Share with me
the moon.

On a night of crescent
even death seems romantic.

The karma is coming,
hide between the trees.  

Don't be greedy,
share your pillow with me.

I woke beside
a pitch black crust
like the dust
permeating veins.

I sat upon colidascope concrete
until morning
brought birds
to carry my neck
back to you.

I collapsed onto the shore
and cried all night
because I finally outran my shadow
and the seaside
refused to share.

I pounded my fists
into the sockets
holding your eyes.
They're missing,
stolen perhaps
by another set of cheekbones.

I scraped the sky
with nails like coal,
leaving streaks of blood
across east Ohio.

I sat on the ceiling
as the fingertips of July
stretched my mind
away from fire.

Does she rub your shoulders?
I hope she does.
I really do.

Olivia,
each day
I pray
yellow flowers
flood heaven
and dance
beside you
in the light of day,
and rub  your back
through nightfall.

A fawn pounds
dewy ground
fleeting feet
defeat deamons
made of concrete
and plaster
running faster
escaping gaping
holes in ozone
cell phone rings
birds singing
silence swallows
kin from within
the womb and crust
inside the skin
of earth below
moving slow
tectonic plates
sway
the arms of the moon
cocoon fragile fibers
from trees and leaves
but the sun set again
like last Tuesday
and the winter before
marked with blood
on the door
moving on
shaking sun
the sea will always
reach the shore
and move on

It wasn't yet summer.
I swam toward your eyes,
Wrinkled veins of the sky
And permeated your spine.

It wasn't yet autumn.
Leaves clung to trees,
I clung to you.
The wind began to rattle.

It wasn't yet winter.
Snow buried our feet,
Stuck on a side street
Beside naked trees.

Ice melted
Along with my mind.
Words turned to knifes,
Snow marooned.

Mother I swear
I'll plant seeds in the garden,
forgotten.

I've got a home in east Ohio
and a palm full of bees,
like thunder.

Drawers full of whiskey,
mother I'm trying.

Static voices set the sky to shambles.