I'd like to cut my heart open
to take you out
or maybe
to see you one more time

Mowing the grass
and cutting myself down,
I wonder how long I have
until it gets too tall again.
The neighbors gather
and clap and cheer.
"Now there's a boy who has
some self respect!"
From the red-lipstick woman
who ***** the handy man
with her wedding ring tucked
neatly beneath the pillow.
But it looks like the dandelions
have gotten too bright.
The yellow is hurting their eyes,
drawing too much attention.
Time to cut and slash!
But the grass knows the forest it contains.
And so it grows, still.

It’s time to cut the strings of you, I think.
I get tangled up and I’m tired now.
Just let me rest for a minute,
to ease my eyes and
stop my spinning mind.
But then I’ll get to cutting.
Snip.
Snip.
I can’t wait for my first breath.

The sky looks so good tonight.
I'm going to inhale the clouds
and breathe them out
like smoke from my lungs.
I'll grab the moon and let its light
sweeten my lips
as I crunch it to pieces.
The stars will dance on my tongue,
every last one!
My lips will be stained
black and blue.
I'll keep eating until my
whole body is full of night.

I take off my coat because
I want to feel the cold.
It's been a long Summer.

I think a lot about the scents of my youth
The lavender soap by my grandparent's sink
The honeysuckle in the chainlink fence
And the smell of my home that I've forgotten

The wind whipping through
my hair gets how I feel.
Do you?

Purple raspberry can
opened in the dusk of
your summer haze
touched my lips
like the embrace
of the Buddha

The bird was on the branch.
And then it wasn't.

The bright moon.
A plane blinking its lights.
They smile at each other.

Watching your water flow
the clock backwards
I can see purity in your soil
and eternity in your rocky face.

I can't help but stare
face to face with you,
but I am ashamed
of my own humanity.

Tearing you part,
splitting you open
to drink from your heart,
I see tears in your eyes.

I ache to feel you
the rock dirt plant stream
of your soul,
of my soul.

I walk where many tread
but few see you, I think.
See your heaving lungs,
and unwavering eyes.

You give and you take
unselfish and infinite
reclaiming only to replenish
ending only to begin.

There is magic in you.
You sing it to me
and whisper it through the wind.
Do you know I'm listening?

I read you
like a book I can't put down.
I soak you in
like black ink on a page.
Please, just another drop?
You slam me closed.

I can already feel the memories
of my demented brain
taking root.
The memories I promised never to forget.
They will greet me like friends
while the face in the mirror slips away.
The sunlight will dance
on the yellow flowers of my mind
just like they did today.
And the breeze will kiss my cheek
And embrace me until the end.
I will remember, because how could I forget.
But will I remember you?

You can sip every drop of me,
if you want me.
Do you want me?
Sorry, I get carried away,
you know me.
Do you know me?

My toes sink into the
soft dirt like roots
winding deep into
the earth.
What are you looking for, toes?
Where are you going?
Are you waiting for me
to bloom?

The changing season weighs in on me
like so many fallen leaves.
The crunch turns soggy like it always does.
The handle of my childhood bedroom is ice cold
and my bed is missing its pillows.
I can tell my parents are unhappy.

I used to write for you,
but now I write for myself.
And that is enough.

America the
expanse is
the brown woman picking a
teddy bear out of the trash
for little hands
waiting at home

Quick glance, look away.
Heart beat, cool step
Look away.
Look up, missed glance, look away.
Small smile, slick nod
Look away.
Heavy touch, eyes lock, look away.
Hot breathe, sweet lick
Look away.

I can see stars dancing
on your face,
skating across your eyes
and dancing off of every lash

Soft line of the feminine
curving, growing, blending.
The smooth rise and fall
--full.
Fingers point to the desired one,
firm and warm they press.
Tracing back, grasping neck
--full.

I'm hiding under the covers so my cat doesn't see me crying, because it feels like I saw death for the first time tonight. It looked me in the eyes and it held me under the water without any breathe.
The cat's tail cut through the air like a conductor's baton orchestrating nature's symphony. Life cat seeks death bird. And nature has its way.
But baby bird was alive when the cat arrived inside, triumphant. Picking a side makes me a hypocrite but I choose bird anyway. Up into the flower box, baby bird watches the sun setting and I watch too.
But nature has its way. Baby bird is gone when I go back to pass on a smile. Into the orange sky, I hope. Into life!
Baby bird didn't find the orange but it found the blue. Face down and wings out, soaring. I can see baby bird, hop drop from the flower box hop hop by the petunias hop flutter hop splash. The blue took my breathe tonight too.
I'm hiding tonight because why should there be a pool where green has authority. Nature has its way.

Let me wrap you up
and touch the bruises
I didn't place
but feel, just the same

We read each other's palms,
and saw ourselves there,
woven in the future
of our skin.

And we picked flower petals
to make sure they believed
our love, as much
as we did.

I think this is the last week of summer
and I’m glad.
I don’t mean to be impatient
or ungrateful for the sun’s work
but the leaves are tired of holding on,
and so am I.

Sometimes
I think I’m in the audience.
And then I deliver my line.

I've been walking more
and leaving the big machine behind
to put myself in the way of beauty.
I find it.
In the fingers of the trees
reaching to the purple sky
splaying in their radial dance,
I find it.
On the cracking cement
where a dog left its footprint forever
and the grass reclaims its home,
I find it.
When the wind picks up my hair
to teach me how to lighten up
like the leaves that dance around me,
I find it.
Even as I close my eyes tight,
the fragrance of a night blossom
paints itself across my mind
and I find it.

The hot sun opens my heart
and the bloom stings my eyes.
Body on body
body on water
water on sweet green grass,
Summer begs me to grow.

I caught you smiling at me
in the flowers
And I knew you
were forever

I can't sleep at home without a pill.
--
My bed is a stranger's.

Sometimes when I was young
I could trick myself into thinking
I lived in another world
But now I am not so easily convinced
by the lies I tell myself.
And I miss the future I made.
And I miss those worlds.
And I miss myself.

Feeling selfish
I open my hand
for the mosquito

The wine bottle fell to the ground,
it shattered and looked just like family.
On my hands and knees I avoided its glass.
And mopped up its blood.

Bending over with an outstretched hand
a father dancing in the grocery store aisle.
I watch and hold the memory like it's my own.

Spilled on the ground in rivers of red
we try to push it back in, but it's gone now.
I'll try to hold tighter next time.

You have your claws in me,
tenderly.
Play with your prey
make me whimper
like I do
when you rip me open.
Slipping away from you -
I run
and pray you catch me.

When I thought I saw you
in the checkout of the grocery store
I looked away
and then glanced back,
hoping it was you
and praying that it wasn't.
When I'm still at night
with the darkness and my thoughts
I think about your eyes
glancing at me
begging me to glance back.

This morning we shared our dreams like confession.

What I dream about:
     - You

What you dream about:
     - *******

I am the playing card
in the wheel of a child's bicycle.
Playing big man,
I'll trick you like I tricked myself.
The world lives
between the cracks in window blinds,
the actors find their marks
and I deliver my line.

I unwrap the paper napkin
at the ******* Barrel on I40,
smooth the edges on my lap.
A father sits across from his daughters
and watches their childhood slip away.
America watches too.

I’m marking time in hair,
I haven’t seen you in inches.
I’m scared to cut my bangs
because you might show up again,
so I’ll let them grow
to cover my eyes
just in case you do.

Your invitation was lost in the mail,
is what they tell you -
like the last crocus to bloom in spring
lonely in tardiness.
Pick your head up, crocus.
I will watch you bloom.

I’m appear when the darkness comes
to bring the shadows up from the ground,
where they grow and reach and then disappear into an ocean of themself.
The oak tree above me is my mind
but it’s branches confuse me,
a maze of fingers twisting that I cannot
escape as they climb climb climb.
I search for you because I have to.
Into the house and the room where you are
where you were where you should be
The darkness scares me because it is me.
I scratch at the windows and the floor
to escape or to look for you I do not know.
When the morning comes to bring shadow
the tree fingers ****** me again
to become its roots deep deep away
from you the dark steals me.

You ache in me
like a flu shot arm

The morning is yours
even when you're not next to me.
The room falls into the hole in the bead
where your body isn't.
I roll over three times
and bring you here.
I feel your foot touch mine,
a hand trace up my spine.
Light cracks the blinds in two
just to remind me how empty I am of you.

I stare at the screen
at me not replying to you
to pat myself on the back.
Read my silence.

You say you usually go for younger
*******, I'm 24
--
People always like
a new flower when it blooms.
**** that.
I'll burn every petal.

I think about you at the oddest times
which is to say, all the time.
When my eyes are open
and when they are closed,
my mind finds you, all the same.
When I’m walking up the stairs
or down them, it’s you I’m approaching.
In the morning when I stretch my legs
and at night when my arms search
it’s you they’re after.
It’s you in the space between too,
In the dreams I cannot choose.
In a sense, I can never choose.

Driving home this morning
I join the rolling green hills of the country,
we yawn ourself awake
and push the dew out of our eyes.
Passing the barns and black fences,
I dream a new life for myself here.
A horsehair life,
long and coarse.
In the spring, I'd push seeds into the moist soil
and cross my fingers.
In the fall, I could lose myself in the stalks of gold,
if I wanted to.
I could tear up my calendar,
write a new one on upside-down tobacco
and leafy greens and the sun.
I know I'd be stronger, too.
I'd grow on bales of hay, lifted high,
and on pine wood, axed in two.
But my eyes are on the lines on the road
and I follow them on.