clean

uncover the sick parts of me
and pretend that they’re gold.
bathe me in the firelight
but please don’t heat the water;
reach between my thighs
and scrub until it’s done.
i don’t want to remember anything
from before
anymore.

Advertisements

almost ready

i dug myself a well
just to be alone down here
at the bottom.

ignoring light and sound
i sit, knees tucked,
on the damp leaves and crumpled cigarettes,
the dirt and the vine.

i will not look for answers.
i will not metabolize,
and i will not consume.

she calls for me above,
up there in the blue forever,
but i take a drag
and pull my legs closer to my chest.
i rest my forehead on
the cool, wet stone.

i know i need to leave this place,
but right now
i can’t handle anything,
anything at all,
so i smoke and smoke till
haze descends
and i forget, fall asleep.

Introductions II

she’s got this clipped Boston accent,
warm brown eyes, and
freckles that you want to collect
and tuck into your shirt pocket, then
pat twice as a reminder.

she processes words in a swirly-brain current
that tides neatly with yours,
sudden silent trout
swimming through your favorite books and
a quick wit,

yes,

an eyebrow raise,
a pull at the corner of the left side of her mouth,
a laugh and eye contact,
shaking heads down low
(eyes closed)
because,

damn.
this girl’s electric

Highline highwrite

everyone around us judging judging judging
turning their sides and their mouths forming ohs
chitter of cell phone conversations,
gentle foreign langue drifting up up up from a call home and
the whirr of air conditioners and
clack-slap-smick of shoes slapping traps on the wood walk.

the flick of their heads then eyes then brains:
you draw them in sharp-like, blue.
necks snap and I just wonder if it’ll ever calm down,
if you’ll stop.

then warm press of lips and cheek
tastes of salt and bug spray and flowers,
cattails thick wildflower blooded mauve
rasp behind us, side by side on the bench.

you use that false high voice when marketing light-up shoes to strangers
but can you even see what you’re doing
when you’re running like that?

when the whole world collapses and chooses you as center of mass
and a bloodflood rush (it all comes to you)
and you,
you are the funnel, the universal bottom.
energy pours in, anxious and ruby, passing through you to somewhere:
but you’re not sure where, are you?

all of the hours

i miss you
like i miss blackberry vines on fences.
the pull and pluck and sting of thorn,
pink-black juice and blood.

i miss you
like i miss fish tanks.
the swirl of water and flipwink of fins,
how their tiny ‘oh’ mouths open and shut, open and shut

i miss you
like i miss the mountains in summer.
cool mornings, fog drifts,
dove song, and the smell of hot leaves.

i miss you
like i miss the Bahamas.
you and me and white linen curtains.
coffee in rocking chairs, gently kissing in the dark.

i miss you
like i miss unbroken bones.
no ache, no discomfort, no shame, no aloneness:
a body righteous, repaired.

i miss you
like this, like that, like all the above.
this distance rends me in ways I can barely understand.
it hurts, and i hate it.

will you come back, my love,
and be as kind and careful as the day we first met?
will you bring passion and stories and fire in your hands?

i know that you will, and i’ll do the same:
that way we’ll fuse our lives together again.

games

i feel sad,
and the blankets
crumpled at my knees
are cozy and serious.

yesterday was my birthday.

she’s back in the ring of things,
gloves off, ready to fight.
is she crying? or is it sweat?
i never could tell
except for up close.

i hate watching
her feel it,
the attack.
somewhere near,
tightening edges
careful sidesteps
loose and desperate lunges.
contact at last, and
a crowd,
roaring.

i sigh, turn my phone off,
and slide further under the blankets.

Black Rose

Dirty fucking smile dirty lips that kissed someone else’s and then told me you loved me dirty eyes dirty mind dirty hands that were wrapped around someone else’s dick and then stroked my lips how dare you.

Your pull and push and drag your legs the shoes the promises the victory you feel the fucking victory you feel it’s so unwarranted but you aren’t intelligent enough to even see it not mature enough to feel it not good enough to admit it.

So hide behind your selfies your lips your fingernails and the 50 pounds you just spent at Sephora. If Judaism had a hell I’d pray god would send you to it oh but wait a second my parents didn’t raise me to cheat and spite and cower and lie.

I’ll always be the better person. Go fuck yourself.