Has anyone ever said
your name like sweet rolls?

Once in a while when the city lights
are cotton candy and the phone poles
are licorice wires against melon skies
the chatter fades to clacks like drum
beats with the wind inside my lungs
all the cheeks are red bowled Okinawa
sunsets beneath mocha stained tips
of fingers and we are all humbly aware
of the way our feet scuff against the
pavement on our way past the 5th
Avenue Theater.

i have
no one
now.

there's white ice in my ears
and I've tried to avoid this
pitter-patter palpitation for
so long, but it's here now

it's here now.

I want to be beautiful
like that, a thrifted soprano
note, high above the choir
a dipping lilt that will
hush
hush
she blooms

You turn into a pervert
without me, so what
does that say about
all the time I spend
with people when
they promise me
they are what
they aren't?

i am sometimes reminded
of why we were friends,
I see the humor in old
writing, in old pictures
but I make the silent
ultimatums that no
one can live up to
but would you
have had it any
other way?

I remember when I was young
my dad used to be the last one
at the table, because he served
himself so slowly that the rest
of us were done, by the time
he got there. So I would stay
in my seat and play with my
peas till he finished, so we
could leave together. Now
I am older and he stays up
to watch TV, I have other
things to do, but I have
to say goodnight to him
before I go upstairs
because that is the
only way i know
how to say
I love you

I don't know how to let
go of people, unintentionally
maybe I never learned. I'm
okay for a day or two, week,
tops. I sort of sink into the
corkboard, cheat the air,
clean my room.

This tree in our house
is from God, I see it
when I walk up the
stairs, he must be
telling me
something

just let me be
the clouds and
i might rain on
whoever I
please

so much depends
upon

the simple school
grade

dashed with red
marks

beside my limp
fingers

I would like to
go to that place
where you are
in the sun, where
we are maybe like souls
without bodies
stolen in the wind

There are so many things
we do not perceive, but the
knowledge of this blooms
in my heart with fresh
water veins

My face is
a common
misconception

There was too
much hope in
that brownie
with the single
candle but I
wished on it

anyway

All drafts
too many

edits

He said I was an
Arnold Palmer
but there is too
much lemonade
in my bones.

Her hair is
molasses on
the table

Almond Roca in the winter
the trees smell like sun and
the floors are heated, maybe
the swell of ******* under a
red plaid robe, we both have
tear dimpled faces but cider
the cider smells good in this
house, in these mugs on the
table, this morning is like

syrup

I hid in
my hair
today, let
my fingers fence me in
his voice was so nice
but I still said no thanks
and turned my head
you can be in our group
you can be in our group
you can be in our group
you can be in our group