i don’t want to write anything
i wan to lay in bed and
do nothing
some words creep into my head
i write some down
i don't need to treat you anymore or any less
i moved to los angeles and shattered my view
i forgot my childhood
a few years after that
saturdays mowing the lawn and i missed a blade of grass
and it all came down to the sound of 12 screams
i learned not to make any sounds
alone is better
i am the worst case in town
i watched people from afar
it feels like a play for an audience of one
the meaning of pain
getting the **** beat out of you
made me want to learn to type
books are the only voices that taught me where i could go
i can’t feel that way any more
i'll keep writing

a number like a bruise on the underside of memory  
a barcode tattooed on the back of a dream  
And the echo of a name you forgot to forget  

six legs of an insect crawling across the ceiling of thought  
five fingers clenched around a stolen cigarette  
five again, because repetition is punishment, is ritual, is comfort  
three seconds before the door slams shut  
two eyes watching from behind the mirror  
one is the self, fractured, refracted, renamed  

655321  
not a number, but a sentence  
not a sentence, but a silence  
not a silence, but a scream with the volume turned down  

the world turns in loops  
milk drips from a broken glass  
a Beethoven symphony plays in reverse  
and somewhere, someone is laughing  
but it’s not joy, it’s not mockery  
it’s the sound of gears grinding in the machinery of remorse  

I am not I  
I am 655321  
I am the sum of my subtraction  
the residue of my rebellion  
the ghost in the system  
the system in the ghost  

and still
the number pulses  
like a heartbeat  
like a countdown  
like a name I never chose  
but always answered to.

I have taken walks
at night
and I slowly realize
I miss your
smile

all numb
as if the skin forgot it was mine
as though the breath forgot it was borrowed
as though the hands forgot they used to reach for something
even if it was just the edge of a table
the corner of a thought
the warmth of a name I used to say without flinching
I sat in the car for hours once
engine off, keys in lap
watching the condensation on the windshield
pretending it was rain
pretending it was movement
pretending it was anything but me
I remember the way my voice used to sound
before I started hearing it through cotton
before I started answering with silence
before I started forgetting what I was supposed to feel
when she said “I love you”
and I said “okay”
there was a time I could cry
not perform it, not squeeze it out as toothpaste
but really cry
the kind that made my ribs ache
and made me feel I was being wrung out
as though a shirt soaked in grief
but now
I just blink
and wait for the feeling to arrive
as though a late train
as though a friend who said they’d come
but didn’t
I tried to write a letter once
to myself
to the version of me that still believed in things
such as healing
forgiveness
and the possibility of being understood
but the pen felt heavy
and the paper looked too clean
and I didn’t want to ruin it with my half-formed apologies
It felt
as if I had something to push against your chaos
now it’s just
static
white noise
a room full of pillows
soft, suffocating
quiet
I keep saying I’m fine
because it’s easier than explaining
that I’m not sad
not angry
not broken
just
all numb
and I don’t know if that’s better
or worse
or simply
what I’ve become

It's lonely
I have nowhere else to be at
A tiny death occurs
A flashlight open eye
Does it even stop?
Lost hung thoughts dry out in my room
Then the basic rumor smoke fills
your lungs
It's cheap awkward stares that faze
Those small cat like dreams
Spread over the coffee table
Unmasked and unafraid
That's where you still stand
Holding regrets final collapse
It's not enough

steam curls up like a lazy thought,
fading into nothing before I can hold onto it
warmth slips through the mug, into my hands, into my chest
as if the quiet heat could fill some empty space I hadn’t noticed.

sip, pause just me and the drift of morning shadows,
sunlight splintered across the table, catching the edge of the cup,
and I wonder if every little thing knows its place here but me,
The coffee ground me, an anchor that tastes like earth, like waiting.

I think of all the things I need to do and don’t move,
just sit, letting time flow softly as the heat through my fingers
until the cup’s empty, until the silence tastes of something else
an ending, a beginning, maybe both.

a flicker in the periphery
noticed but unnamed
the shoulder shift across the room
the wind's breath curling around ankles
a finger drum on the table’s edge

it might be nothing
or it might be you
maybe even you

is that your shadow in the hallway?
or just a leftover
from yesterday's light?

someone turns a page
and suddenly
the air listens
the ceiling exhales

you are the idea behind the idea
the heartbeat behind the curtain
a shiver without reason
the pause before speech

any movement
the bend of a branch
the slow lean of a thought
the breath caught in
the middle of yes

maybe you
maybe
even
you

who touches the world and pulls it slightly out of focus
just enough
to mean something

static in my teeth
when you think of me
it tastes like pennies and wet paper
you hold a version of my face
a Polaroid left in the rain
the colors bleed toward the corners
until the eyes are just dark water

you build me in your head with crooked bones
misremember the length of my shadow
give me hands that never fit my wrists
and a smile that isn’t mine
it hangs too wide, like you stretched it
in the wrong dimension

i can feel it
your thought of me
moving under my skin
a fish under ice
slipping away when i reach for it
my reflection shatters
before i even know what it looked like

stop dreaming me into the wrong shape
but don’t stop dreaming
i need the heat of your gaze
even if it warps me
even if i don’t survive the translation

it feels as if everything
needs to be done all at once
watching all your fallen words
while you become a ghost in my presence
a subtle trembling “I'm not ready”
unable to breathe you in
you needing time & space
feeling like any other given reason
strung out to dry
will make you fall further behind

too many tender souls lost
in a solitary maze
aching and unseen in a vast urge of wrong words
echoes in empty rooms
a symphony of unexpressed routines
eat away at our feet

nothing
not the absence but the hum
a low and breathing hum that curls around thought
soft and enormous, like sleep that never began

there is no edge
no gate, no watcher at the boundary
only the fall backward
into the colorless swell
into airless grace
the kind of grace that asks for no praise

I forget
what I was saying,
and isn’t that the gift?
the quiet slipping of meaning,
words unraveling mid-sentence
and floating like ash
weightless, harmless, warm

this is where clocks don’t go
where names don’t press into skin
where I don’t end and begin
because I don’t

a soft exhale
a light that isn't light
filling every place
with the sound of
no footsteps
no questions
no hunger
just

nothing

and in it
I bloom without form
stretch
without reaching
exist
without needing to be seen.

We are underwater,
not swimming,
not moving
just sinking in place,
two statues shaped like almost-touching.

The light from above is scattered,
a broken language we can’t translate.
I don’t know if it’s day or night
or if your eyes are even open.

There’s a silence that doesn’t wait to be broken.
It’s thick,
a velvet hush that presses against my chest
like a hand that doesn’t know if it’s trying to save me
or hold me still.

I want to reach for you,
but I am afraid my fingers will dissolve in the space between us.
I am afraid your face will change
if I come too close,
and I will know you.
Really know you.

And then I won’t be able to look away.

We hover like myths,
caught mid-thought,
mid-movement,
mid-breath
but there is no breath.
No sound.
No heartbeats.

Just pressure.
Just stillness pretending to be peace.

If I moved, even an inch,
would you move too?
Or would I see that you are already stone,
that I have always been alone
next to the shape of someone
almost like me.

And so we stay
motionless,
witnesses to each other’s fear,
entombed in the endless hush
of water pretending to hold us.

The softest parts of you
Bend in the air
Of eyes and feather like bones
The closed (open) mouth syndrome
That penetrates the disconnected sounds of worlds
Thrown at each other in the dark
A kind hew of melancholy that surrounds you
As I am numb everywhere
That you have touched and the long withering hand
That reaches out to me no longer shows the details of
Lost nights that glistened against your face
And your twisted alphabet is now left
To burn on the embers of faded ghost memories

the words swell at the back of the throat
not sharp, not graceful,
just swollen, sticky things
that taste of rusted mirrors and dust

they scrape against teeth
as if begging for release
but the mouth betrays them
lips clamp shut, jaw wired tight
and the body remembers
how silence can arrive dressed as shelter

apologies ferment there
growing bitter,
soured by delay and shame
they roll around the tongue as gravel that thinks itself precious stone
until even breath carries the weight of a cathedral underwater

each inhale interrupted,
as though contrition itself
is a hand pressed firm against the windpipe
reminding me regret is not air
regret is a shadow stitched to bone
regret is residue that glows faintly in the dark

and the chest shudders
a body trying to cough out
something it cannot name
something lodged between
what should be spoken
and what should stay buried

I choke,
but nothing escapes
except the silence
and the heat of a throat
burning with everything
I meant to give away.

My belly
Among ***** made silhouettes
Shedding (the outside of) my breath
Sudden body shakes makeover the silence of
Days
Wrapped in ***** stained dreams
Without an end to my bleeding
The smell of **** is evident
In the same ways that
Blame is kept in tact
A muffled voice is heard through the air
Giant particles grasping at the face of my dawn clocktower
Simulation in the evergreen hands
The very odd feel that denies faith
An old familiar disgust that overflows from my pores
Instant
Glorified
Pure
Sanctity
The calling of angels ******* on a downward spiral
Towards my vascular thoughts
Like a disease which interrupts the collision between planets and words
My pixie movement through the ice parade
An unlikely sorrow from you
What is that distilled sound coming from your hands?
And if the traces of heroine on my breath are mine alone

i forget the reason(s)
or don’t want to remember why or how we got here
broken somehow
unnoticeable to touch
and words only drive the knife
deeper into the wound
and my head
spins like Chinese paper planes slowly
making their dive into oblivion
the faster we move towards each other
the closer
i
get to killing
memories of days gone
feelings that are forced out through *******
a vindictive silence
and ritual like horror
the stillness of heart makes us numb
and the wait for things to change
is slowly that: the wait
as two misguided voices chasing sirens in the sea
an intersection that has no stop lights
like death and human locomotives

I was expecting you to be
spying on me
in an attempt to talk
with the voice of a lost passenger
it seems you and I are always looking
for something
sounds that I can't let go
feelings you inspired on others
losing my patience
losing our tempers
you're all over me and it feels so good
as you are spilling a ghost
I won't complain
underneath a stained glass
all I can do is follow the path you created
with your brief smile

watched you  
rain on glass  
didn’t knock  
just stayed  

you moved  
unaware  
or pretending  
either felt the same  

said things  
too quiet  
maybe truer that way  
maybe not  

you leaned  
but not toward me  
just into your silence  

reflection  
not mine  
not yours  
just something  
almost  

wanted to fade  
not vanish  
just  
softer
into  
you  

your pauses  
felt like rooms  
I wanted to live in  

center?  
no  
echo  
warmth  
after  

you  
here  
but not  
always  
somewhere  
else  

me  
trying  
to be  
wherever  
you  
weren’t

I didn’t listen  
not at first  
not when the words were soft  
or when they cracked  
or when they came wrapped in silence  
because silence is easy to ignore  

you were trying  
to say something  
not with your mouth  
but with your eyes  
your posture  
the way you stopped laughing  
without telling anyone why  

I was busy  
being loud  
being clever  
being the kind of person people look at  
but don’t see  

you said  
listen  
and I thought you meant  
hear  
but you meant  
feel  
you meant  
stay  
you meant  
don’t turn away  
just because it’s uncomfortable  

I kept missing it  
the ache in your voice  
the way your sentences trailed off  
like they were afraid of their endings  
and I let them  
I let you  
fade  

now I replay it  
the moments I brushed past  
the pauses I filled  
the truths I dodged  
and I wonder  
what would’ve happened  
if I had shut up  
just once  
and let you be  

you weren’t asking for answers  
just space  
just presence  
just someone who didn’t need to fix you  
to prove anything  
to win  

I hear you now  
too late maybe  
but I do  
and it’s louder  
than anything I ever said

finding small reminders of
lips seeking ears to whisper into of
hands wishing you were here of
lost scents on the floor of
migrating sounds disassembling in mid-air of
words being spoken without touch

you built me wrong
fed me your voice
tore my face to fit it
now I live in your mouth
and bite back

I take it  
because the world was too loud  
too sharp  
too much  
and now it’s quieter  
but also  
less  

I don’t cry anymore  
which feels like winning  
until I realize  
I don’t laugh either  
not the kind that shakes your ribs  
not the kind that makes you forget  

I’m not drowning  
but I’m not swimming  
I’m just  
floating  
in a pool that doesn’t change temperature  
no waves  
no storms  
just still  

people say  
you seem better  
and I nod  
because I am  
technically  
but I miss the chaos  
the color  
the ache that reminded me I was alive  

I sleep  
I eat  
I function  
like a well-oiled machine  
but sometimes  
I want to rust  
just a little  
just enough to feel the weather  

I know it’s working  
I know it’s helping  
I know  
but I also know  
there’s a version of me  
buried under the dosage  
who used to feel everything  
too much  
and maybe  
that wasn’t all bad

if it seems unclear
know that it is
no faces worn
an empty bottle
an uncertain smile
is all that needs to be bought
and sold
the bigger thoughts just
ambush your mind
it feels like I have been
stealing dawn's early demise
cover your face
with plastic bags...has it began to feel
like the audience had left
all those eyes
ears and mouths
I could not help
the darkest shadows and
the faltering lullabies
of your facade

my soul is left swirling
in the black waters of ailment
i am hearing bottomless
pages of music
i am the circle with no
understanding
my internal guts and thoughts
are all delusional
i have no inner life
nothing achieved
several dreams in a fog
to reduce the fever of my futility
there is contradiction and paradox
i will say things and mean nothing
in my own minds argument
the virus of being will create awareness
of how pointless it all is
i am trapped inside a trunk
fragmented
left outside of time
i am sad delight
at long last
failing to comprehend the right way to live

the hallway is longer than I remember
but the walls still blink like old televisions
buzzing static prayers, I never meant to say
and maybe that’s the only truth I’ve ever told

I used to think
that graves were for the dead
but I saw you last week
sitting in the shade of one
talking to the stone like it owed you something

dust in your fingernails,
coffee spilled on your shirt
half-smile like a cracked jar
I asked if you were okay
and you looked right through me
said nothing but “almost”

there are holes in the ground
that match the shape of our names
and the wind knows all of them
it whispers backwards in the morning
pulling memories from my throat
like strings of wet wool

I buried my first version of myself
beneath a playground slide
age seven, maybe eight
he didn’t cry, just sank
quietly, like a stone in jelly

and then the others followed
the one who thought love was a sharp light
the one who learned to lie like breathing
the one who stopped writing poems

sometimes I wonder
how many funerals I’ve missed
how many of me
are just waiting
for someone to say goodbye

have you found your grave?
or are you still
digging with your bare hands
pretending the mud is gold
pretending the silence is sleep

maybe graves aren’t endings
maybe they’re just
rooms we forgot we built
with all the doors locked from the inside
and no windows,
just mirrors
fogged by time and sweat

maybe we aren’t supposed to find them
just feel them
under our skin
pressing like questions
no one’s brave enough to ask

i bypassed everything and went straight for the neck
not out of cruelty
but because I was tired of pretending
I didn’t want the truth raw
unfiltered
still pulsing
I didn’t want the small talk
the polite detours
the scenic route through your curated grief
I wanted the place where your voice breaks
where the mask slips
where the ache lives without apology
I bypassed the stories you rehearsed
the ones with clean endings
the ones you tell at parties
to make your pain sound poetic
I wanted the version you don’t write down
the one that stutters
the one that bleeds
I bypassed the eyes
the hands
the heart
all the places people say love lives
I went for the neck
because it’s where the pulse hides
where the breath catches
where the body remembers
what the mind tries to forget
I didn’t mean to be violent
I intended to be honest
I meant to say
I see you
without the armor
without the script
without the smile you wear
when you lie
I bypassed everything
because I didn’t want the version of you
that survived
I wanted the version
that still doesn’t know how

the sky used to mean something
used to feel heavy
when it rained
but now it just drips down glass, slides past a stranger’s eyes at the bus stop
there was a time when color mattered
when blue was a bruise or a breath
now it’s just blue
I try to remember what warmth meant
not the physical, not the sun on skin
the other kind
the hush in a voice, the linger of a glance but it’s gone
or maybe buried under layers of noise
I didn’t ask for news headlines,
forgotten passwords,
unpaid parking tickets
thoughts used to come like rivers, now they’re dust motes caught in a shaft of light only visible for a second, then nothing
I sat in a chair this morning
and forgot why
then forgot that I had forgotten
that felt important somehow
but I didn’t write it down
didn’t care to
even tears feel tired now
they know they won’t mean anything
no one sees them, not even me
I wipe them out of habit
I keep thinking I used to love someone
or something
but the shape of it’s gone,
I'm trying to remember a dream an hour too late
only the weight lingers
not the image
sometimes I laugh
but it’s not laughter
it’s muscle memory
When my my mouth is impersonating a better time
I want to scream
but the scream won’t come
it's just a breath
that never sharpens just fades
and maybe
that’s what I’ve become
not broken
not whole
just fading.

I arrived barefoot
tongue heavy with borrowed syntax
eyes trained on the flicker between gestures
the way a hand hesitates before reaching
the way silence folds itself into a question.

I mistook bruises for constellations
mapped them across the skin like ancient routes
each one a pilgrimage
each one a failed translation.

I thought pain had grammar
that longing could be conjugated
into something less feral.

the heart is not a scroll.
it does not unroll neatly.
it bleeds through the margins
smudges the ink
laughs at the scholar in me
who still believes in clarity.

I touched someone once
and felt their grief like static
a hum beneath the ribs
a Morse code of everything unsaid.

I tried to decode it
but the symbols kept shifting
love became hunger
hunger became apology
apology became a door
I could not open.

I am still learning
that some hieroglyphs are meant to be lived
not read.
that some wounds speak in tongues
only the body understands.
that to be human
is to misinterpret
and keep interpreting
until the ache becomes a kind of fluency.

wrongwrongwrong
face peeling in your head
you hold it up to the light, it drips
eyes run down your fingers like oil
can’t see me but you keep
naming me / shaping me / twisting me into your mouth
it hurts in places I don’t have anymore

STOP.
you’re pulling skin over bones that aren’t mine
wrists bent the wrong way
voice comes out as static, nails, wet cloth in the throat
you like it better this way
don’t you
don’t you

I am breaking in your mind right now
splitting along the grain of your memory
black leaking out between thoughts
you wipe it away but it smears
gets in your teeth
I hear you biting down on me

don’t think me again
don’t
I’ll crawl out jagged
I’ll leave holes in you
you’ll never stop feeling them with your tongue

your dress covers our life
together
no need
we are absent from each others
intent
quiet acts further down
feel unlike
the story you tell me

those tiny circles
you pretend to draw on my skin
always make me smile

You sit across from me, fingers tapping on the table like an old, tired clock  
the coffee’s lukewarm, or maybe it’s just me, just us, cooled down past feeling  
I think I know what you’re about to say each word feels predictable,  
like something we’ve each rehearsed in silence, rehearsed in sleep  
over all those quiet nights stacked like dusty paperbacks in the dark.  

You start to speak, and it’s all at once a whisper and a thunder  
this is going nowhere, you say, eyes unfocused, tracing patterns in the grains of the table  
but they could be roads we didn’t take, conversations we skimmed over like surface water,  
laughs that slid away from us, thin as the ghosts of things we meant to say.  

You remember? I ask, but the question is a loose thread, unwinding  
you don’t answer, or maybe I don’t want you to, afraid that the answer  
is already a shrug, a frown, something we didn’t even bother to feel fully  
perhaps that’s where we lost it, somewhere in all the half-hearted glances,  
in words we threw out like pennies, thinking they meant so little.  

And you’re saying something now about how we grew apart  
how things faded, softened, grew heavy,  
but it just sounds like rain hitting a window in the next room  
distant, muffled, and I’m not sure if you’re talking to me  
or if you’re just talking to the echo of us, hanging in the air like stale perfume.  

Maybe it’s been over for a long time, we both realize, like realizing  
the book is already finished, though you’re still holding it,  
turning the last page back and forth as if another ending might slip in  
but there’s nothing, only the way your face looks in this light,  
so familiar it’s like staring at a stranger in a mirror.  

And I think, somewhere, we both hope one of us will say something grand  
something that burns, something that brings back color, sound, a heartbeat  
but the silence sits there, a wall between us, and we’re leaning back now  
resigned, emptied, watching each other through a film of memories  
wondering why we ever tried so hard, or if we tried at all.

folded my fingers into shapes  
they didn’t resemble birds  
but I imagined flight anyway  
you scribbled something on napkins  
left them in the glove box  
that car is someone else’s now  
but I still reach for it  
like memory has a latch

the basement was a place  
not sacred, just echo-heavy  
we taped pieces of ourselves  
to the walls  
and screamed  
not for help  
but to hear the echo  
then acted like it wasn’t us

I made a compass  
out of whatever was left  
it spins  
I spin  
there’s no north  
just motion

I’m still tracing maps  
they don’t have names  
the house doesn’t have a floor  
I keep climbing out of myself  
trying to feel  
something  
anything  
these words don’t answer  
but they’re all I have  
I’m sorry  
I broke it  
I didn’t know what it was

we chased something  
light maybe  
with jars  
it slipped out  
your voice didn’t hold  
it cracked  
under everything we carried

I counted the ceiling  
not the tiles  
just the breaks  
thought maybe  
if I touched enough  
it would explain itself  
but it didn’t  
and the silence  
was louder than the cracks

I tied string to memory  
but it didn’t hold  
the knots  
unraveled  
like everything else

still tracing  
still no names  
still no end  
I tried to redraw the sky  
but it stayed  
unmoved  
these lines  
are all I can give  
they shake  
I shake  
I’m sorry  
I lost it  
I thought I could protect it

this isn’t healing  
it’s just movement  
falling  
forward  
out of whatever I thought  
would catch me  
the glass broke  
but your face stayed  
framed  
by something  
I can’t name

we are  
maps  
hearts  
lines  
none of them finished  
but we try  
we try  
we try  
again

Am I a killer or just uninterested
And wonder about stars
Hearing cheap blue melodies
Seeing empty bottles
Wanting to feel like an absent clown
A stained shadow on the inside

Pretending to exist
It feels like an hour
I touch senseless wrists
You worry about the loss in my eyes
A constant work-around of victims in Detroit
I am bored by alley-ways

It's a lost word the causes our death
Liars are in my augmented view
We dream on the edge of the earth
And blame you for all lost sunrises
I hope nothing happens

under a bright light you’d find every crooked line I’ve got
not just the ones on skin
but the ones that don't speak unless cornered
the ones that sleep under laughter
wait until silence stretches too long
then rise, flickering, like old film burned at the edges

I keep thinking
there’s something noble in hiding
or maybe it’s just easier to control the story when no one else can read it
my voice stumbles when I try to make sense of the mess
the kind of mess that doesn’t make noise
but hums beneath
like a bad memory that learned how to walk quietly

I think of all the times I turned away from mirrors
or watched myself in reflections that blurred at the corners
windows at night, when the outside is black and the inside is exposed
that’s the kind of light I mean
not a warm glow
but the surgical kind
the interrogation kind
the truth kind
that wants to know more than I’m ready to give

and maybe I am all angles
maybe I am the sketch that never made it past the rough draft
smudged with too many tries
too many redos
too much holding my breath when I should have been screaming

if you saw it
all of it
would you trace those lines gently
or flinch like they might cut you?

the coffee’s burnt again  
and the cat’s staring like it knows  
I haven’t cried in six years  
but I’ve been leaking in other ways
through the fridge light,  
through the cracks in the drywall,  
through the way I say “fine”  
when I mean “I’m rotting.”

the mailman dropped another envelope  
with no name, just a whisper  
and I thought maybe it was time  
to bury the version of me  
that still believed in clean slates  
and women who don’t flinch  
when you say you write poems.

I’m overdue for a funeral  
but nobody wants to dig  
unless there’s a paycheck  
or a priest involved  
and I don’t believe in either.

the barstool still remembers my spine  
and the bartender’s got a face  
like a broken clock
always stuck at 2:17 a.m.  
when the jukebox plays Sinatra  
and the drunks pretend  
they’re philosophers.

I tried to write an obituary  
for the part of me that used to care  
but the pen ran out  
and the paper laughed.

so I lit a cigarette  
and gave the ashes a name.

On the surface of your skin
I can see
You are
Within the reflection of a breath
And soft
Spoken words
They demand everything
At once my
Heavy thoughts
Soak
In blood while
In some other world the desolation
Of days gone
Filters like 26
Fleeting memories
Strangled
By the hands of
Angels
I’ve described my moments on napkins
And given them to strangers
On the street
At some point my collapse
Will re-invent the air and the movement
Of your digestion
And the scary
Part of you
Will be there holding me down
Pressed
Against
The glass wall
The reflections will disappear and broken
Windows cut
Each
Artery
I’m letting
Go
Don’t be afraid
If all else within my reach loves
You then we can die
Like small raindrops trapped in a
Pothole
The miscarried thoughts of eyes
And saliva soaked kisses soon
Envelope you an extension of morning
And the hands that touched you in so many ways are now lost
In the vague shadows of your voice
Apprehending colors that disappear and I forget about you and silence
Left among the doves of grass
Your shelter it all

tenement roofs illuminated not by stars, not by grace, but by the flickering hum of a busted neon sign, half a block down, where the laundromat breathes steam into the night, and someone’s mother folds shirts like prayers.

the tar is soft under bare feet, summer’s last gasp clinging to the gravel, and the pigeons, they don’t sleep, they just blink slowly as if remembering something from before the city learned to forget.

a boy throws a paper plane from the sixth-floor fire escape. it loops once, then dives into the alley, where a cat watches with the patience of old gods.

the air smells of fried onions, like rain that hasn’t arrived yet, and the sigh of a man who’s been waiting for a phone call since 1993.

someone laughs, too loud, too sudden, and the sound ricochets off the satellite dishes like a warning or a dare.

the roofs glowed, not golden, not holy, but with the kind of light that makes you think maybe ghosts wear sneakers and hum pop songs while tracing the outline of their old bedrooms in dust.

and somewhere below, a radio plays a song no one remembers the name of, but everyone knows the words.

you made me wrong and now I rot in your head where you can’t scrape me out.

the corner of my fetal
mind paste
what about the skin of demons
the shadow that turns away
a slow placid individual
hollow from everywhere the caution of snow-wheels
cling to manifest
the picture burning inside an apartment for rent
outside walls carried memory of days
eyes and bones demand face
what if nobody’s here
the idea  
myself as sunshine with so much to offer easier
what is the difference
the sentence that defines
unbelief the chain
breaks I wish
dilate the never-belief
wondering effect paste my ***** on your voice
an animal feel i cannot deal with your sense
an unborn skull
the wallowing feet under cypress
skies of fleece and miniature dogmas
slices of fragments red purple green crows sound
the deep drum beat i accept
where i fall
a flashing voice collapsing towards the inside
throwing punishment the idea that i am foliage
corresponding thought process that machines never
agree
pale doledrum insomnia my hands
the lines of another car
the breath of being manipulated
killing instant
the shoehorn a new salt visiting magnolia
a knee high minute falling upside
my carpe diem **** fist theory
and all day i plead for the corrosion to move within you
the system eating itself into oblivion
i announce it when ears are in rooted to the floor  
i had a dream of a jesus picture on a fanbelt  
curved ***** **** on the outside  
apocalypse on my lips
fumes down on the floor
a few hours’ days
gone
i am stripped
speechless walking home
for me
can this be your silence pregnant with strange
looseness in its belly
stars fragile your arms
pins forced into throat calming
touch faking the ***** sounds of avocado
thursday lust
driven into soiled ground
crumbling face in another room they lay your hands on
me
a fragrance of wings missing
an unexplained
dense and unchanged
kind of melting from you
i give in
the shoulder manufactures what is real to the sound
life is liveable
nothing accepted when offered
the thought process of engines
an angry naked shout
the underbelly of hanging
to what i show you
baking soda explosives
cake walk fixations on the vaginas of modern andromeda
i hope to never be lost with your sanctuary
dog sized emotions
a world punching out its timecard from the slot
a season for betrayals
the mantra of your dreams
dead enough to explain myself
a sunken cheek caring for the sun
a sweet lullaby placing of hand
the round syndrome between the
****** thighs
the strings attached are anything but labeled
upstairs is another passenger
first name last name
instead
mute all that is here
ashes
unnecessary you
the collective harm of all those images which if excluded contain
the replacement address of my kidney being
molested
or is it the usage of hiding
anything
dove’s postage junk mail
what you’ve seen before
the cost of being asked two days late
my fluorescent teeth the talk of spit blood
and ****
magnification of insects
the body moves
fondled colors blend
a ******
the ****** the cortex of beethoven
no answer yet  
on the verge of letting
go
wall of trees
a crowd of tongues the simple denial of light
my envelope seed
in cornucopia grinding
teeth machine a pullover switchblade
wake up from me
given the distant sun wrapped in
****** on clothes my miracle
tomorrow
  your fingers in me contemplating the ounces
of an inch thick sore
calmly anything in surrounding
distortion a weight of idle hands
needles
the acid belly
fortress within
your tourniquet
the victim of my believing in you
silent dead motionless
butterflies cradle the eyes
in the slit of dawn’s early malice
complacent and mind full
the choke hold is apparent in you
i wanted it
heart and throat convulsions the situation derives in itself
the wondering thought
your sickness dives among our ***** oiled mouths
spread like a homeless saint
save your self from the outside of me
as i look up you dissolve
the undeniable number of times
i spent inside you
it beats on
one short felt breath
my time is gone
everything’s alright
on my back
seeing unreal reasons for wanting
a crawling thought a
slip off the hand
grinding small animals the
door opens still life asphyxiation
the roundness of my echo
inside this explosion I ask for
blind allegiance to your *****
the simple duration of lust and gasping
acquaintances I have had
but all in tiny dreams that
eat away at my intestines
and rows or birds wait for their turn at me
for empty boxes cold whispers
and dead words
are what is left