this
Curiously expressive crowd, I'll get perplexed
"What the hell was I thinking?" and
Retreat.

Between asleep and awake, dear:
what I write now is it's own lovely prose
When theologians lit candles and wrote in the darkness growing
Something hidden behind the day's normal light glowing
and edging its way in the drone of the elongated shadowfield tinted magenta by the summer light
Something important isn't right
I stay up longer and longer and my eyes grow wearier and darker
I sit silently or when I lie I toss and turn like the surface of the sea
And the things around me shimmer and crackle
And I hear them coming, coming for me.

i guess it's true you're all the things that i
wish i could have been,
but never quite accomplished,
never quite become.
is it true we mend out clothes with
pieces of our past
and exchange them as gifts?
things made for lasting.
there's a little extra something to your smile,
something stunted in me for years
is now been awakened awhile.
i don't know what it is, but i've feared
i'm becoming something new,
something made of me and you
and what i fear
is fearing what comes near
will hurt me again
so
please don't do that, dear.

I lay down on my bed
curl up into a ball
I hear a door slam far away
No one is here but me
for the next few days I will have the flat all to myself
and a thought
of the sound of flies everywhere
A thought of the smell and the sound of flies days later

the greasy man with the beard and the ringo starr glasses pretends to talk about people pretending to like things because they pretend to understand them and I pretend to listen and I pretend to ignore him

You're a bird
With a string
To me you
Sew the sky
together
With more
string than
stars
in the early
dawn
Unknowingly
When things
die
You put the
sun away
And became the moon

back then there were no
people sharing ideas
on personal monitors
people didn't like
talking about
certain things
but I know for a fact
yes there was desk writing
when my mother
was ***** several
times and her mother
didn't do anything
she didn't think
anyone would lis
ten so she cut
her hair and
tried her best
I know she did
no one discussed
things like that
no one called
the police and
the police were all
men who would
probably say
she was to blame
just because she looked it
the same men who
thought you could turn
offtheflowjust
likethat
the same men who
joke about handling
human beings
innocent, stupid
uneducated
"protecting"
I would not feel safe
even though
I am a man
I do not feel safe
yet now I am here
I am proof that
she picked herself
backtogetherallthelittlepieces
and walked on
she's stronger than
any *******
musclehead
policeman I know.

when I get into my friend’s car
it’s hard
it’s too high above the road
and I’m not that good at stick, I’m told
I end up ******* it up
which is why I don’t do it

when I sit down and try to
write about my friend’s life
it’s too high above the road
and I’m not good at fibbing, I’m told
I end up ******* it up
For both me and them

which is why I don’t do it.

What I am to you
New me, think of
A me that is
The doubt keeps me awake and makes
the nicks where I shaved my face
smart like
cirrus clouds
New me
I'll ignore you

What I am to you
Old me
Cough syrup
Heavy and pathalogical
Social

New me: think of
A fresh scalpel
Sterile and ready
To use to do
the ***** work
For the next you

it'd be nice to sleep so soundly
that nothing would make me stir
quiet like the quietest forest mushroom
i sit here anxious at night and watch the trees grow and touch eachother
the aspens sense one another
i look at the lofty world and watch it reel through my window clouds passing by
it's so peaceful the way fungi advance politely in the basement
i sit here in my bedroom watching trees grow
someday i'll
leave this thing behind
it will beautifully swarm with ants
it will be too late, i'll be in the stars

I am not going to focus, in retrospect, at the awe of the fragility of a memory
This one in particular made me feel weighty and extremely present
And locked in with the air like a cast in plaster
The air moved around me like the tide on top of wet, gray clay
Cars passed like matches striking sandpaper
The songbirds were hushed and distant
The telephone lines sagged with the weight of the world
I was absolutely sure that the earth was not spinning
So I stopped and counted
Surely I could feel my heart beating
I could hear the water dripping
I gazed at the edge of the thunderhead passing by like a galaxy, a swarm of bullets
And an owl cooed, only an ingredient to the silent sauce
Like thyme is added to cooking wine on the stove
I hear church bells
The sky purrs and lifts, there are some flashes behind the hills to the right
But here by the hoarse gravel everything has a separate momentum than where that storm is now.
The momentum of waking

If I could get out of bed,
I would
If I could enjoy my meal
I would

I should, I tell myself
I should.

If I could write about things
that Other People talk about
I would
Things that win little red ribbons
and sit framed on walls in offices
Things that get into books on shelves
Things that make Other People
applaud
Things that no one is afraid of
Things that don’t make little kids cry
Hell, I wish I could

I really, really should

Instead I choose to hold myself
down and confess my
mediocre feelings that
don’t make much sense when read
but so much more when written;
weird india ink discharges
Ill thoughts
Shards of neurosis
And no one would care to enjoy it

But to confess one final word,
I’d always hoped that of course no one
would.

monday
the midday is about as filled with stars
as people that I think I might care about
but the brightest Venus
can still be seen if I try
coming up on the next episode: bet if I do

I can
not tell
who in
this room
swallowed
the music.

Contains:
oranges

instead of surprise, people embrace in the light
love in the light, hug in the light
smile and look into it like it’s something beautiful like an eye
the sky is illuminated from below
everything is slowly illuminated and then quickly
plates shaking wonderfully inside the house
houses are plucked off the ground and shake into the sky
apartment buildings fall upward into the clouds
the electricity roars overwhelming
your hair stands up on end built on static
a last kiss before the end
learn to love the light, kid

painted glass in the dark
black moon and now we've gone too far
I trace a path over your skin
and then feel the spaces where I'm thin

Everything is strange
I say as I
Stand alone in the
Backwater subway
People are strange
The way they behave
When they see
Open things
They shy away
Open like the broad day
And the snow somehow
Gets down through
Those vents
And piles up in
Here underground
And in the no-access
Places behind cages
People look at you funny
When you have something
To say
People are strange

oh, it’s been so long
I like to fool myself but it really hasn’t
been long since we were in the same room
even if that room were outside; and leaves were falling
and cars were going by
but since then you’ve been
recent, and recent you will
always be

I chose this cinematic hell
However wide or narrow the day feels like being;
And all the while feigning leaving
Cause I know I’ll return very well
In the depths of June when the morning lurches
Into day, and all the wordlessness
Leaks through my fingertips
In quicksilver rivulets searching
The boiler of this house is no more than an attraction
And what does it do? Powers whimsy and pity
And what powers this house? Frigid electricity
Plain old, plain old, and nothing remotely passionate
It’s fake, dark, miserable, whimsical turbulence
And my jealousy stands in the way of anything
And everything done right is just so utterly wrong
Impatience lingers like a wildfire glow in the distance
The phone never rings. Do these hands belong to me?
But worst of all, why won’t they do…Do anything?

you can hear the cicadas
you can feel the sun
it's warm and it's cold
glasses set out on the table
make the light sparkle and distort
and you can hear him outside
building that wall and that ditch
he really has no care for the cats
he wouldn't care if they were hit
you see him reading with
his pile of newspapers
at night
falling asleep
he's been joking about life insurance
and dying
maybe that will save us
he says

gifts that i have from people that aren't in my life anymore
remind me of dust in an empty jar
when we moved i planned to use it for something besides dust
but i never did
i was too busy living life
the jar is my grandmother
she still sends cards
well, they're in her name
dates for our birthdays (if she still remembers)
we visitted the cemetery and we found out aunt Coreen died
should i compare this to a gift from a past lover
a vessel for something dead
a pressed flower
potpourri
i don't want to think of the structure of absense of her memories
none of us do
that is why we treat her like a gift
of a past lover
locked away
but not thrown away

summer came and went quietly without a sound
and yet loud enough to drown in

and the news glows and grows dim
and glooms like matchsticks in the corner

I stare at the sky when it’s available

ruminating and things pile up
but why do I sleep so soundly still;
I wasn’t meant to

I really don't think much of
looking at people's faces
I don't think what they are saying
Is interesting, unless it is weighted
Condescending? maybe.
It has to matter
to me
for me
to be engaged. Otherwise
I don't really want to keep
on speaking so I lose steam
I run on fumes and ration my wit
You'll see me bored and pained
Pretty soon if you keep me talking
I would want to shoot you
the line between me and the air around me blurs phenomonally
it's hard to tell if I am in charge
I wish it were that way
It's painful

you left the window open during the rain
you left the shades open and now it's cold again
you won't open the door
I don't hear you cross my path anymore
I truly don't spite you
ok maybe I do
what is it that I like about you?

The sky’s a shade of lost gray and maybe lurid blue someday
Something sweet, so tell me what I want to hear
Leaving me to question whether I should stay or swim away
Or live life in this wonderful sweet gray
The times I actually don’t stare lowly at my feet or the cracks
Slender gray cheeks of astronauts tilt and question the same sea that cradles me
And different shades, some warm, some cool
And different ways of leaving and watching those who have left be dead
It's not quite appropriate to be living that way, in a sea that isn’t quite gray
The worst and greatest blessing is to never know
Something sweet, so tell me what I want to hear
Or leave me wondering if I should stay or swim away
Or live life in this wonderful sweet gray

I woke up to slamming doors
There are too many people doing things today, parents and their kids out walking
And mouth breathing
They're in the way
Idiots
Someone threw away my driftwood
It's a cloudy day, but the light's too bright and everything's too loud
And slow
I want to sleep until it's night again

I am
I am given birth to
I sleep for seven years
I molt
I awaken
I breed for a single night,
It hurts
I have no mouthparts
I cannot eat
But it feels good
It feels very good
I am beautiful
I find love
I will give birth tonight
I give birth
Then everything closes up
My energy’s run out
I stop flying
But that’s ok
Let this vessel
Shut down
It’s long overdue
But that was
A fun night
Was it not?

Do you realize what you’ve done you have
conquered fear of the darkness so all there
is is bright light, you’ve drowned out all the
solemn hymns and prayers there is no need
to pray now, no need to weep or question or
wonder really, the monster under the bed is
gone, the house vacant, all the delusions are
cauterized and pacified and put away with the
summer, soft as a shadow, gone and put away
and canceled out and neutralized, there is no
need to call out to mother anymore, there is no
anchor, there is no question, all has been
answered and now not needed

Today I broke into the subway and took it to say goodbye to you
Your headphones were awfully sharp when we hugged at the airport
The sun was really bright and before the train came I ruminated in an overly hot sweater
You said you hated this place and you were never coming back
Please come back

when I leave please do not follow
you may not know it when I go
but it will be the best to feel
I’m not here, I wasn’t real
I am the things that shine at dawn
I am my shadow in your lawn
I am the way the tree will grow
I am the way your friends will go
I am the way the town will breathe
I’ll stay with you, I won’t leave
I’ll drag you down, I’ll remind
that even now you are still mine
forget me then and let me die
I know it’s best for you and I

you try to wash the red oil away,
you try to wash it off your hands
but it won’t come off
you won't let it evaporate.

Closing the shop at 5 it feels as though I’m turned off too
Listening to the machines turn off is disturbing
The cars running stationary and music blaring
I’m sorry if it seems this way, but I don’t quite love you anymore
I want to get to know myself. And I really wish for that to be ok
I hate spring, I hate hate hate it. I really do.
I see people enjoying themselves, I don’t get it.
You’re mocking me.

Sitting Seven for more than seven days.

I'll bathe. But no mirrors. It's better this way.

leave before I change my mind
leave complete; do not leave yourself behind
that's the worst thing you could do
and neither I nor you would forgive you

When I’m dead my allergies won’t bother me
I’m off, alone somewhere
Don’t come because I already left a while ago

I sit eating lunch alone. On TV there's that professor that died last year. You can see the liver spots on his head move. Still talking.

:this is the way you wanted it:
you wanted your power to end
you wanted to cry about it
you wanted things to fall away in burning
heaps like fat cooking
you wanted your children to die
you wanted it to be sad
you wanted it to be written down before it happened

you keep saying the thing I am, I am something that won't will be, when we are something that will never not won't will be, and I agree, you see. However for the time it takes something I am, I am something to blossom, with all of the ways in which I can be, there is will for me to be. Whereas your will to not be won't let you will be.