the moundthe Heights in full sunmy room a meat lockerthe house a heat sink, a car radiator"If you're with a person long enough, the two of you develop your own secret languagenot unlike the wordless vocalizations and touches preverbal infants use to communicate with each other."the Heights in full sunSaturn in the house of Scorpio
remembering some people is like having acid refluxyou came to me in the night,like a ghostshowed up again during beyonce's visual albumand the uncomfortable platonic cuddles I had with new people I'm still not sure I want to touch
gibbous manI tell you something I haven't told anyone in a long timeyou say "I'm sry hun"nothing bad resultsI seek mirrors and hope I am reminding myself I am there,not seeking to hurtdear god, I don't believe in youplease make my mouth a door and not a cage
not broke yetlearning terms like "mandatory reporter,""full frame," "crop sensor,""prime lens,""Rest Ice Compress Elevate"learning "self-verification"learning "plantar fascia"learning fucking "breathable gentle wrap"
it is the second day of schoolyou have two new facebook notifications,four unopened boxes of herbal tea,one old injuryokay, like five old injurieshunger crampsfingernails shiny Gothic jellybeanssome sophomore's bleached hairI wonder if anyone is getting drunk yet
coming and goingthis is the first time I've driven a car in three monthsthis is the first time I've lain face down in the dirt in seven yearsI have been all manner of strange placesthis house, the strangest of allif there's a magic number that will make strange places feel like home,I don't know it
it's just a bodymy body is not a templenor is it a forestor an oceanor a waterfallI am a person,not a landscape
sleep of the bentskin small violinflash of red hair in closed eyechipping out a brown bruise
faintly, stronglywake with one hand tingling, numbfallen asleep during sleeppinioning a bottle of ice watergives mildest of histamine reactions on the forearmhorizontovertical hatchingRed, Green, Bluereturn of jelly donutintroduction of sherbetintroduction of instant cold packa feeling like endless overnight camp
a love poemlike a dictionary ripewith salted, sun spottedwords that emanate powerand splendor, i am unableto describe you.
flyover state, flyover heartthere's almost nothingleft of august, or me -just fat, humid yawns thatcling to the asphalt andvinyl sidings of housesprettier than any autumn day.chlorined kids rise from thetanned wake of public pools,clothed in school uniforms,counting the new frecklesthey've earned like war badges.the nights i can lay in myunderwear beneath spider webblankets while my wheezy fanoscillates and whispers dustystories are numbered.but i'll hold the moonas it crests over summer'sdying vigil, my arms higharound it's wondrous girth.i'll ride the heat into theashes of three months spentdreaming in fevered euphoria.i'll lead the impassionedthousands down margins tuckedinto a waning, wailing cry.and i won't rest, even afteraugust is buried between bluelined composition pages in acoffin of lead - a memory with noscent becoming one without a heartbeat.
no, i want the annihilating sweetnessyou were right when you said i lackthe nerve to drive my car into theocean. i stay out late, the splintersof our electric city clicking againstmy teeth, & come home to the flashof your whispers flushing my bodywith nervous polyrhythms. last nighti found the letter in which i namedyour eyes orestes and pylades:star-crossed & polished & eager tosettle on a cosmic altar where we trembled as if we were glassesof water & i've been wandering, i'llconfess, beyond the perimeters ofyour damaged skin, beyond the quietfluster of your gleaming spine.i wandered, with vespers foaming atthe brink of my eyelashes, rushingto collect the wire hearts of sexyinsomniac goddesses, but your tonguewas a fleet of white doves trainedto pick at my tendons. & themorning slams into the back ofmy neck as i rummage through yourblack salt pupils, looking forthe dictionary i left there, open,rising & setting like a diary.the last page reads: speak to me in alanguage you knew before
i always was the girl who danced with thunderthey've issueda flash flood warningand i am thinkingabout our legstangled like treeroots beneath thesheets.the screen doordoesn't latch anymoreand the wind istrying to tear itaway and i amlistening to itscream and hearingyou say my name.the roads are wetand treacherous andall i am thinking aboutis you and yourwet lips slippery tongueroadside teeth in myskin and the sky isfalling down aroundme and----all of these warningsare just another metaphorfor you.
I willI will love youall the way to the place where ladybirds go to die,to the lushest corners of the earththat hold the secrets no man was meant to seeand we will find them, and know them together.I will love youall the way to the place where bubbles are madeat the bottom of a glass of ciderthat blisters the glass with condensationas we trade hats and laugh at the way the air smiles.I will love youall the way inside a branch where buds dream of Becoming,where those one-day-flowers stir wooden heartsinto an uprising, into a blossoming lifeand we will plant our ambitions there, in the blooming place.I will love youall the way to the square brackets that hold our boxesbecause you are my best friends, and you will beas we fold papery hands around paper-cut wrists and cryand mourn eighty-odd years flown by too fast. Even then.Even then, I will love you still.
to the girl i lose my words aroundi have been meaning to tell you for years:i think you’re beautiful. i haveseen nothing on earth that holds a candleto the ocean you carry inside your body.it spills over your edges sometimes, likea rain shower around you, blurring your penciled-inlines until there is nothing left of you but your naturalcliffs, valleys, and deserts.i like that.i have never met someone who is, somehow,a sea and a storm at the same time.maybe i never will again.maybe you are the only onewho gathers clouds on her foreheadlike a promise, or feels the push and pull of the tidewith her every step.you are beautiful, honestly.you are honest, beautifully.it is in the way you talk, the way you hold iceon your tongue but forget to use it—you always forget to use it, i don’t thinkyou know how.to be truthful, i’m afraid of your smileand how it breaks over me, how it pullsme like a whirlpool down, how it pushes melike a current back to the surface. i’m afraid of
universal constanti.i never make the same mistake,except when i do.ii.i crossed the street with my eyes closedand hoped to hear the siren,not the screeching of tiresnor the sighingof my last loved breathbeing violently reft,nor the screamsof the onesi have left.iii.i will write a bookon how to dig up a road full of goldwith broken fingers,how to uproot an oceanthen bury yourself beneath it,how to live with a crossthat you nailed.iv.i am betterfor having known you.i am more awareof my humancore.i am seeingthat my hands don't weave,they knot.i am worsethan i thought.v.i never make the same mistake,except when i do.vi.i feel my bodydecayand two eyesrot.bite my tonguein twainand chew nailsraw.i swear i foughtas well as i knew how;i'll wear these mirror shardsfrom nowto armageddon.vii.i shook my hollow bonesat passages leaden,filled my lungs withdark liquid,asked reefs to skin;but look, i am charybdisand i am coming around againand i am loud enoughto
i don't miss you, but i do.when it rains idrive like helltrying to find you on thecurb.how many nights did welose parkedon the edge of town? hell,i had memorized the wayyou looked in thedark. your eyes shone like thestars (but i should know better than tocompare you to any sort ofgalaxy).and sometimes when itstorms, i thinkof calling you and telling you thati'm sorry your mom's adrunk and i'm sorry your brotheroverdosed, and i'm sorry thati left last fall–see, i had to burn this bridgebefore i jumped off ofit.
you ate the stars and i ate my heart.this is how i wasdestroyed: ifell in love with a boywith razor sharpteeth and apoet's heart. it's really adreadfullypretty kind of thing.using his borrowedcraft-man'stongue, he took me in like afour a.m cigarette (slowly, andwith loneliness in every one of hisjoints). we both thoughtthat enough smokewould fill in the cracks in ourrib cages; we were bothwrong.he told me that he wouldlike to be aplanet: "all that openspace, all those dyingstars. it would give me room tobreathe".instead of telling him thatthere is no oxygen inouter space, iwatched him feel his lungsimplode. it broke mybones to witness it; but it's really adreadfully pretty thing tosee.
i am tired of being told i will be okaysee,that's the thingsweetheart,all anyone evertells you is thatit's going to be'okay.'(you are telling methat you are leaving.)'okay.'they don't tellyou what to do withthe pressure inyour chest onthe dark days,or how touncurl your fistsfrom your hairor your nailsfrom your skin.'okay.'(you are telling methat you don't know ifyou are coming back.)'okay.'maybe i don't want'okay.'maybe i'm tired ofonly ever being'okay'.(i am building wallsagain and you are pryingmy fingers from my hair.)i want more than this,i deserve a word so full ofhope and safety that itweighs my tongue downwith flowers.give me a mouth fullof flowers and remove 'okay'from your vocabulary.i need more than this.
i have forgotten how to forgive myselfdo you remember?i was the first toshow you the shape of yourown heartbreak.i carved myinitials into yourpericardium and leftyour chest gaping.you, a fish out of water,your soft belly exposed tothe fisherman'sblade.i left youdrowning in love forme.
i forgot to remember you this yearaugust 24thwas just another daythis year.i didn't buyyellow carnations andi didn't cry.i don't knowif this means i'mmoving on or ifi'm forgettingyou were everhere.
lose itI loved youas I am going to lose you:steadily, and without artifice.like the clearing of floodwaters.like the healing of a wound.there is something within methat does not permit permanence,something rancid insidethat slowly wears through—I cannot keep. I lose. I lose.but I am determined, this time,to do it gracefully. to make itinto a skill that I can perfect,a performance that commands awe,a sideshow of precious thingsslipping through my fingers.somewhere, behind a curtain,on a rickety platformsurrounded by strangers,I am losing youas I have loved you:willingly, and without reservations.with the depth of an ocean.with the tenderness of a bruise.
10:18 pmtoday i found weaponsburied beneath your skin; pistolslocked andloaded, pointed against yourh e a r t.while you turned awayi tried todisarm you. i pressed my lipsto your skin toremind you of the thingsyou can't yet know.
note 68i've a talent inturning men into gods.i sow their voicesinto commandments andtheir breaths intocreation.how he gives me life.how he takes it away.
the presences we carryI.I think that there are more ghosts in this housethan there are people.I am a ghost and my illness is a ghost,my brother is a ghostand my mother has a ghostly aspect about hersometimes.she has ghosts who hang about herin the dead of night, and so do I.she can’t see them, but she can feel themon the back of her necklike a sudden chill.I can see them, and I don’t know what to tell herwhen she asks.II.among those of us who see our ghosts,it’s become a daily pleasantry—“how are your ghosts today,” we ask,and we wince and nod at each otherin tacit understanding.these corpses rattling about behind ushave become a matter of course to us, I suppose,though if anyone else could see theirstark figures and dead eyes,they’d likely be frightened halfto death.III.maybe we never really lose our ghosts—maybe they fade over time,their steps behind us less heavy,their bodies less and less substantialuntil they trail about fro
i have time to be a skeleton (lightheaded)i am all white noise -an amnesiac,melancholic,ipecac gums &the grey matter in betweenmy ears is cotton, tulle, &vile, vile boy,i wish i could spit outteethin the place ofwords & emeticsbutdead birds detach myskull from my throat, splitmy brain steam in two
depression, againdays havestopped beingdays,the gutspulled out andreplacedwith empty sleep.nights the same.and the rest ofit leavesa stale tasteon my sheets.
agbc, god, othersyour face is hazier nowbut I carry you in me stillas long as someone remembersyou are not yet dead