The still English heat,
The ***** promise of July the 1st
Leaves the grass a mottled yellow
And the dappled shade of the purple birch
Almost holy.
Specks of precise and glittering pollen
Rest upon beds of browning foxgloves.
Cats are left collapsed,
Blissed out, lulled into dreams
of this motionless sun shining forever.

I feel your hands in my stomach
And I'm hungry for your grip
As the hot sky only ripens
My daydreams of your laugh.
The thick scent of withering hyacinth
Is the curve of your back,
the taste of your sweat.

A stain of certainty is baked in
By July the 1st.
Novocain for my infected English heart.
Whispering the start of a love that will be
kicking leaves through October
And sharing warmth through December.

they're the worst, and i mean that literally
imagine this, imagine that
everything that terrifies you, from any age that you've been
from the things that barely ***** you to the things that you are deathly afraid of
under one tent, an old worn down halloween coloured carny tent, filled with broken down rides and fallen apart structures and lit only by the moon
all with one intent, all of them working together to reach one goal
to get you, and have their way with you
and you can't fight back, every time you try to, they just get stronger
so you do the one thing you can do at this point
you run
you run faster then you ever have before, and none of this weird *** dream running where you move slowly when you're trying to run
i mean full out sprinting
you run and try to escape
but there's no way out, the holed purple and orange walls of the tent flap in the wind but when you go to touch them, they fill and turn solid
solid concrete below three inches of dirt, and you can't see anything to climb
you run and try to hide
the lesser terrors might try to help you.
trying to convince you that this place is safe, or to let them lead the others off of your trail
but they never tell the truth, they only do one thing
they help the greater terrors find you
so you refuse their help, shooing them away, and you survive for a bit longer
but its always the same, in the end, no matter what you try, every time it ends the same way
they find you, hiding on top of one of the structures, in a little cave, somewhere in one of the rides
and you're tortured
you're tortured worse than you ever thought that a being would do
sometimes your tongue is split into thirds from side to side, and is then cut from front to back
sometimes your limbs and body are twisted and contorted into strange shapes, making you into human art
you foolishly believed that these things might have a heart and not make it as slow and painful as they could
well you're right for the first bit, they do have a heart of sorts
after they're done playing with you
after they're done toying with your body
they don't just let you be, leave you where you are to stay there in agony
no, they **** you
nothing extra, nothing complex
just a stab through the heart, a ripping off of the head, and you're gone
unless they're being crueler
at which point, you have the option of fighting back
or letting them **** you in a gruesome way, hanging you from a rope over an open tank of water with lots of hungry creatures eagerly awaiting your fall

at least, that's what you think they do, you're never asleep long enough to find out
and that's why youre glad that they've only now begun to come and get you while you're awake

I'm not the first, or the last, to admit this
but those days
those wonderful days when you can run out of a pizza place past midnight and drive
standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
with music so loud that no one can hear you cry
with wind blowing your tears back behind you
so you don't have to worry about getting them on your clothes
holding your arms out
like they do in Titanic
Perk of Being a Wallflower
Superman
but you don't feel the joy that they do
you don't feel what everyone else does
you cry and feel broken
because your mind is a cruel place
and your worst memories and fears come up when you should be having the most fun
so you stand up
constantly watching
to make sure that these empty streets really are empty
constantly hoping that the credits dont roll yet, because you have so much more to do
and you keep your hands to yourself
because you can't let your sorrow spread to the others
once again the tears in your eyes are from the empty hours of another sleepless night
for another night you keep your hands to yourself
afraid to reach out
four heartbeats and a loud engine
all drowned out by a summer night being lived in a horrible way
standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
and doing your best not to jump out and cry

I will readily be the first to admit
I heavily romanticize the **** out of life
It’s not that I don’t separate fact from fiction
But if I can find something that is beautiful in both
Then I know I have found something truly wonderful
Give me a movie moment and, for the time being, I’ll know that I’m doing okay
I’ll know everything is going to be alright
So give me summer nights
Let us run out the doors of a pizza place past midnight and drive
Standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
Sticky stage makeup streaked by sticky wind
Overly gelled hair windswept into Picasso shapes
Let’s notice how the stars spin when you look directly upwards
And feel the swaying balance in your feet, as the air plays louder than the music
Hold out your arms like
Titanic
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
Superman
Hooking my ribcage forward over the top of the windshield so I can let my hands explore the sky
Reaching to touch low-hanging branches that are never quite near enough
Leaning bent back against the railing
And singing mismatched lyrics to whatever song I can’t quite hear
Since I’m holding my head farther above the world than usual
Standing straight and tall and
Let’s appreciate the way the laws of physics keep us from falling but not from tipping
So we’re always just on the edge of cautious
Slightly alert
But mostly lost in the magic of being
Young and free
Past midnight on the empty streets of a small town
With fireflies spinning past like low-hanging stars
And a summer breeze intensified into enveloping all five senses
Let’s forget about responsibilities and forgive the people we’re running away from
Even if just for the moment
Give me the rush of this moonlit escape
And memories that could fit with pretty soundtracks and rolling credits
Let headlights be our guide and the radio be our leader
For one night the tears in our eyes are going to be from the sting of speed
Not the empty hours of another sleepless night
For one night we are going to reach out for a hand
And actually end up holding tight to each other as we race through the darkness
Four heartbeats and a loud engine
All drowned out by a summer night being lived as it’s meant to be lived
Standing up, top down in a convertible jeep around the back roads of a small town
And romanticizing the ever living **** out of the movie moments in life

I hate red.
Red is the color of his lips when he whispers in my ear,
The color of his dress that one time we danced,
The feeling in the back of my eyes
When I'm told I am not
The same to him anymore,
No longer worthy,
He is a bee floating from flower to flower
And I am the sunset-colored blossom too shy to walk away.
Red is the way I begged my sister to let me wear her crimson blouse when I went to see him
Because I know it's his favorite color
And I didn't care that she yelled at me later.
Red is the fire in my stomach that pours too much smoke into my lungs,
Leaving me choking on secrets, and fear, and
Emotions that don't deserve to exist because
I knew all along that this was going to happen.
Red is the way I should be angry but instead I feel numb,
Numb in a way that no scarlet late-night passions or self-inflicted bloodstains
Will banish.
Red, like the shadows in the night that are too unique to be ordinary black,
Instead creeping over tired limbs with a vibrancy
Out of place in the grey shades of my thoughts.
Red, the feeling of heat in my sternum when he said he maybe liked me,
The way my face grew warm with my sister's teasing,
The way my heart fluttered too fast,
Catching me off guard when he held my hand,
The confusion when he wasn't  comfortable with me,
The savage resentment taking over my mind
When he confessed his non-attraction to me.
Red, fading slowly to the dusty leftover
Pink-brown tones
Of roses left too long in a vase.
I hate red.

all those words
left floating in the air                                                           im sorry
you can do nothing for them
the words that you say but no one hears
though you keep hoping                                         please forgive me
that someone might hear them
and ask you                                                   "what's wrong?"
so you can respond with everything
everything that's gone wrong
everything that's your fault
but no one asks
because no one hears
so there you are, stuck with the words
floating in air

Shiny black spit-shined shoes
on the walk
in the Memorial Gardens
hurt my feet
to look at their stiffness
and his swollen ankles
in them.
His worn and creased pants
too short, belt buckle aligned
dress-right-dress
with the button fold of his shirt.
He wore
an old faded USMC campaign hat
pulled down
almost to his white eyebrows.
Almost comically.
I pitied him
in the way we sometimes do
the old who mumble,
never knowing
just who they are talking to.
I heard Inchon mentioned,
and Chosin a time or two,
and every time he said Puller knew,
yeah, Chesty knew.
I quit taking my lunch
with a book in the Garden
when he stopped coming around
and after I saw his picture
in the obituaries
with a description of how he won
his Silver Star and two Purple Hearts;
wishing now I had listened closer.
More’s the pity
I never spoke to him.

r ~ 6/27/14