accidental ex

your picture is only allowed to sit on the
top shelf of the desk
So I can pretend I don’t see you
So others can pretend I don’t see you
while your Eyes peek over the edge
just visible from my bed
barely
You survey the room, filled with Hurt
Crying
What have you done?
What have you done?

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panic in a tin can

panic on the subway 
empty orange seats and me
fluttering looking trying not to look at Them

(do They see
do They know what this feels like)

i don't have any drugs i ran out two days ago 
two days ago 
things started getting bad again 
and i'm scared so scared 
no meds to gloss me over with 
everything blurs

the thrum in my chest
an endless return
but i want to go home.

cleaning out

the heat lighting in my elbows travels fizzyquick
to my fingers and palms.
they’re called brain zaps,
a withdrawal symptom
where electricity travels in strange places.

the pulse travels just slow enough so i can trace lines of
the disturbed muscles pulling.

but you should know,
i’m not too worried.
i think it’s just the me
surging back
into myself.

nosedive correction

housefly in my mind,
zipping around and bumping into corners.
the static grinds wetly hotly against skull

i look at chapstick and think of snowfalls
i look at zippers and think of concerts
i think of my girl and see stone fences
in past new england pastures
barriers and divides and things to climb

how complex
surroundings can seem,
but then i look at the sky,
at the quaking aspen and birch closing above,
and it’s funny
how simple
feelings actually are.

distance

were i winged,
or perhaps just on a plane,
i’d be in your bed by tomorrow nightfall.
instead i cocoon myself in blankets,
and must imagine you in Spain.

my poems aren’t grand,
faraway love isn’t novel,
but i miss you, i need you,
and i wonder it all:

how’s the coffee?
how’s the cat?
do you write of me,
or just talk like that?

seeing you again

we watched a man spill box of beer
on Madison Avenue
that wheat scent rising.
we saw dogs in sweaters
and children in coats,
then hopped in a cab.
drinking you in,
i couldn’t help staring.
that leather jacket
and backless shirt
and smooth even tan,
two freckles inline of your spine.
you watched me
with that searching gaze
i tried to stay guarded but
you asked to see me again.

and so we watched cherry blossoms fall
and birds courting boldly.
you lay with your  head
right near my lap but
you didn’t really talk to me.
just went childish and watched the squirrels,
giggling occasionally as i seethed.

equivalence

the sound and buzz of people around you, chatter rippling in the concert venue: all metal and stairs and popcorn and beer.

is the same as

when you’re in a white bright eyeglasses shop, facing a corner on your left hand side and you turn to the right and the flash of lenses in the sun hits your eyes makes you blink for a second and their flash-burn is on the backs of your eyelids and you blink again and everything is thinner

the feeling is that you are empty and small, being carved clean by something bigger than you.