charity bangers: a haiku animal planet:save the whales, fleshy mortal--turn on: crucifix.
autumnmy body thrives on the migration oftree limbs and human hearts - a golden fist clenches onto modicum entrails, thrusting pollen up my throat and into the air you breathe.
tallest man on earthhe rolls inmint leavesand cigarettesmoke,standing upto waltz outthe backdoorand out tothe moonlitstreets ofour urbannightmarebefore i havea chance towhisper, i miss you - don't leave.
c r a c ki am the one.not the one but the one -that can't help but shatter everythingshe touches, and my days are spentripping splinters from my skinand wishing i coulddisappearinto thehole ofyourheart.
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
naive this is new york, new york and i'm burning under the city stars. cold coffee is crawling over the bed-side table; my fingers have gone numb at the tips - arctic fantasies of
insomniac?a lack of sleep leaves meugly & 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 heart.
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.
boy,Bone-Maker, you've built my coffin higherthan tree tops and I'm sorry but I am toosmall for your world.so go back to your Mother andscratch scratch scratch on herdoor until she opens armsand teaches you how todie.
leap through eternityi will sink my teeth into a supernovato let the stardust andcosmosslide down my parched throat andwash over my intestines,like a pebbledrowning in the sound--
carnival ridesJesus came from smoke & moonshineso whenever i blow out candles,i write God a grocery list andset fire to wax in the back of a churchwith waning moons for parishioners.faith comes and goes like carousels,so i guess that means that i can count on clownsbut i can't count on light.galactic children,crack your glow sticks upon our congregationlike rainfall amidst the baptized first. i spend more time in bed with myselfthan i do whispering secrets into theonion paper of Bible pages.i vandalize hymn books with my favorite lines of poetry.i never bothered to ask God if he was okay with this,i've just always been apt at assuming too much.maybe, when my father's language unfurls like a Persian rug,i will relearn the taste of cotton candy & confection sugar.i will build monuments for my convictionsto make up for all those times i just faked it.maybe, like a holy convict, i will shackle myselfto good deeds that do not self-fulfill but, instead,teach every lesson i
renovationsmy mind looks at my bodyand says, "i don't like whatyou've done with the place."
fidelic whore-- this is appropriationmy sweet synchronicity ,i have downed your appetitein a bed of front teeth (it is morning in perthmidnight in dublin, and the noonsun has been lost behinda dress of mothy curtains)do i taste ofyour forethought of love making;do i reek ofthe weeds that have infiltratedthe posture of your spine?-you bend overmy lap a curve of guiltand weep all night.i collect each knob of your bodylike a gift. press it to my mouth.swallow, spit.
stardust.my spine cracks beneath rose petals, and i realize i'm not worth fixing.
poem for borderlinesif i could concentrate overseven hundred thousand eyesthumpingat the roof to the numbers steppingfrom the nicities & rowsto go backrecoilto the shattered surface& the ripples beating over the hanghalfway between shallowand shorebiting lips. maybe--noshe couldn't have knownthat it takes a whole three minutesfor the lungs towell, maybe shewho, oh well oh waitthe white; the haze--the booming overthe spume and spraystop changingdisturbingme get out of my headjust pull up the shuttersstep outsidemy tongue the weight to talkit outbut that's all we'll ever be:a match burning itself out forfununder the backspray of someone else's wheels
astronomer's insomniapour in milky waystir until planets dissolveturn, avoid the sun
.the cat keepsleaving dead meaton my doormat,a pile of bones,bloody and rawhe wants me toknow what i'mwalking into, hewants me to knowjust what i am
.he splits hearts likeoranges in themorningsinks his teeth intoripened flesh, andleaves nothing but therind, too hard toswallow
you should be home by nowlast tuesday the house took my hand & said,it's more of a hurricane than a firesince he broke in & burnedmy curtainsmy floorsmy bridgesmy selfbut sometimes I see her with a lighter& she finishes what he didn't do(I think she's afraidof settling in,being quiet)but last tuesday I realized that she kept the lights onto frighten away the bridges & the peopleso no one will come inside& smash the teacups, steal the pipesbecause since he burnt her beds outno one lives there anymore
i'm a paradigm of self-destructionsnap your marlboro bones &grind them into watercolors -bay-water boy, paint your brainson the wallpaper like a sinner'ssermon; you won't wilt the waythat deities do, you solipsist:you're just a suicide drone.
being dawnistart late-- come into the worldall screaming face and flailing limbsand grasping fingersthat hold to the womb, the roomyou've lived. welcome a brotherbefore you have learned what the wordshould mean; before you are carriedon the shoulders of another brother;before you can begin to understandthe responsibility of you. watch yourself,your existence, tear apart your family--be the reason she wants him to leave,be the reason he can't controlhimself. be the reason two brothersdon't understand a father's love.drown. be flailing limbs and stolen breathsand splashing water and your father's handsholding you down. when he is bored,gulp for breath, gulp for air; don't let yourselfremember this for long. drown again, drownagain; each scenario a different prison,and you, barcoded into bravery you don't feel,can't breathe. trail a teddybear from loose fingers,but be a big girl. stumble over wordslike daddy and love and no, no, no,please. fall up stairs instead of down,bre
ripples on a blank shore (#15)in rainbowswith a petrichor veil;you've caught my breathin palms coveredin dandelions' dust,my longing,an uncovered explosionof drafts hiddenfrom the both of us.but i reach out,knowing wind-chimesilence is a possibilityas it has always been;knowing the doldrumsof my harrowing echoescould be the onlyreality i'm pressed against,but i'm more than willingto risk my heart& expose it to the weightof sorrowif there's a sliverof a shotthat we can be together.suspended in the contingencyof the unknown,i hope your wrung handsred with distortion& blue with disappearance,make your way backto the greying soles of my feet,clutching my breathin the wake of your arrival.
.the reaper playssolitaire when he's gotsome time to killbut when your time'sup it's back to work, coshe's gotta make a livinglike the rest of us
.fistsclench; i brush myheart frommy sleeve, thenditch thesweater
i just really don't care about climate changei am fourteen.i am fourteen years old and they tell meto take on the world, to hold the globelike a precious creature in my palms and to balance the continents between my fingers.i don't want to suck the toxins fromthe atmosphere and pollute younglungs, the exposition of explicit curriculum drives me crazy.it may be compulsory but having it drummed into your ears and weavedinto your innards is not the way that(i want to live).i am fourteen years old,and they tell us that kids are growing up way too fastin a world that's self destructing by the second, but ignorance is bliss - weren't they the oneswho taught us so?
a confrontationdon't you undercut my branches,cones and needles of a damaged optical nervelike a railing, a constricting fist of irreversible forest collapse;though i would dry my crops and sacrifice the childrento your griffon sweeping firestorms into the gates of two crooked pines;...one day i will, too, be someone's psychotropic hauntthe 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 listento the cuckoo's call until the dust is a desert and the branches are eyelash cr
risei will dig cratersinto my arms soi can spread them wideand burn brighter than themoon;this is my dying,celestial body.