I used to say that
I was only a creature of the day
despite my love for
the moons glow
I sent the night away
and now all I wish
to see
is the moon
I know

as your palms,
much like the ink pressed to my face,
melt and drip
all over the floor
leaving me in
such
       a lonely




          place.

take my hands
(don't forget
to cut at the
joint)
i don't need them anymore
crash my car
on the interstate
flip over
fragments of
rose blood
clots
and tireless
time bombs

take my hands
and cut at the joint

The city
Is swelling
Like the belly
Of an opossum
That was
Hit by a car
On memorial
Despite
The constant
Gridlock of
Folks wasting
Away with their
Air conditioned
Tape deck days

The city is swollen
Like my lower
Lip when
You smacked
Me across my face
And I don't know
How
I ended
Up being the one
To blame

The city is swelling
With people
And somehow
I managed
To never stop
Feeling so
*******
alone

no one likes to talk
about the waiting,
how everything is patience,
sweat to
tear muscles down
so they can regrow
and it hurts
but it's good

you said you liked me
wintered
weathered
working
you said you liked
the crease between
my lips and nose
from the pack and a half
a day
you said you liked me
but you said you didn't
need me

mountains
and cradles
and my eyes
which have retreated back
into my skull
because i can't sleep
with all of these polarities
running wild
in my mind

grey tiled
waffle house in
Atlanta, Georgia
I'm about
ten coffee stirrers
apart from you and
my face burns
for the third hour awake
and the mundane
act of loving you.

Looking for
God
Somewhere between
A love letter lost
In a landfill
And hitting
A hundred
Miles an hour
On the highway

No one wants
Broken goods
finger to lips
Stolen sips from
Those sweet honey hips
No one wants
A melded mind
Mineral mounds
And uncommon sounds
No one wants you
But mostly no one wants
me hung from a tree
Spoiled she
No one wants my broken
Goods
Baggage Claim
Swallowed in flame
No one wants
My mineral mound
Pumping heart sounds
Tossed around
Abandoned
One two three
What could it be?
No one wants
Damaged goods

I'm always
teetering on
the edge of escapism
and the firm grounding
of an embrace

Summer in Georgia
Is air clinging to my face
An attempt to keep
Me grounded
But how could air
Force me down
When It’s so light
Like pleasantries
Between neighbors
And the smell of
Oranges and tobacco
On my hands
Soul in my
Fingers
Historical clay
And a walk
On pavement
Cracked
And hot
Like the air holding
Me in place

I am quite familiar with loss
but losing your love
is not something I wish
to ever know.

there's so
much
I have
to get
done
but
the only
thing I'm
good
at is
shutting

down

Blue lips
and I crashed my car on the on ramp
to the interstate

I was your Saturn sun
I was your darkness won
I was a murdered dove
I was your hated love
I was strong but weak
and I never needed that peak
I tore into your attic
I crushed your velvet pops
I was your addiction
Then your time stopped
I held onto your cracked breath
I held onto your pain
I held onto your sacred touch
I dove into your frozen rain
Every kiss was magic
All the lust was the same
I miss your ****** face
I miss your lullabies

So until I see your swollen heart
I'll love your grave stone
Like I did from the start

You sleep like the echo
I feel in my teeth
When I go to bed drunk
And spinning
But I’m ok with
Spinning, are you ok
With familiarity?
A closeness you can
Taste then put away
On an untouched shelf
An awareness, granular
And brief.
So sometimes
mornings are
Shoulders to lips
And others are
Hoping you’ll wake

I keep dreaming
of crushing
concrete columns
and
wondering
if I'll
ever
feel like
I'm not alone?

i was a poet before
i was a painter
and there's
something about
the way your
gaze is given
that makes
me unsure

Love seems
that it's half way
unconscious
like
burn on my cheeks
whenever I see
my lover
smile
and
halfway a choice
to be respect
the other
and their emotions
even if that
means
accepting the
fact
they may never
really ever love you back.

learning new lips
like lost lovers
often do

Walking down memorial
the smell of hot & wet soil
packed into plastic
making walls along the sidewalk
the gardener and the garden
both remind me
how the seasons begin to turn
like pages in a book
that was left
without needing to know
the ending

and yes
how sweet is that scent

spring floats through
with graduation balloons
and plasticine
alteration accompanied by
sweat behind my knee

I'll keep pivoting
and maybe soon
I'll find the courage
to take a step
in a direction

There’s a pile of leaves
In freedom park that
I hesitate at
It’s tempting to
Dive in
Afraid I’ll find the pain
Of all the I love you’s
I’ve withheld
With cold
Curled fingers
Afraid I’ll find the ground
To be harder
Than I thought

Some days it's difficult to
Escape
The clutches
Of my bed

On those nights
That I dare
Sleep alone
I toss
Until my
Feet tangle
In my hair
My back bone
My wind earth
Air
Just missing
The fire
That once
Lay there

sometimes
i dip my
hair in herbal
soaks
in hopes
of turning
into
crumbly
man made
nature
and putrid
performances
of morals

I have a hard time titling poems that I feel didn't introduce themselves to me?  I just found them hiding underneath the way someones eyelashes hit their cheek unnoticed... Or in the way a retiree shuffles off the bus to buy flowers and tea.
I have a hard time titling words that felt borrowed from a moment, small & bruising.

my mouth
is
as green
as spring
but
that's not to
say that I
only speak
in tethered
tongues
and mindless
music

that's not to say
i haven't thought
thousands of
pretty
words
and then wrote
three
empty pages

that's not to say
i've held on to
dependent ideals
like ivy on the fence

it's really not
for you to
assume

Perfection.
A sun my wax wings won't reach.
                How?
Struggle and pain and all gain.
                Now?
Ok.
         Find my body washed up on the beach.

Void
Without any contents; empty.
Falling asleep feeling under my skin
Subsistence
The state or fact or existing.
Or nothing at all

Have I ever told you about
my wax heart
Melting at the sound
of your half
smoked
slightly ******
Soul
I drip
I trickle
all the way down
your scarred chin
Hoping
that you
might-
one of these days-
     let me
win

You're my bones
Taking up your heavy stones
Can't possibly give me muscle loans
But you're still my bones

Finding time too fast
Crash, rebuild, and crash
Build up and trash

You're always in love
But what do you think it's made of?

Photographs like light captured
From the edge of your smile
Wholesome threat
And your snaggle tooth that at sometime
At some point
I’d pray to never forget

For some reason tonight I feel depressed
like there is a dark nebula forming inside of me.
I know that sounds stupid,
but it's how I picture it in my lungs,
asphyxiating me from inside,
melting my solid structure,
then gently pressing me into the earth,
and the whole time my heart is beating,
                                                        ­  beating,
                                                      ­      beating,
                                                  ­            until it just comes to a slow halt.
And I wonder what it's like to die alone?

my fire is back
whirlwind
wanderer
wistful
whisper
wonderful
woman
my fire is back
and my feet
won't fail
me
this time

it's winter
again
and i'm somehow
always surprised
by the leaves
changing
and dropping
like edits
to your smile

my cupids bow
cracked
from weather,
weathering,
&  the softening
at your touch
crumbling
again and again
just like the leaves
do
in
winter

and I don't think my lips will ever heal

Unfamiliar
Like a dog
Brick alley
And chills of winter
Suited up
In feathered armor
Cold and
Longing for
Home

I can see my heart beat in my eyes
And I can hear the little girl’s cries
Even where the little girl lies
I can see my heart beat in my eyes
I can see the blood in the grass
Even though our love is the mass
Partly because I let him pass
And I can see the blood in the grass
I can feel your pain
Never known any gain
Yet never known any strain
Still I can feel your pain
Is the world its true
Still only blue?

Summers only get hotter
Don’t they?
Spitting cherry pits
On the train tracks
That separate chosewood
From Lakewood
Cherry wood
I like the stain left on
My fingers
My lips
Runny bliss
Sampling the simplicity
Of hot
& sticky
& condensed
Forms of self
Nice girls
Get the chance
To be hurt again
And again
Right?
Do bruised fruits taste less sweet?
Not really sure
Just spitting cherry pits
Onto train tracks

Don't tell me how
   let me discover
   let me live with juvenessance
   and purity.
But then when the time comes
   I will have to experience
   I will be stained with the
       imperfections of the human hand...
                                                                      crushed.
Even then you must let me get *****
                                  let me feel pain.
                                  let me sit on the shore of vastness
                                  and let me contemplate what put me here.
Without suffering we have no reason to fight.
We have no drive for peace.
So let me be born
                        and born again
and let me search over
                                 and over again

                        until I become the one you cannot search for.