i drink until my chest holds an alcohol-emptiness.
the pain is hollow,
the joy is hollow,
the pain is gone.

i smoke until the alcohol-emptiness is as full as it can be.
i fill it and i fill it and i fill it,
i feel it and i feel it and i feel it,
and it's the kind of feeling that doesn't make you feel at all.

the exhalation, it clears more than just smoke,
and it empties more than my lungs.

We came to the wild beach
To picnic,
But the waves
Were breaking and rushing in,
The wind was gusty
And cold,
Was moaning a faint
Dirge.

In soft and plain
Footfalls,
Over the slide of sands
We made our way
Into the covering
Dunes.

The dull pressing sky,
The white gloved waves,
And sharp grasses,
The call of scything gulls,
All things were grey
And hovering
Dark and faded that day, but not as much
As the few, ordinary, words we spoke,
To each other
We cried,
To each other
When our tears dusted the sands,
We were saying
Goodbye.

the electrical current
started in the top of my skull,
   and poured itself down the back of my ears and the nape of my neck
         and curled into beaded sand that tumbles through my vertebrae
             down to the small of my back and under the soles of my feet. it's a friendly current,

and it makes me think of
   a boy with freckled shoulders, whose eyes i used to love.
it makes me think of how
both our noses wrinkle when we laugh
  and we like the same songs by the same band for different reasons.
it makes me remember why we're always laughing in the first place,
       and it makes me want him in a way that i'd forgotten how to want a person.

it's making me brave, this muscle-deep current.
it's making me remember different shoulders and different eyes than usual -
which is good, healthy, you know.

it's making me brave and it's making me love again. it's making me want to stand up to you. say all the things i haven't.
blame the herb, my skinny love, it was the herb, not me.

I’ve been trying to write a poem
To make these thoughts sound eloquent
But all I want to say is
I need you to put your lips to mine

I sang sad songs
Because I thought by singing of other people’s pain
I might expel some of my own
But my chest found new reasons to tighten
I want to take you back to my room
And make love to you on my unmade bed
I want it to remain unmade
Because we never leave it
I want to get drunk
Drunker than I’ve ever been off of you
So drunk I can’t walk and you have to carry me
Carry me as long as I’ve carried you
So our arms and knees can have mirrored stress fractures
I don’t want to fit conveniently into your life
As a place holder stored between
Loneliness and opportunity
Because for me you are the hurricane
That I stood in my backyard waiting for
While everyone else evacuated to higher ground

I don’t believe in God
But I pray
Pray
Pray
Until my knuckles are white
And my knees are bruised
That this year will be better than last

Humans: the mess that is my bedroom floor and ***** clothes
Humans: the awe of a full moon and ability to create wonderful things