background noise

9.07.2017

here in the tree
i am one leaf rustling.
i am together, and yet
s e p a r a t e
and i am lonely.
you are so close, but these
tendrils of photosynthesis
do not bind, do not touch,
do nothing but sustain
a bigger hierarchy of sound.

and if i was a flower, too
somewhere in-between i’d pause
and wonder why
you find the time
to visit everyone but me.
you must have been a busy bee.

these days our homes are never silent.
dryers running full, floorboards creaking,
shouting dogs and people barking
orders, and a small whimpering heard
through backs-of-doors, if only
you were listening.

the cicadas here are lovely things.
they sing and hum and never stop.
they work for every goddamn breath
til they fall down in grasses dead.

the breeze here blows free:
summer scent of beachy waves,
sun-tan oil stains,
your musty bedroom blankets:
the cacophony goes unheard
and i am
s o m e w h e r e
in the middle between hell
and high water.
i shout your name among
the flames.

we burn in earnest, you and i
in tandem like two apartments;
one catches to the other in
ruination.
the middle ground
is groaning cinder.

o attic space above my head!
rotting in asbestos corridors
filled with books and useless
verbage, ignored.
o basement dweller! your corners
dark and cracked with sorrow, the
mess of truth, become something
you may not have wished for.

even the insects sleep, quite hushed,
when night has turned here all to dark.
i lay awake, a puddle on the floor.
am i so easy to ignore?

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sleepless

19.03.2017

above here is the spiraling night;
effervescent glowing
star tips forming lines
to new galaxies. a map
of phosphorescence,
beacons made cartography.

light is reflective, pooling
in the shadows of the trembling
mind, panic fused as a
grayscale portrait of
agony. the dark can only absorb.
i am torment through osmosis.

and it is bright here, carnival lights
highlight my plum heavy eyes
against my lids and better judgement.
sleep works to be elusive, dodging
the hoops, the vise-like jaw closed,
a tightrope cord against my neck.

jellied brain slogs on with storming
doubts, as a blurry dawn approaches;
my double vision is leaking tears.
striving to suspend my consciousness,
i bruise my knees on hardwood
looking for a star-god on useless maps.

each night i wish to join the cosmos
in sweet vacuous slumber, eyes
that flutter closed with the dusk…
not to spend the hours as if i were
the dead earth crust, ever-awake, and
spinning like a top among the sandmen.

pulling teeth

17.12.2016

flash those pearly whites.
light catching on
lies, tongue flippant over
long vowels and sighs.
that time you said we were
something, shy-eyed against
the odds.
but dawn came
and your smile, now, it is
different, this distance;
you are the icy heart of Pluto’s
broken pressure
from my missives.
i watch you face away, mocking ignorance;
and i laugh and small talk with
your text-tones, pure silence.

i look sick–
pounds dropping,
a dripping faucet from my hips,
my eyes. my breasts, thin.
you poke fun inside
my rib cage to leave me heart-stricken,
and chapped skin around my lips
keeps pulling up in pretend.

capillaries burst and fix into
bruises, nail scratches,
hands grasping and losing purchase;
there is so little left to hold.
the bridgework falls apart in
the mold, your grin contagious
and profoundly plaguing.

i can only bend back so far,
legs open, no pain to numb the
knowledge of the drugs you’re roped in,
you set the tone, the pace, the bones
of relationship tropes and blood stains
read like coffee grounds in small doses.
pump your brakes, poised with
easy access to the display case.
we’re closing up shop now, out of stock;
gone are your visceral devices,
trying to save face calling
corporate competition for fuck dates
and pricing.

tell me why it is
that talking to you is like pulling teeth?
yellow skeleton slice, smirk pulled
aside and nothing underneath.
dentist chair, armrests squeezed bare of
stuffing now neatly piled beside the floor.
tools spot abscesses and reek, mirrors
dance along your sallow cheeks, and i
find nothing to restore.

haiku 1

12.09.2016

i am nothing but
a segregate sense of self
and a bunch of bones.

termed

10.09.2016

the supervisor has come to
bind the eyes, gag this tongue
that tries to scissor snake in two,
hide the hands holding the knife.

red tape so thick it is new
plush carpeting, tailor-made
for my arrival. dress up and
look sharp, a killer smile.

oh, this paperwork. it never
ends, swift doubling back, eating the
tail of its fossil predecessors,
an orbit of copy letter disposables.

the department of human artifice
(resources have nothing to do with it)
sit in the back. take notes
on a cold mahogany coffin-table.

the guillotine lays flat and white,
ready to charge forward to
the instruments, lined up
to lop the limping bit right off.

a clean slice. a small gasp.
this is no cease-fire, this new void.
trying to achieve vocational satiety
with soggy tissues and a wastebasket.

on meditation

9.09.2016

tendons tense. relax
into to place,
(breathe in)
capillaries fizzing
adrenaline veins.

crouch to be disjointed,
head wilting slow;
(breathe out)
a small dizzy spell
and coppery taste.

breathe the fuck in.
breathe the fuck out.
you can calm down.
(i doubt, i doubt.)

be still

8.09.2016

be still. night sky
slow, soft, sure in its ink dark,
stars winking out to swallow me
whole.

the tall grasses
sway in wind movement nonexistent,
moaning roar from water-cars
crashing.

the corpse flower
wafts pungent in the silky air,
catching my nose, my mouth, like
vomit.

and you are there.
black hole eyes staring
endless, palms outstretched.

disappear.

Stitches

7.09.2016

i suppose i must be burlap
if you are wool.
we play at being friends,
we rent our sentiments.
symbiotic tug-of-war.

sometimes you drain
like potatoes in a can.
thick-spun slime melting off
slowly, then all at once;
you don’t keep well.

the world smiles gorgeous
but not for this one,
this one right here
that stabs slivers of glass
into the backs of eyes.

and those hooks! they claw,
they tear scar tissue
anew, and i don’t scream;
you pass over me in shadow.
it is just this again.

i will endure it, endless,
forever cosmos wrapping,
twisting to pull me
into your black mouth.
awaiting the kill.

lost and found

6.09.2016

you send the beacon out.
I sit in the dark, watch the
blooming, bloody red light sizzle into nothing,
and still nothing comes. no matter, you say,
you know the way. you make your maps and
i listen to you, whether I mean to or not.
you go the wrong route, and i follow, I
can’t find the words and my eyes hurt, the ragged breathing,
My mouth

 

yawns wide, canyon-big,
but i can’t tell you
what I think; you don’t want to hear it now.
we should be heading home. we need to backtrack;
back crack from exhaustion, i am the chattle
carrying your precious cargo along a ridge.
rocks snap quick across the edge, skitter into dark oblivion,
and what if I fall in?
i step lightly. I stomp my feet.

fixing pretty

5.09.2016

Here are my nails, unpainted. My face, unprimed.

My hands are clean. My eyes are bleary, but shine. And yet

you find it less alluring than the smoky-look, the polish and

that damn red lipstick, smudging itself

ungracefully on my teeth.

I’m fixing it up. I’ve got paint.

I’ve got brushes for blush and concealer, mascara

that has not quite congealed, old pots of DIY kohl cat-eyes,

and I’ve got the napkin with your number on it.

Yeah. That’ll do.