reel it in

18.08.2017

haiku sets, tiny
fissures in a jaded heart –
but it wasn’t me.

i wear socks to bed
now – i picked it up from you,
a wayward habit.

can i ask what you
took from me? my legs, my lungs?
brain function in prose?

i am on this page,
and as the wind blows i see
you are not with me.

do not be afraid
of the words. do not worry
about my mistakes.

you will be just fine.
i am learning quite fast now
how to reel it in.

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heartbeats

13.08.2017

i see the power lines, red
light district lights blinking,
the turrets of wind farms
spiraling endless and how
the fuck am i supposed
to reach out and touch this,
this happiness, and know that
it is something i cannot keep?

here there is americana
upswept in dust, hot days
with nightshade and fire pits.
i will my camera to appear,
to take my mind’s eye photos
of railroad tracks and dirty boots
and the stillness of your face
when you fall asleep.

i want to remain in the space
where i hear your heart beat.

may i capture it in format?
can i paint it in straight lines?
i will sculpt a door in which
i may traverse to sometime
that this would be different
and i would be better. i would be
lots of things, anything;
instead this repeats.

i can loop too.
just not like you, not in
the magic way that i don’t really
understand, just like so much
about you, but i want it and
the echoes, the ghost doesn’t,
+++++ it doesn’t
it doesn’t matter to me.

blue

8.08.2017

blue sky today –
looks washed clean, new
paint applied, no cracks
along the sideboards.

i light candles
that burn down to nothing,
for in this space
it is always dark.

text messages
are uncertain things;
notification alerts
like mini-panic attacks.

i make lists
to fill trash liners,
and whisper your
name on southern winds.

tiny pinpricks
through facade
made light shafts
on this shallow grave.

and suddenly i can see
all along what was wrong
was me, and my bothers
will never bother you.
here i am alone in blue.

so tired.
that’s when it hits, and i am
wrapping arms around my own waist and
there is nothing there, skin and bones
provide no comfort. no substance:
skeleton walking down the aisle to the grave, tears
you keep misunderstanding, become the
false placeholder: napkins stained at a wedding where
the roses stay painted, the smile now
etched in stone. i’ve tried to make
the happiness full in your heart, and my failure is still
incomplete. i cannot keep this free-fall going. i can’t keep
ticking like a cybernetic clock. i’m
turning cold. i shut down like an .exe –
screen
blue.

read me forwards and backwards.

windows

12.07.2017

sideways.
that’s the way it’s coming
in the bedroom window
and the fabric is stained
grey to black.
i lay myself down.

i watch the torrential
downpour, and i think
of you. cleaning
up the mess. does
the water draw you
out like a witch dowser?

time passes in chunks,
and suddenly i’ve found half
the day wasted in the
voyeurism of gravity mixing
with vapours of H20.
and where are you?

i don’t know is the answer
i’d most prefer to give.
it’s in the spot that makes
me ache – the place where
i am not. guilt rises through
my brittle bones.

i think you know this.
i think you look through the
window of my heart and see
where the downpour occurs.
i opened it for you, after all.
and when you see it

i think you smile.

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?

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.