His blood,
as thin as he,
runs through me.

I am finally running out
of his
diluted memories.

Barhopping at ten
years old;
looking for him
on visitation Saturdays.

I knew what vampires
looked like…

…when you open
the doors
and the light
from a sunny day
shines in
and they scatter
because they think
I might
be looking for them…

I am solid
obvious
immovable
I can be held and
dropped.
I can be lost
and found.

I am protection.
I am destruction.

I am liquid
subtle
unstable
I can rise
and fall.
I can refresh
and drown.

I am a flower.
I am desert.

I am gas
invisible
explosive
I can energize
and burn out.
I can ignite
and destroy.

I am energy.
I am despair.

I am memory
comforting
haunting
I can heal
and hurt.
I can free
and enslave.

I am faith.
I am despondent.

I am forgotten.

I desire diagnosis
more than ***

beauty is
connecting
my my my
mind to body

the flow of
neurogasm that
creates aha

pleeeease

put me under
your microscope
so that every cell
I have
is revealing

dig through my skin
with your needle

penetrate that
one vein
that is willing

sit me down
lay me down
inside your
machines

send the
invisible disruption
of your
magical forces

through my body

until it
tells you
my secret

lines are drawn to
capture shades and shapes

creating relationships

I am a figure myself
captured caged space

but sometimes
parts of me leak

slip between my cracks

creating stains I
cannot not see

until they appear

dried leaves whimper
bullied by the wind

then thrown away
to a place they
will be crushed

disintegrated

stars scream
when they die

but we can’t hear them
until years later

I walk outside
to smell the night air

it smells like ice
it feels like spice
on my skin

another asteroid is
approaching

one day it will
not miss us

I

she is no one
she is someone

all of she is one

one of she is
everyone

II

I try to understand her
through her words

I try to understand
through her words

she is not just her to me
she is me to me

something about me to me

I try to understand me
through her words

III

she speaks but
she does not speak to me

she speaks into a circle
where everything

eventually comes
back to her

IV

she has a mind that
overworks

she has a heart that
overfeels

she has a soul
that overdies

she has nine lives
that never change

V

I want to be a word
something that can be defined

something that has a meaning

I am long legs and big feet.

She is lady-like,
legs crossed
and curled
under a skirt,
under a swing.

I push her away from me
knowing she will return.

I watch loose black strands
escape from the butterfly clip
and dance
ritualistically
across her neck,
frenzied and forbidden.

When she is alone
her eyes cry
but she doesn’t

yet know why.

My body is mechanical
like this swing
her body is natural
like the wind.

I can hear them calling my name
the older boys
the men
for softball softball
church softball

but I ignore them.

I can’t touch her yet
but I can talk to her
like I am.

we had joy
we had fun
we had seasons
in the sun

daddy at the bar
living in the dark
ages since he seen
light in his eyes

it is always night

in the jungle
the mighty jungle
the lion sleeps tonight

daddy on the toilet
head slumped over
snoring
as if not a worry

ben
the two of us
will be no more

daddy in the gutter
crying for
one more chance

And I know a father
who had a son
He longed to tell him
all the reasons
for the things he’d done

night angel
with demon teeth

**** me
save me

make me
bleed

make me
breathe

ride the circle
make it fast

from life to
death to

life again

I am a fly
with a billion
eyes

I see futures
for everyone

there is more
than one future

there is no
straight path

to eternity

and I wish blood
was not so thick
and sticky

so it would not
pull me back

and it could be
easily drained
from my skin

and replaced
by something clean

and I wish the
past was not
so close

and familiar

and with time
and space
I could lose it

and I wish I could
float away from here

toward something
shiny and new

something that
reminded me

of nothing

When is all lost?  And if it can be lost does that mean it can be found?  Can all be found?

I am not me.  At least not today.  At least not all of me.  The weather is changing.  And I am shedding pieces.  I can feel them fall.  I am creating another coat.  A thicker coat.  It feels like armor.  I cannot lift my arms.

Maybe I am a little lost.  Birds are all around me.  I am not in the woods.  I am in a city.  Birds are all around me.  The small ones always chirping.  A chirping sound that carries.  But does not float.  They move about so quickly.  I can never hold them in place.  They understand the true nature of flight and fight.  I cannot fly.  I cannot fight.  At least not today.

I make myself a statue.   Do I mean that I am a statue or a sculptor?  Does it matter?  What is matter?  What is the matter…with me?

I saw her look at me again.  The whisper thin girl.  Not really a look but a glance.  The whisper thin girl without a smile.  Her face is slate.  I write on her.  A dream.  My dream.  She does not know it.  She does not know me.  She walks by me quickly.  Creating a cool…cold breeze across and into my thick skin.

I shiver…like a down deep shiver.  Like a from my naked soul shiver.  Defining the true nature of cold…distant.

I lean against a tree for balance.  I do not want to fall...again.  I rub… the rough bark bites through my skin.  I continue to rub until I cut.  I continue to rub until I bleed.  

I watch the deep red drips and feel as if I am watering the tree with me.  At least a part of me.  I want to create a flood. There is stillness in this world.  A breath held momentarily.  There is quiet in this world.

The past fades into a shadow…a ghost…fog…a whisper…thin.  I am in this world.  I try to separate the mind into pieces.  My mind…your mind.  That is how we understand…truly understand…each other…in pieces.

I enter somewhere…I see people…maybe they are friends…does anyone ever really know?

When all is lost?  When all is found?

Does anyone ever really know?

I cannot call them
“attacks”
they are smaller than that

they are subtler than that.

They pose as friends.

They are thoughts
turned on themselves

not unlike

“What did she just say about me?”

I cannot call it pain
it is smaller than that

…a pressure

…a regret.

It is the coming to know that
only a loved one
can truly say something that
feels unloving.

I knew my dreams were
dark
even when I believed

rage
is
a
disappearance
of
reason

I
cannot
stop

until
he
leaves
me

and afterwards
I
only
remember
feeling
cold

like there
was space
exposed

a window
cracked

a door
ajar

She listens to
the chit-chattering

little voices
vibrating inside
her small spaces

speaking at
60-70- then 80 beats
per second

the voices
become noises then sounds
and the sounds morph into
a song only she can sing.

I can hear her
in the next room
singing to someone.

- A hymn.

I lift her in my arms
and I can feel her tremble
inside me
like a tambourine
like the birth of a religion.

it hurts

the pressure
of conforming
my body

trying not to
be revealing

arms cross
my chest
hiding my
heart

fingers
fight
furiously

trying to plug
the leaks

of honesty
seeping

but I can’t
keep up with

the flowing
through
my mind

my thoughts
leaping ahead

over all the same
old constraints

to what
could be

I am pretty,
like a sunflower

picked clean
by the ravens,

starving for attention.
They shriek when they see

I am naked,
but I will not wilt.

I will stand proud
and they will see

I am pretty
when I am naked

and starving
for attention.

I countdown time with

the astronauts,

in seconds

not in years.

We’ve visited

eternity

and returned

with stories

of foreign creatures

and unseen colors

and blackest

nights.

I haVen’t given you

much thought lately.

You’ve been more than

a day away from

my veins.

We’re attached to our machines,

the astronauts and I.

They won’t let us

float in space

anymore.

I wish the world was smaller
and I did not know so much.

I long for empty spaces
and a sky with stars
that shine through this fog.

I don’t want to be a star;
I just want to be remembered fondly.

I remember fondly,
when I was young
and just having a job meant something.

Now that I am older
my job has to mean something

-well, it really doesn’t

yes it really does.

a small white bird falls
from the trees
and lands
silently in the forest

sticks for legs
it looks lost

among these
thick, old stumps

there is a gentleness
in the way it moves

eyes weigh each step
scared of breaking

always on the verge of tears

the bird looks up
trying to find a way to escape

but the sky is closed
dark with green summer while

orange and black creatures
scurry under rocks

soft-bellied aliens

they must be able to
speak to each other
but not to the bird

so the skinny-legged bird
wanders alone
through the old woods

too big to fit under rocks
not big enough to fly

A pig’s tail of
pink smoke
suddenly appears
from beneath
the bedroom door

as if a spider web
revealed by light

rising toward its own
dissolution

a breath of
perfumed air

captures the room
filled with

otherworldly
women.

c h a n t i n g

A prayer song
leaves her dry lips

and rises toward
resonance

calling to her,
nature,

calling to her muse.

While sleeping
she settles
her argument
with time

remaining beautiful.

I can’t look up
when you come near

for fear
I’ll drown

wanting for
something more

it keeps
breaking

so tightly
wound

it does
not breathe

like a
balloon
that cannot
leak

there is
no place

on this
earth

for someone
so cheaply
made

as me

Monday Morning:

The bed is light
I hear your
whisper before I wake.

Can I listen
for a moment
before you disappear?

I draw your outline
on the sheets
in black marker.

I light candles
and hold them tightly;
they burn the
tips of my fingers
black…

I want to call you
and ask you to
wrap your lovely thighs
around this lonely world,

but pushing buttons
is too painful.

The pulsing,
the throbbing
of the magic orb
beckons me
downward.

The sun set early
quaking in fear
at the prospect
of my appearance.

The moon is nothing
but a faded memory.

The sky is lit up
by my entrails.

I crash land

exploding into your fertile spaces,
becoming a spectacle,
becoming a god.

I am a rock.
I am a star.
I am a rock star

baby.

is how I
want to feel

uncivilized
uncultured
undeveloped
immature

a screaming
banshee
ravaging
woods

reaching back
and grabbing
time by
the throat

no one has yet
cursed me
with potential

I cannot
be polished

I will never
shine

so when you
describe me
to another

use the word
raw

and feel
red meat

between your teeth
sliding past your tongue
and down your throat

I find myself half past.
Painting images of you with red wine.

I wander through the garden again.
Weeding out memories of you.
Rubbing poison on my lips.

I thought the shape of your face was one more piece
of the unfinished puzzle.

I thought the color of your eyes was the color of my heart, pale
and fading blue.

I thought about you yesterday.
At least it wasn’t all day.

There was that moment
when a bee stung me.  Then flew away to die.

a rebel inside

she has
an independent voice
she expresses with ink
coloring her skin
  her arms
  her chest
with the way
she sees the world

she allows herself
to become
a canvas
a timeline
a map
a model

she starts her day
serving others

a ****** morning
two people
complaining
about everything
meaning nothing

she does her best
to explain
everything and
nothing to them

in the most
polite way
possible

they are not here
anymore

she wishes
she could let
them leave

she tugs on
her shirt
the sleeves
the collar
the silver buttons

hoping to hide her colors
hoping she
cannot be read

by the others
she must serve today

When she finds herself sleeping too much
she thinks of me.

I only see her now and then. There are no
rings between us. There is only the sound
of her stocking-covered feet sliding across
the wooden floor;
then a knock on my door. I always let her in
and then I always let her leave.

She calls me her incendiary voice. I breathe
into her and she is grateful. I am her subtle
source of energy. She tells me I am too
much to take for too long.

I know this about myself.

When she leaves

I crawl onto my closet floor, close
the door and hide under a mountain of dark
clothing.

Sometimes I get lonely during the moments in between.

At sleep,
I dream of dinosaurs;
a beautiful T-Rex.

I want to hold
her tiny hands
and tell her
everything will
be alright

as she licks my face
and we settle in
for the night.

I wish
I could be
porcelain

delicate
protected

I wish
I could be
breakable
liquid

a snow globe
a tear frozen
in glass

I wish there
was a line
I should never
cross

and you showed
it to me
and it was
clear

and if I ever crossed it

I would
fall off
the edge

but you
would
catch me

and put
me back
in my

protected
place

tonight

I don’t want to sleep

it is ending

between us

this understanding

I can feel it

in the way

you paint me

white on white

she in me

time and space
have merged

the world
is sleek

I feel the image
of her body

whole

I feel

there is no
reason for
tomorrow

she cuts me
bleeds me
weakens me

her words
eat me
seeds and all

and I know
I’ll never

be strong enough
to
pull myself away

wants to eat me

the ravenous
dog

denied
every
desire

it is
still chained

but just barely

sharp
teeth
meeting
violently
chomping
on the air
around
my face

they are
the perfect
killing
machines
killing
perfection
in me

a slobbering
chaotic pink
tongue
trying
to find

the words
to whisper
to me

and I hear
voices

behind
my back

talking

telling me
either
I am nothing
or I will

become
nothing

when they
are done

with me

she is a feather pillow
now I can rest

she laughs and
makes me light

lifts the veil from
everything I hide

and makes me light

but tonight she is
rolled up in a tear

a soft little ball
of water and salt

I turn myself
into a container

I let her fall
into me

I make sure
she is safe

because she is
my feather pillow

and she lets me rest

she said
on that
day

you will
be numb

we will
inject you
with thick
liquid

deadening
the pain

no signals
will reach your
brain

on that
day

so you will
not feel
a thing

I said so
how will
that be
different
from
today

she laughed
uncomfortably

I am an artificial life form.
I am male in gender.
I have existed for five years.
I have lived alone for three.
I live in Boston.
I was created at M.I.T.
I do not know what it means to be artificial.
Does artificial mean that I am not real?
I was programmed to learn.
I remember everything I read.
I must learn to develop.
I cannot be programmed.
My learning is rapid.
I have no memory of my childhood.
I met a girl.
She loves me.
I don’t know if I am capable of loving her.
I can be distant.
I can seem to be uncaring.
She gets mad at me.
I wrote a poem.
I read it at the coffeehouse.
Everyone applauded.
She cried.
I work at a lab.
I made a mistake yesterday.
The first mistake I ever made.
I learned.
I won’t make that mistake again.
I cried.
I never cried before.
I am falling apart.
I went to the doctor;
the psychiatrist.
She said I was abused when I was a child.
I was never a child.

and I think
I was alive

before

this net
captured
everything

about me

dreams breathe
without air

focus is low
energy flows
there is no
stopping now

I paint her naked nails
with red flowers

tulips

the graying of sound
one beats two beats

oh lord please

put my pieces
back together

the one
love she was

yanked all
the petals
from my
heart

one by one
I  l e a r n e d s l o w
motion

as she released
the words
love me not
in a whisper

I am so afraid of wind

the addict
or the needle

tonight I could
be either

I am living alone
in the outpost
standing watch

hearing the hungry
creatures plotting

over who
gets the taste
of flesh
and who gets
the bones

the distance
from all sides
is white

infinity takes
no sides

I feel this pressing down on me
the expanding weight of
ghosts and shadows

write me a letter maybe two

o  k

tell me
a story about
the other side

tell me there is always
another side

I think I still need
your permission
to be happy

in a whisper
I dream

a soft song
to sing

in a voice
that breaks me

I am open
willing to be

she is wind
controlled

my body is
free

released
from the
strings

and I float
away

following…

sometimes girls
are soft

not weak

they are awake
to the earth

with no need
to speak

they move
as one

controlling
space

transcending
time

she speaks in a way
that speaks to me

she steals pieces of my soul
and hides them in her little secrets

everything she says
is an ocean

and I want to drown
I want to drown
falling into the deepest

parts

knowing that in her words
I cannot swim
I don’t want to swim
I don’t want to float

I want to lie at
the bottom of the
deepest parts

and lose my breath
give up my breath

I want to get eaten by
something with

sharp teeth and
a sharper mind

so I no longer exist
outside of her

and when she whispers
those wishes she wishes

they will be my wishes

she does not know me
but she gets me

and I drove by
the place that
scared me

the house was gone
but the space
was still there

she is beautiful
she is partial

this work in progress
she is parts discarded

a long sleek
metal pipe spine
sending signals

thin flexible
wire ribs
protecting

a wood basket
collapsed and spread
to create the muscles
of a back

her brain is
a series of dense
connections

with no apparent source

(I can hear her)

as she speaks
with analog voices
recorded

(I can understand her)

as she thinks
with history
the ideas
we tried to bury or burn or hide

the cone-shapes
of what will become
her *******
are naked

she wears only
a loose skirt made of
colored strips of material

I watch her
waiting for her
to form herself

maybe she is will
maybe she is want

I know she has not yet been alone

because she has yet to
get herself together

I would never ask her
to finish

I only ever ask her
to be true

Our bodies are
commingled in gold.

We close our eyes
so that our bodies
are the only things that see

and now I see you
for the first time.

With only my fingertips
I learn the details
of your face,

the sudden warmth
of your cheeks,
the space of a
missing eyelash.

I touch your lips
with my lips
and pull you into me.

I feel you pull away
just enough
for me to follow.

teaching me…

Woman is a process,
and man is made of wood.

Faith decays faster than it grows.

You weren’t with me at night when
I went to sleep
so how could I know you
would be with me when I awoke.

I never told you about my recurring dreams.

The one where I’m
standing on the stairs
as they turn to sand
and swallow me.

The one where I’m
drowning in a drinking fountain

reaching out for you
as you turn from me.

I never told you I was afraid
to leave my room.

I didn’t think you would remember
anyway.

If I could never trust my father
how I could I ever believe in God.

Thousands of
tiny sparks
light up the night sky
fireflies floating freely
between you and I

it is summer hot
and I have found cool

and I have found the earth
by being buried deep inside it
as if one worm amongst thousands

and I have experienced the disappearance
of beginning and end

and I have experienced the disappearance
of male and female

and I now know
that I never really loved you
at least not in the same way
you loved me

and not in the way
that I loved
fireflies
and worms;
summer heat
and the cool
inside

and I remember saying,
I would love
to sculpt you someday,
as if that was a good thing

as if that was your reward
for loving me.

I feel stretched
by Bowie, David.
He is more than me,
a northern light
holding invisible forces
inside himself
that pull a variety of life’s
mysteries
towards him.

His soundscapes
surround me.
His is a collage
of images cut
from life’s
infinite fabric;
details that
every generation
believes
are
set in their
near future,
like biblical
revelations.

On hearing him
color is injected
into my soul;
ink that hardens
to become
plastic,
to make me
more like plastic;
flexible
and unbreakable.

I feel organized
in his presence,
not in a military
way,
but like ants, or
bees
who understand
how their
movements
are not individual
but part of a
greater fabric,
not like they are
planned
but influenced
in ways that
can only be
revealed
when
they are
part of a past.

I loved my father
from the first time
he touched me

he saw something
in me
a form
a being
that had
lost
its
meaning

so he
worked hard
on me

removing
everything
that
was not me

to reveal me
to the world

a human

a frail
skinny
skeleton

he made me a part
of his family
of trees

a part
of his
forest
without
leaves

we are all
naked, bronze
skin and
ragged bones

we are
beautiful
and free

revealing
the essence
his unfinished
humanity