dry corners

please excuse me
while the organ-fist
splits and becomes a
jumper.
excuse me while i
fall, posing into the
corner.

mark your calendars
for the date approaches.

words and emotions;
alphabet cereal.
a dirty word floating
in a dirty spoon.
consume it and it becomes
a part of you.

you used to have fun
but you can no longer
find it.

it's like a bast of
cold and hot hair.
your skin knows not
whether to
sweat or
shiver.

your skin knows not
whether to
weather
or toughen.

one way

cranberry-pomegranate
juice.
leftovers,
they hide in the corners
of lip meeting lip.
sticky as it dries.

no wonder your face
is always stuck
to the backside of a
camera.

le weekend

love is blind
but he regained his sight.

thunderstorms bring
nostalgia
strong and yearning.

a bath of yellow light
orange citrus that burns
and scars retinas.
mood lighting,
somber lighting.
dark and bright as the
center of attention.

similar in stature;
statues in the same
frozen pose
90 degree angle elbows
a camera glued to your faces.

similar in scars.

the couple in the corner
move as snakes.
a game of twister
zero gravity on the
walls.

goolash

i am a withering
shriveled flower
in the bright sun's rays.

warm breeze.
your heart pounds
and you don't feel it
until you remount.
the plummet and ascent
captures your heart and lungs
in a cage.

the bitch in the acura
spreads organic poison
into your eyes.
again.

his walk is
distinct
in a bad way.

couchez-vous

too young
to feel this old
too young to feel so
worn out and tired.
too young to feel like
you're dying.

cold mornings

"your lips looks
positively glacial"
he remarks
and i reply
"they froze
in the wind"
glazed and fired in a
kiln.
if he makes a move
use a little teeth
and his lips will become
frost-bitten.

a woodpecker spoke to me
this morning
in foreign tongues.
it sounded like the
sun early rising
over a sparse hill.
he spoke to me words of
wisdom
and taught me the secret to
life.

a man kept pace with me
blue shirt, blue sunglasses
and never spoke a word.

round the corner
and come face to face
with a vanity-riden
brown on brown.
side step
and exhale.

journal1

the sun blanketed,
the white sheet pulled
over the deceased.
for the past week
you forgot how the sun
splices and deforms
and the ray of light
shining on one side
cuts that side of your heart
and consumes it

--

kneecap or
muscle, vein
nerve or tendon
shrieks with pain.
and cements joints;
a stiff walk.
tender elbows
stinging lobes
prickling wrists.

you stand and
static fills your eyes
head clouds and
brain swims in your skull.

falling apart physically

falling apart mentally

it joys you to sport wounds
especially ones you can
tug.

--

i'm just a human
made up of a million little
problems.
cauterized together
or some bound with rope
how else would
hundreds of different
unrelated problems
stick together?

you were made
and not created.

sick of it

before everything
he gave a chance
to discontinue your advancements
and you wish
desperately
that you had
complied

out of focus

14
the ripe old age of
softness.
water drops and streams
on the windows
loneliness in the front seat
driver side only
and lighting strikes
and illuminates the sky
he remarks
"it's like a camera's flash"
and the truth is
suffocating

the only thing that could make you
happier
would be a cigarette in one hand,
razor blade in the other
and 50 new lacerations
on each wrist.

bear trap

of all seated in a circle
around you
with the exception of one
place,
sharp spice to the left,
mouth watering sweet
fruit to the right
and suffocating incense
across.
yet all you can smell
is, not only a sour
throat clenching taste
but his home, too
and it fills your head.

the clock strikes
time that's the same
backwards as it is forwards
only upside down
and your heart destroys
your careful composition.

mobile blog works

le coeur qui fremit.
shatters, sparkling hair sized fractures,
spider web break.
destroyed with horse blinders
and silence.
campfire under a boiling pot
with the broken porcelain
inside,
it scalds.
cold rain violently screams
for bodies to curl around
biceps, forearms, hands.
to press into soft,
to scent.
feet slam
wishing to break themselves
into hard wood.

the cause totally unforgiving
and unwilling to change.

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la table ronde

people mistake your silence
for arrogance.
and blank slate gray face
for apathy.

The Round Table.
you stare down at it.
and smiles fornicate
on your face.

three times wide
because the event
is all too fake.

old writing

exactly how it's written on paper.

--

everyone gets scared sometimes-
all i see is red-
red brake lights, red traffic lights,
red veins beneath my eyelids.
the boy whose scarf conjoins his head
and neck-
his bust out the window-
scarf blowing in the wind-
and it is just that-
which almost blows it away-
my head turns and i deliver a
secret "i love you"-
and he mouths it back-
it is this which i live for.

--

his fingertips as sandpaper
rub against your own to
erase your finger prints.
yearning for the static that's
missing when you kiss.

half your personalities are
opposing
but the other half
identical.

--

the middle of both your lips
glued together
the corners open and rise
few teeth show.
you don't want to smile
but can't help it.
he mirrors your expression
and it's like a visit to the
dentists
office inside a house of mirrors.

perfect in symmetry
perfect in color.
expressions of the same expressionless
stare.

same eyes lidded
and sunken in.

it would be cruel if he didn't
think the same as you.

the obvious already stated
never questioned.

twin stability
different cause, same effect.

there is something floating in the
corner of your eye.
it catches and snaps each
eyelid shut.
there is something there you
can't ignore.

the agreement spoken, more or
less.
but four steps, you turn your
head to look back
and 7 steps, he turns
but your head is straight forward.

you're almost certain, it can't
be nothing.
but you truly are
drowning in naivety and false
romance.

--

accidentally initiated.
is it out of nerves or
interest?
that it's as if
he's pretending
to play the bass drum
on your foot.
barely any words to the left
but a constant flow to the
right.
an old colleague and a new
friend.
a past lover.

a jolt
raising skin as it passes along
a fleeting motion
a relative reflex of muscle
replacing something displaced
a scent tiptoes along the
cord
and it's sweet, but faint.
it asks for your company
but you decline.

his face, a sickle
his profile is bordered.
you can imagine when he sleeps
little agricultural geniuses
cutting & tilling and trimming
to keep everything
in line.

the searchlight did not pass
his eyes.
so the purple half moons were
not acknowledged, if there.
and everything registered too
fast.

he left with "what?"
and "alone"
and without any formal
issue of farewell
like a criminal
avoiding the question.
he's a man who doesn't
accept "goodbye"

--

faces everywhere
melting.
a girl with black lined beneath
each eye
they droop
and identically so do the mouth
and cheeks.
another girl faintly resembles
melted wax.
but maybe that's just your
eyes swish panning to view
something else.
the elder woman
who spreads sadness, hatred,
depression,
her face, permanently melting
frozen, cooled wax
its crevices deep and dropping.
at Walgrins
'bringin the grin since 1989'
the cashier has a kind soul
it pulsates warm and big
his voice is endearing, caring
his eyes search yours
but when you agree to look
back
agree to play a game of
glances
he is already ready
for another customer.
his jacket was sporty
wind breaker shifting in the
stagnant wind of inside an
artificial
pharmacy, convenience store.
the wind outside chills to the
bone
but brings with it the scent
of a new season and the
song of birds' rebirth.

slowly, alone
destroy yourself.
this time, it's real.
it's coming and it's real.
you don't want it
but it's an unstoppable force.

--

deep fluttering heart beats
that nestle in your throat
making it impossible to breathe.
it hurts.

empty stomach
its contents rise
and pool at the opening
everything in your body
assembled in one place.

--

each beat conjures lightening
and it strikes, sharply
left ventricle,
right.

your life is
pretty vibrant.
your life is:
pretty,
vibrant.

self

opposites

never good enough for him

en realité

too good for him

;;

help me help me help me
help me help help help me
help me help me help me help me help me
helpmehelpme
help
me



slowly

d i s i n t e g r a t i n g