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
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
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.
radiosthere are some songs i refuse to visit because i can still hear you when i listen closely.
i love her, you say.
oh. i reply.
so i crank up the volume and i close my eyes and i imagine you are holding me and i am holding you and we are dancing.
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.
invasionmy hands are sticky with enamel
skimmed off doors that lead to the
quiet, dusted memory vaults i keep
beneath the house. i had kept them beside
the refrigerator until now but you made me
nervous when you picked at the locks
and the handles began to turn. i spent a
summer with my nerves laid out on the
kitchen floor until they were so raw that
i could feel the dust settling around me
like it was the end of the world. later, after
we had had sex for the second time and
you went home, i bundled up my nervous
system and packed it into my pocket and one
by one, i pushed the vaults down the stairs
and out into the basement. they slid down and
out, a cacophony of steel infants released from
their crowded womb, each one bigger than
the last. they laid themselves against the wall,
steel soldiers with new limbs and old blood, and
watched me weep. tomorrow, you will ask me
where they have gone and i will lie. i will
tell you that death came in the middle of the night
and woke me with her breathin
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.
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
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.
wrists, she turns to me
with drug store
eyes and she
drops her heart at my
"it was a
no winner from the
beginning," she says,
and she is right--
and so i leave her
with her garden of eve
and a pocket full
of war stories; in the
rising sun, she tells me
that i no longer look like
Apollo, and i smile,
pick up my
skeleton, my ragged bones and
my tired veins, and
i leave her standing
find a new
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.
chi-squaredyou fold pomegranate bits
and iceberg lettuce
in careful origami turns--
i have welcomed the slant
of your kindness with continuity
crashing my dormant waves
against the cerulean coastline of my spine.
the slur in my gait and the hiccup
in my reasoning so off, you asked if i was
looking too deeply into questions
and highlighting wrong answers
or resuscitating the comatose
in her small town caffeinated
truth is, i have only been
speaking my stutter away,
practicing conviction until
the face-flush interrobang
gives me away; there
will come a time
when i will consensually
embrace your indigo indifference
is not that time
and today is a bullied
if you could
fold me in unsuited
paper ornaments, my
irony may settle to exist
so that we - her
and i -
may remain a chance;
a meeting of
lose itI loved you
as I am going to lose you:
steadily, and without artifice.
like the clearing of floodwaters.
like the healing of a wound.
there is something within me
that does not permit permanence,
something rancid inside
that slowly wears through—
I cannot keep. I lose. I lose.
but I am determined, this time,
to do it gracefully. to make it
into a skill that I can perfect,
a performance that commands awe,
a sideshow of precious things
slipping through my fingers.
somewhere, behind a curtain,
on a rickety platform
surrounded by strangers,
I am losing you
as I have loved you:
willingly, and without reservations.
with the depth of an ocean.
with the tenderness of a bruise.
point blank dangerousthe other morning i saw bugs crawling into my sink that weren't there when i looked back up again. i get headaches the size of bricks, stabbing me like toothpicks and chainsaws all at once. when i see you my hands start shaking and not in a good way, not anymore, i can't look at your eyes without wanting to throw up - not from disgust, but from pure, unadulterated fear, you are the most beautiful pistol, point blank dangerous, since the first time you looked at me in that way - and you know the way i mean - i knew i'd just bought myself a one way ticket into the pit of my stomach and i knew i wouldn't be alright for a very, very long time. and they say forever isn't that long at all but try carving your own infinities into the soles of your feet or balling your hands into fists and opening them with new dimensions inside, it ain't all that easy and maybe now you'll understand when i tell you i can't move on. not because it's risky, not because i'm scared. i'm not scare