save the whales, fleshy mortal--
turn on: crucifix.
risei will dig craters
into my arms so
i can spread them wide
and burn brighter than the
this is my dying,
naive this is new york, new york
and i'm burning under the
cold coffee is crawling
over the bed-side table;
my fingers have gone
numb at the tips -
arctic fantasies of
on loving a girl who doesn't love herselfYou used to tell her that you’d accept the reminders, the dark shades running down and over the hill of her waist, the shadow of her wrist. Far from unlovable, you said. So far.
Grudgingly, you realized that you could not fix her. She was not a dismantled puzzle just waiting for you; she was her own brand of porcelain, one you didn’t know how to mold back together. She wasn’t breathing for you.
The moments of silence between you led to a longer period, those weeks when you went days without talking – and you didn’t know if you were supposed to be proud of her or cry.
Stargazed at each other’s words until the night came when you learned she wanted you to kiss her scars and make love to them as if they were her self. You laughed without humor and said, "I might as well kiss them with the fucking blade then." She said nothing.
When she discovered that you would love her and her body and her past – but wouldn’t trace the lines on her skin
tallest man on earthhe rolls in
to waltz out
and out to
before i have
a chance to
whisper, i miss
autumnmy body thrives on the migration of
tree limbs and human hearts -
a golden fist clenches onto modicum
entrails, thrusting pollen up my throat
and into the air you breathe.
insomniac?a lack of sleep
ugly & lionhearted -
( tearing holes in
the past and avulsions
through our future,
we've got impacted cracks
written on the walls of our house
& you never asked why
when i said i hated faithful
stalemates like you. )
- you've made these bones
so warm & cold,
unafraid to breathe in the bitterness of your
scarlettmy momma's wedding dress was white like the light in her heart but two years turned to six and bitter turned to worse; here we are.
c r a c ki am the one.
not the one but the one -
that can't help but shatter everything
she touches, and my days are spent
ripping splinters from my skin
and wishing i could
a confrontationdon't you undercut my branches,
cones and needles of a damaged optical
like a railing, a constricting
fist of irreversible forest collapse;
though i would dry my crops and sacrifice the children
to your griffon sweeping firestorms into the gates of
two crooked pines;
...one day i will, too, be someone's psychotropic haunt
the bog monster, the finish line tension,
and if in times of blazing dust, begging for a hand or knee,
you back off from the madness,
this residual caoutchouc will drag you by your
sticky hands into its swamp;
so i'll inhale the flames ear to ground, i will listen
to the cuckoo's call until the dust is a desert
and the branches are eyelash
torn paperin the heat of reason
what the hell
am i doing have i really tried
to reduce you to 'sizzling whale oil
in the lightbulb of your bird-on-a-wire self-esteem'
and 'your want of justice is a diamond
in the rough corroded by mortality'
you who checks my breath for honesty
you my alcoholic breath my only response
i mean -
war orcas bite their steel reins to be drowned
in these silences.
if only you knew
a portrait of the young man as an islandin the submarine cellar
under layers of steel and styrofoam
in the breeding tank
the seed of contempt hardens
one day i will cease to give off excuses
the fragrance of their petals will fold into linoleum
and insect repellent
have you been apologizing again into what
confessional the priest only needs sumbmission maintenance of
flickering screen of superhuman status
i have realized this construction is a construction
hold my breath it'll topple over soon enough
no divine intervention required.
drag away the skin mask,
the strand of gum as a farewell flag. the reality is this:
anhedonic reptile. hull of the hydrogen carri
Saltwater GrimaceCheshire callousness
reflected in your eyes,
chagrined and not amused --
do not kiss me, do not try,
float away like a dream in fog.
I am never sure just what
that mysterious smile means,
but your memories are leaking
through sea-glazed follicles, and
I am bound to their excess.
Smirking, you lose a little love
every inch of beach you breach,
surfing my sands like
a professional poltergeist,
haunting my currents with ease.
You have lured me here
to sift seashells and foam.
Our lies fulminate the conversation
to its peak -- you are
chagrined and not amused.
I will not kiss you.
overcastcold water reigns
a rain-drenched moor
of crocus buds and
i fall with the rain,
whispering of fickle
fears to the earth.
folding in and over
safe havens under
a hollow netted sky,
i drift like needles
sewn in delicate footsteps
through silken-still air
as i pine, pine, pine.
some things you have to figure out yourselfsleep is creeping past
two holes in heavy eyes
rips my mind from my thoughts,
the muddy rib from my side
you in the aisle of wal-mart
writing Jesus under
pretense of a hallmark card
"what's a stone without a sinner,
a sin without a stoner?"
question: which is worse-
the need or the donor?
because we, unequivocally,
have excelled at ripping all
of the fruit from all of the
trees. your eyes are open,
they are viewing, but they
do not see
and do you see
what i mean? do you
even see me
a snip, a crush, two sniffs-
i need you, i need this
you are beautiful and i am hungry,
but i can't take what you won't give.
(the need and the donor)
which is worse:
the deliberate lie or the Judas kiss?
i am starting to understand
that i can't have
i love you, standing strong and
standing tall, but how much
do i love you if i
curse you when you
we have been conquerors of everything,
and keepers of nothing.
desolateyou are a broken house with smashed windows
and ivy growing between your fingers
you are fragile and with every
creaking footstep on the stairs you pray so
hard that you have let the right one in
there will be people,
people with minds so blissfully ignorant that
they walk right through you and do not
see the splintered furniture residing within your
body, you are invisible to them,
you wonder if you are even there
but then there are other people -
people worth staying standing for,
people who will walk in and gently run their
fingers along the parts of yourself that
you forgot were even there,
people who will explore your anatomy like
it is an undiscovered world.
let them find the stale cup of water you left
beneath your bed 5 months ago,
let them find the brittle treasures you hide
in your fireplace, and how you masochistically
adore the way that you could just
catch on fire at any
but do not let them break you,
not ever again.
35she wore nebulae
around her neck
along a chain made of stars,
but the moon never learned
to sing against her skin.
to build an unfaltering homeshe taught me how to read, so it is best heard: https://soundcloud.com/c-e-moore/to-build-an-unfaltering-home-by-your-methamphetamine
only with you
can i mock
the utter idiocy and lack
of sense about how
the pacific is a warm-water
anomaly to the poetic iciness
of her experiences.
only with you would i
wish for karma
to take a luscious bite
of my fictitious Adam's
apple and my unfreckled,
skin; with you, i believe i could
sit for hours, watching in disgust
the utter power time can have
over the end of a crackling
(yes, you would,
at best --
it is enough)
we have chopped, killed
and savoured all our victims
in the comforts
of our too-virgin, too-clumsy,
fancy different giggles
and killers of time but you,
my home of a friend, you
wish the same foundations
that built you from scratch, (casting
your brother off a piano bench, steppin
Growing Upit seems that by now I’ve been diagnosed
with a mild case of weightlessness, mindless
drifting past empty homes and the emptier people
that purchased them. I remember conversations
with you about existentialism
and the almost intricate fabric of my mind and
everything in between, and you-- the way you
paused before making a point as
the words defined themselves in your head:
I remember the day I told you I was God.
Creator of all things unimportant, trapped
in the body of a girl with nothing left to give, you
it must be a beautiful place
inside your head, with a world
that revolves around hope and expectations
the way it was supposed to; all
storybook-perfect like the
wars promise we’ll one day
[I’d like to think that every great leader
once cried themselves to sleep wondering
if they’d ever mean anything and
did things to stand out like smoking
or drinking or pretending to be someone
they’re not and every morning they’d tilt
Adversarystrong summer beauty with courage and zest,
discovered a lion with only one eye.
it noticed the darkness she perilously possessed,
and buried his claws deep within her chest.
extracting his daggers and supressing his cry,
he stood over in silence and watched her slowly die.
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate over
seven hundred thousand eyes
at the roof to the numbers stepping
from the nicities & rows
to go back
to the shattered surface
& the ripples beating over the hang
halfway between shallow
biting lips. maybe--
she couldn't have known
that it takes a whole three minutes
for the lungs to
well, maybe she
who, oh well
the white; the haze--
the booming over
the spume and spray
me get out of my head
just pull up the shutters
my tongue the weight to talk
but that's all we'll ever be:
a match burning itself out for
under the backspray of someone else's wheels
bloom.a boy who loves roses meets a girl who
loves thorns: he dresses her up in
fancy clothes, she paints his nails red—
when blood falls on the lawn, they grind
their boots into the mud, leaving imprints
of who they used to be: delicate and sharp,
a porcelain doll and a pocket knife, snow and
rust—the moon is a ghost of a god, and they
are shaving their heads; are dripping wax
all over the concrete beside the house with
dark green shutters; are dripping wax all over
the bodies they inhabit, scarlet and black—
ripping off callouses to reveal the raw flesh
underneath, they plant their roots in soil
they have not blessed yet and grow with
all the might of two entire forests
for she is a sinnerAngels eat her alive,
the way she deserves:
molting downy feathers
in a hermetic esophagus—
like her lungs,
pooled with words
She is choked by halos,
and expecting expansions
spanning clouds and Niles
of rosemary tears;
( yet no ocean cried,
and no tsunami felt,
will rid the torture justified
in each holy touch upon
soiled cheeks: wet Liar’s runoff.
It falls so easily down her throat,
to drown more words. )
and she almost warns them
to stay away: She is filth.
but they lovingly caress
and they carefully sink
their glittering pearls into her
just the way she deserves.
summer homei've rearranged the rooms of my chest
to make room for you.
i won't say it didn't hurt
to make myself your Adam;
until you found a comfortable perch.
there, beneath my unguarded breast,
you construct your nest of
every lovely thing you've come to love
(while the rest of me flaps wildly
like moth wings against the cold walls
of my exposed heart).
i should've known you'd leave
when winter froze me.
don't apologize [for the ache].
you kept the beautiful bits of me
(while they died).
venus.if i could only make
i could eat their petals
and let the blood
permeate my bones
then seep all over my skin
like an imploding galaxy
then maybe this savage
in my reflection
into a goddess
burning like tea
carving the little nooks
of this deceased sculpture--
molded into the curves and frame
of a delicate body
enraptured by silhouettes
only the moon could learn
i'm a paradigm of self-destructionsnap your marlboro bones &
grind them into watercolors -
bay-water boy, paint your brains
on the wallpaper like a sinner's
sermon; you won't wilt the way
that deities do, you solipsist:
you're just a suicide drone.
paradise construction site bluesand forgive me, for no sputum warplanes
i exhale/ no kamikaze swallows
onto the grid of rain.
the movements: sparrow’d, quantized.
and will you notice
how hastily the lines,
and the shabbiness of matter,
over which the recitation
of the debutante’s prayer.
the fear is in the tangent
tracks that shape us;
in the shape of a cotton angel
here lies everyone i’ve ever loved.
for when we’re all there to debrief
and the numbers we’d been assigned
we guessed wrong:
i wanted to grab it,
drink it and be done.