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unrequited cosmologyI sit all night,
trying to imagine
what is happening
on the other side of the universe
when I can’t even bear to think
about what my former lover is
just across town.
dreaming last wordsIn my childhood home
I stood at the bathroom mirror
with a pistol. Two pencil-
one beneath my right cheekbone
and one just above the tip of my nose
indicated where I had shot myself.
I entered the dream standing there
bloodless and frightened
when I should have been dead.
I felt as if I had just woken up
and immediately realized I wanted life.
My fingers went to the back of my head
and I panicked when there were no wounds,
when I realized the bullets were still inside.
If they had just passed through
I might have survived but like this,
there was death in me.
I shook and wept. The pistol turned to wood
in my hand. Somehow all my regrets fit in its changing.
Nothingness ate the universe
from the outside until it wrapped tightly
around the room.
The names of flowers
printed on the wallpaper blurred
and while I would have liked
all the dead animals of my childhood
to be there in the room with me,
I was alone.
Even all I’d done
Can't waitThe job crouches
like a gray toad
on the umbrella-edge of dawn
but it's still dark
means reaching all
the way down
to the buzzing of flies
in my soul
when the rest of the world
I reach for the bottle,
for the gods just outside my vision,
for the madness that says
the way beauty says
The difference between sick
waits for me,
the distinction between music
is ready to be found.
diminish to words
in a silent war
that means more to me
than my well being
and yet I am doing better than ever.
there can be no meaning.
of my own making,
I can't say what I mean.
The morning waits
but I will not.
Memories or dreamsIt's the same dead
the same unblooded fury.
As if all you've
were too far underwater
to ever reach again.
A mile in light-years5.88 trillion
of what lies
and the water:
the edge of a city
on the county map
like a stab-wound--
where the century gets notched
one year at a time
into the calf
of a stone hero
in the park
and a single ferrari-red
scatters in the wind
multiplied a thousand times
like a lone ray of light
broken through a prism of spray,
like a mile
imperfectly, thank god,
over and over.
I reach the water
and its wordless
creates a vacuum
which I fill with
beauty is what
tell the truth
A partial quasifraction
of a light-year
vibrates in a tight blue knot
between one wave and the next,
between the drenched sand
and my words
whether I retreat from
the surging waves
stuck in honeyThe sun tattoos a faint opal
just below the wet dip
between your collarbones
and the emptiness between us
becomes as translucent as rain,
as rapt as stained glass.
The twitch in your neck
betrays your heart
and makes the corners of my lips
A pale locust shape vibrates
as if stuck in honey
between the veins in your wrist
and the inside of your elbow
glows like rinsed celery
rubbed onto yellowed paper.
and wet earth
and I am
just a half-broken spine,
a single glass bone
yearning, as all glass does,
Like newThe moon wandered into the morning
like a pale drunk wedge of soap,
it floated into the daylight
like a small broken feather.
Where is the other part of your body?
the sun asked it. You look eaten away.
I lost it in the dark
where the clouds covered the stars, the moon replied.
The sun crept closer. What will you do?
The moon sat on a crooked pine branch. I don’t know.
Go to the shore, the sun told it.
Lower yourself into the water
and let the currents carry you
down and away from the land and sky.
I go there at the end of each day.
All I’ve lost, I find again in the water.
I’ll go, then, the moon said,
watching the sun move away,
up the long blue hill.
The moon cut through the woods,
passed over the dunes
and neared the shore.
The waves crashed onto the sand, but further out
the water swayed in swollen rolling motions
and it made the moon feel calm.
Nearby gulls called out to the moon,
jealous of their territory,
mistaking it for a sick bird.
The sun rea
Path of lifeLife is a dangerous path
Full of twists and traps
A path we're forced to walk
Without turning back
We may regret the past
We may regret the mistakes
But we must learn from them
And keep moving on
We may predict the future
And even fear it
But we never know
What happens next
The only thing we have
Is the present, here and now
So let's live it
And forget about the rest
The mistakes of the past
The mysteries of the future
All part of life
This path we all walk
wordless they succumbAnd they fell -
just like that.
Just like the act of breathing;
soundless and inevitable.
Like an eager girl slipping
straps from her shoulders,
the soft crush of silk at her feet.
We Have No TimeAll we have
Is a sliver
Everything we will
Do in life
We all die before we know it
Its a fact of life
And I am already dying
A slow painful death
One year at a time
One month at a time
One week at a time
One day at a time
Then we flatline
On a metal sheet
Buried in the dirt
To think we were born yesterday
Only to die tomorrow
Winter's GirlI was winter's girl,
frozen under a thick layer of ice.
People tried to break it with their ice picks, but to no avail.
They eventually left me cold and in pieces in my frozen abyss.
You're thawing me out, slowly but surely.
"Summer girls aren't for me, "you say.
"Too full of sick strawberry sweetness."
That was just said to comfort me, but it oddly worked.
Maybe time with you will make me a summer girl,
no more need for thawing,skating with you above my ice.
to the girl with the razors in her back pocket,stop. turn around. i understand you,
and i understand the sadness
entrenched in your bones. i understand
the late nights spent in anxious prayer
to the towels, to the creaky floorboard
just outside your parents' room, to the sink
that stains too easily. i understand
the catastrophic glances that people throw you
when you open your mouth and try
to belong. i understand the intense moments
spent in dressing rooms splicing together outfits
that will gracefully sweep past tally-marked wrists and ankles
and hopefully make sense in the dead of summer.
i understand the nights that you carve the emptiness
onto the razor and wonder if it wouldn't be better
to just die tonight instead. no one can be angry...
or disappointed...or judgmental...or sympathetic (because
sometimes forced empathy is the worst)...when you
no longer exist. it just stops. and anything
has to be better than this.
well, you're right about one thing. it does
get better. and not in that corny way
people tell you. you won't se
LightningboltsYou ease forward, prop your elbows on your knees.
The veins in your hands fascinate me,
like those aerial pictures I remember from school
of rivers worming through lush green areas of places I'd never been,
would never be. The curve of your back gave off heat,
the imaginary line where you ended and the room began
was too real, too sharp to be seen,
just felt. The look on your face seemed burnt
into the wood panel walls behind you.
You rose, pulling at your tie with one hand,
unbuckling your belt with the other, as ambidextrous
as a chef, as unsteady as water
spilled over dry ground. You tugged the belt out of its loops
and as your slacks sagged slightly around your waist,
you took both ends of the leather band in your fist
and swung it at my temple.
A blankness flashed up from somewhere
that I suddenly realized was always below me.
And in that vertigo
I came back to myself on the floor,
suddenly fascinated by the lightning-bolts forming
in the way the creases of your shirt
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