when he pries open
your legs, like a burglar
pries open a locked door,
do not fight him.
If you are in this position,
it is your own fault that
you have left yourself
When you come clean about it
in an outcry, you will be dissected
like a frog on the...
People used to wait for me with bated breath.
This was when my hair was long and beautiful,
when I used to keep longing between my teeth
and the sounds of the ocean were tucked away in my cheek
and when you kissed me,
you said I was saltwater wonder.
I was a sad story on the newsstand,...
When your husband
tells you that your
body is still beautiful,
because of how you sacrificed yourself
for the bundle of blankets laying
and laughing between you on your bed,
do not cut him off, do not chop down
his words. He is...
I am summer freckle-faced
bright, wet, moss-eyed moments
and sleeping winter bones.
After 9/11, they stitched patriotism into our spines
and slapped away our fingers when we tried to touch
the incision site. We were only fourth grade nothings,
still malleable, so we learned to heal around shrapnel splinters
by always expecting that brown hands on a bomb
would dismantle us....
I tend to make a home of people
while people make a home of me
and we are eternally matryoshka dolls,
nesting in another's bones.
Bleed into me.
I gladly carry.
I could run the tips of my fingers across the faultlines of your life for hours,
lips touching imperfections and anomalies alike
Marveling the beauty of it all.
Curling my hands in the mire of life as you made it
Trying to find...
she sits in grey wind wondering how the world still
knows she is alive, or dead? the fumes of old nocturnes
smoke demons in familiar twists. she hums nothing well...
good:: the same russian doll or christ like cull.
she told herself none or all of...
Often I wake.
To a great distance, I focus my gaze
through the window out past the gate,
between the cloud and shadow's sway...
There is a shape that moves in grey.
Something like long robes from an olden age,
draped over some great, grotesque frame.
if i go on, out of sheer buoyancy,
the heart will decide to die
at the point of contact; immediate
and then some,how shimmer apocalyptic:light
that i know damn well is blindness.
so i keep still.
if i seem closer now, like white words on sky,
There was once a time,
I could rid, all I had gathered,
and speak to the trees.
To the wind, to the water
to the sun, to the soil.
I knew their names.
. . .
When the wind would sing,
pines would sigh remembrance
I'm clairvoyant to your billionaire lips
the hoax is your tongue
against my starfish lifelines
you burn me with moonbeams
you're a swindler, a lord
chalk fresh and glitter warmth
I'm the fumbling rebel
the fizz when the rain
falls against my heated flesh...
white body, slender infinity,
not yet human.
i might be.
i promise you,
the palest existence will be
angels and deaths.
there are words and no words; killings.
brief. sparkling, they sound
like the silence does when it's loud. . .
i have these hands.
they look like...
Father from father,
Spoken through fire and smoke,
many tales I know.
Taller than the tallest oak,
wiser than the eldest folk.
Mother from mother,
Blood from blood, bone from bone,
aeons' fields be sown.
Deeper than the darkest tone,...
the man with no hunger
and some sunday girl without meat;
on the edge of a sinking front stoop,
she is bound for dead.
her hair a grey bruise.
all the other voices are only god leaving her behind.
she should be baptized at least....
nothing is like me, but the sun
burning coldly; an afternoon spent
in despondent silence, a brilliant curse
muttered in the beginning of the bed.
of course, i remember everything with audacious colour
and i think i climbed over you to get to the place
where no one else...
The past grows bony fingers
that stretch and cast an ice shadow
lingering on my throat.
The creeping chill was seeded seasons ago
in my rush through frosted daffodils,
swaying defiant and brush-stroked in vibrancy.
Impatience fluttered its winking white wings,
enticed me further in,...
Death is a woman.
She cuts from the cloth of time
the shroud of kings and waits
counting each grain, each day
the last one falls.
Hourglass curves flow,
a granular avalanche.
Whose eyes watch them?
While steel blades swing
and ropes bind and pull,
men roar, the blood pours...
it was a scarlet hour...
The rushing recedes, leaves me
bitten by the workings
of my teeth and lips.
Regrets leak through my palms.
I raise my chin, facing the children
that sprung from the scarlet hour.
while i sleep,
these girls move from their walls,
and they play at clothes.
their toes soft and quiet in the grey night;
not a sound while they kiss,
fragile lips drinking
cupping raw silent water
and circling with kitten fingers the red stars.. .
and then the...
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