There’s a hole in my heart that’s bigger than Texas
And all the words gushing out remind me of exes
And late nights not sleeping and half-written texts that
I never sent to you.

There’s a sun in the sky that’s hotter than heaven
And the heat index creeps up way past eleven
Humidity high enough to turn fifteen into seven
As the party finally ends.

There’s a worm on the sidewalk that’s been rained out
And I wonder if he knows anything, if he has any doubt
Or if he just slithers and scrunches his way about
Careless of the gravel.

they say “you don’t belong to anyone”.
and it’s nice.
It’s a nice thing to say.
even if it’s not true.
Yes
I am no body’s property
I am a citizen
A woman
A student
A teacher
A worker
A dreamer
A writer
A singer
Sometimes
A poet

But I belong to
And belong with.

If I did not,
I would be as free
and as lonely
as nothing.

For even the space between electrons
Make the atoms what they are.
Even dust and dirt hurtling through space
will one day collide with another matter.
Even the loneliest whale,
Singing it’s song to itself
belongs to the ocean.

So when the man I love says
“You’re mine”
I think
“That’s fine.”
I don’t mind
belonging.

When my poetry becomes water
You become sand
Ebbing it’s flow
Before allowing it to sink deep inside of you
Slowly rolling you forward and backward with the words
Which will make you smaller with time
Until you, too
Become my poetry
Become my water

Every age just a page
In a book constantly rewriting itself.
There’s no mystery in this history,
Just matter beating out and in
Out and in out and in
Again again again again
You can say we’re stardust
Yes, we are,
In small quantities hidden deep in our physical, chemical, biological make-up
A construction of borrowed elements,
Remembering all time like elephants,
Suffering changes in their outer shells, to change and to scatter and one day
Become else

You see
Matter cannot be created or destroyed
But it can redeployed
In the key of B
In a wave of energy, bright and slow at first
Then fast as a rocket ship
Fast as a wormhole
Fast as light, then faster
Ripping itself apart as it stretches
Telling stories all the while.
Every age
Just a page
In a book the constantly rewrites itself.
Every deja vu
An old you
And a decision to make-
Though you may be the same matter as before and maybe after-
A glimpse into a past past
Can make all the difference in the future future
Of a book
That never ends
And never begins
But simply
Rewrites itself
Again again again again

between two things which make sense, in and of themselves.
The hollow space between makes little sense.
That is why it is hollow.

Tonight I will do many various things;
I will fold warm laundry
And go eat tacos with a friend of a friend.
I will drink a beer and go drive
my sad and rickety car.
I will scream your name
When I am meant to
Somewhere deep in a song
Because my soul is aching,
Pouring forth always for the hope of love
Like the love I feel for you.

Tonight I will do many various things.
But I will not stop loving you.

The lines of distinction wear thin.
Where does the wave of influence stop and I begin
and where does my own wave begin,
what shore does it hit?
"No man is an island"
said Jon Bon Jovi, in a dream
illustrated by Nick Hornby.
I am no island.
I am no man.
Where does the string end and begin?
everything tangled up in fruitless plans