Sunday, December 25, 2016

December 26, 2016, 1:28 am

You
I love you
Your hair and your eyes
And your sweet sweet smile
And all of the pieces of you
I have not seen.
Pale white, marshmallow thighs
And ebullient, pulsing blood
Celebration and remorse
I love all of you.

Manifest

You, come here.
You, with the long dark hair that curls
at the temples and the nape of your neck.
You, with dark eyes that echo understanding.
You, who speaks to me in my sleep...
Of my own power and
the thunderous waves of my transfiguration.
Of limitless love, and lives not wasted.
You, who tells me who I am.
You, who sees me.
You, come here.
I am almost, almost ready for you.
With my own dark eyes and soft hands.
With my lips and my lips and my love.
You, with eyes of erasure and possibility.
You, with everything in your pocket.
You, with a handful of the stars I've handed out,
Ready to drape them around my neck.
You, salvation.
You, redemption.
You, come here.  

Sunday, November 27, 2016

November 26

In French, they don't say "I miss you". They say, "tu me manques." It more directly translates to "you are missing from me". It's an often romanticized translation. I know I told it to you once in one of my many proclamations of devotion.  And here it is, true. You are missing from me. Like a severed limb.  Nothing but a gnarled stump now, tender pink flesh grown over with brand new, baby-pink skin and sinewy white scar tissue. And I'll wear you like this forever now. The public reminder of what didn't kill me. You'll stuff yourself with empty women and none of them will taste like the bite you took of me.  And I'll sit at my dining table with my grandkids asking me to pull back my sleeves and tell them about the monster who left those marks. And I'll smile at the missing pieces, knowing you're still hungry, and I'm still alive.  Romantic, huh, the way you're missing from me?

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

November 9, 2016

I still remember the crack in the windshield like it was an omen of everything that came after. It wasn't. A hairline fracture, at first so small that I didn't see it until after I drove my brand-new used car off the lot. It was a good car. I was proud of it. I was diligent with stopping to clean it and vacuum it out every weekend, change the oil every 3000 miles. I was invested in that car. On two different occasions, I stopped at a roadside glass repair and ask them if they could fix that crack in the windshield. On two different occasions, I was told that it had already been repaired. "See that little round spot in the middle? That's where they drilled it. It's been repaired." But it was growing. It was growing in the way I was constantly questioning whether it was in my head or in reality. Fractionally, infinitesimally, but it was growing. And so I kept injecting the glue that was supposed to make the cracking stop. But when the whites of my eyes met his, just at the moment of impact, The impact that totaled my car, and my knee, and not long after, my sense of idealism, I wasn't thinking about the crack in the windshield at all.

Thursday, November 3, 2016

November 3, 2016

It's dangerous to dream in black and white
When it's my fingers
itching for handfuls of your hair
The scratch of your silvering scruff
against the nape of my neck
The goosebumps that raise
like the curve of my spine
in their effort to meet your lips
The lazy arch of my eyebrow
when I smile at you in the afterglow
Funny how we mourn only until
we are rewarded for letting go
And now I languish in the sound
Of so many foreign tongues
And the only retribution I need
Is your fast talk, slow grin
and the sunrise

Wednesday, October 26, 2016

October 26, 2016

Twenty days I stayed silent. Not colors nor words of want escaped me.
twenty days, sore with grief and seduced by hope.
I left behind the place you existed
I scrubbed you from the floors and from my skin and from my mind
And at the end of twenty days of idle talk
And twenty nights of silent alarms,
And just when I believed i would starve to death
You showed all that lies beneath
Belied your toothsome, smiling exterior
Exposed greed, devoid of depth
Built only of convenience and greed
A two dimensional facade of desperation
 and pathetic, base validations
And the air rushed in
The light touched me again
And I realized how long
The sickening weight of you
Has suffocated me.

Wednesday, October 5, 2016

October 4, 2016

You're going to fall into the sea
And I will forget you
And I'll give myself all of the love
You held out of my reach
I'll feast upon it like a starved one does
Devour it.
My belly distended with excess
And a sanguine smile on my face
As the lovers of love line up
One by one
Just to kiss the taste of it from my lips

Tuesday, September 20, 2016

September 21, 2016

Two hundred
Thirty eight thousand
Nine hundred miles
To the moon
And yet she still sleeps
Faithfully
with us both
every night.
Distance is nothing
With faith like the moon.

Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Whiskey

Last words, last rites 
Death knell poems and decaying prose
Languishing at the back of my throat 
Like the taste of bile when you've 
Over-indulged 
And you can feel whiskey and
Stomach acid,
Threatening your tastebuds
Hot and sweet saliva fills your mouth
And you can only hope to lean over a trash can
Leave the room
Or find an alley
So that you don't have to swallow again 
what poisoned you once enough 
For your body to reject it. 

"I think you're beautiful" 
Slipped with one cocked eyebrow into
"I just wish you'd be more natural." 
And conversely, "why aren't you wearing any makeup?"
"Because of your words, your stars, your galaxies..." Slipped into
"I've been waiting two years, I'm not holding my breath"
All of the why not slipped 
so lazily into why
And all of the sweet 
honey buzz in my head turned into the growing cold knot in my belly.

And now I'm turning as slowly as I can
Searching for a safe space 
A bathroom 
A dumpster 
Any place I can hunch my body 
And heave
And force you out of me for good

September 6, 2016

All that's left of us ...
I've said so many times 
it means nothing. 
All that's left is my excavation of what was 
Finding fossils of what we once were
Digging with an axe, a sledgehammer
Dusting with a fine-haired brush
Finding pieces to save or preserve or just to study 
Rabid to answer all the questions 
of death and extinction 
Except...
All I'm doing now is sifting sand 
between my fingers 
Anything left so fine and small 
you could never make out
 the animal it once was
And it's a melancholy realization 
That I'm not mourning the curves 
and arcs and curls and angles of you
But the shapeless, shifting void 
where they once were 
So frayed at the edges 
that I don't even recognize you
This is the last melancholy
 before I forget what it's like to miss you 
Before that voice stops saying 'wait'
And I'll realize soon it's been days or weeks 
Or longer 
Since I even tried to remember 

Sunday, September 4, 2016

September 4, 2016

Two years.
Twenty four months. 
One hundred and four weeks
 Seven hundred and thirty days ago
You crashed into my life
 and my body 
With no regard for my safety 
My need to be protected 
The bleeding chasms
in my damaged, destroyed heart 
You gave and you took 
And you pushed and you pulled
And at every turn you wanted me
To be nothing
And you made me need 
And I never could run
I tried to match your escapes
I tried to master your desires
Your fervent need for otherness.  
I tried and I tried and I gave 
Everything I had
And everything I didn't. 
And now you want to retreat 
Like an ebbing tide
Gently and without consequence. 
Devoid of attachment and feeling
In denial of
Meaning and fate 
In abhorrence of love 
And rejection of me. 
A simple complication 
Of everything that was nothing 
Sucking the breath from me
Leaving my lungs 
And my hands 
Empty of all they once touched 
The sharp angle of your jaw
Just beneath your ear
The soft patches of fur
On your chest
And that one spot on your back
And the mighty arc 
of your filed down fingernails 
On places so tender they 
Haven't even skin to cover them. 
And the answer probably is
What it probably always was
Not when you are brave enough to begin
But when I am brave enough to end
Loving and needing and suffering 
And touching lips to flesh and teeth to bone
And bruises on skin and in hearts. 

Sisters

I don't know how to write this without some huge preface. I'm afraid of letting it speak for itself.  I'm afraid of giving it a voice. But it exists.



As far as I knew
I was born the only daughter 
I grew up slow and stubborn 
With the arrogance of optimism 
Three decades of sunshine at my back
Before I met my sister
And like sisters sometimes are
she is not my friend
But she is of my blood
Born of the same flesh
Me and my sister Death
Sometimes she stays at my house 
And silently watches my child sleep
And I dread the day he walks 
with my sister
And not me
She does not thieve my lipstick
Or my favorite sweater
But pries at my heart until her fingernails
Peel back 
And leave their rotten blackened roots
Embedded in the muscle of my heart
And I've been known to curse my mother
For this sister I didn't know I had
But like all sisters are
We are bound together
Even when she steals my friends
Even when she makes choices for me
I could never make myself
And I'll never love my sister
But still we are
Intimately 
bound together
Pulled from the same mother
And I try my best not to show her
What I want the most
Because my vengeful sister
Will take it at all costs 
And if he goes, 
I must go with him 
Too small to walk alone. 
He doesn't know my sister
But sometimes 
she looks just like me
And he's made of trust 
and big brown eyes
And all the arrogance of optimism 

Saturday, August 27, 2016

27

The only thing left between us now is the growing quiet 
The nothingness eating away at the spaces between the stars
I still look for you in other people 
I still l write you in the mornings
I write about you with other names
I remember the smell of your skin
I'll give you other faces
But I'll throw my words in bottles to the ocean
And they'll have to travel the currents 
West to east across every mile 
Except the thousand between you and I 

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

August 24, 2016

I still wake up with words, every day.
 At first I had to swallow them all,
 choking on them,
 feeling their rough, unchewed edges 
scraping down my throat. 
Now they wash over me 
when I open my eyes,
 and I usually let them go, 
blowing into the wind 
like a dandelion wish. 
I still house the love, 
all of the love, the endless, 
boundless, unmatched love. 
But you broke the struggle, 
the junkie in me, the desperate,
 clawing need. 
With a deep sigh, I exhale you 
when I slide between
 the worlds of dream and wakefulness.
 You silent muse, 
you thing I made with my own heart, 
dancing still in the ether like a heady,
 sweet cloud of my favorite poison. 

Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Barely August 24, 2016

Can I? 
Can I just say so, love?
How everything and nothing has changed?
How you have grown into and seeped into 
And worked into every fiber and atom of my self?
First I said soul. But self is more accurate. 
How you exist in me on an atomic level
How I can feel it when you miss me
How everything goes on
But nothing does at all? 
Am I allowed?
Or should I stay silent. 
Pretending again and again 
That something else is more important 
That the gentle in and out weft of you
Within every scratch 
If you say it first
I promise to follow 
If you hold my hand
I promise I'll reach back 
If you lick my wounds 
I'll extend my own tongue 
Someone here has to not be stupid 
And someone has to decide 
Which direction stupid goes 

Sunday, August 21, 2016

August 22, 2016. Ineptitude of the Vernacular

If what I want is peace
I have to focus every shred of my being on peace 
If what I want is forgiveness, 
I have to focus every shred of my being on forgiveness 
I am not allowed anger
I am not allowed suffering 
I am not allowed to cling to this idea 
of beauty in the midst of pain. 
If what I want is not to be bound by all this
I have to focus every shred of my being on letting it go. 
It cannot exist anymore. 
An eye for an eye is not the golden rule. 
Goodbye
I love you
Let's do the most beautiful thing possible 
In an ugly world
And not destroy what we had
With what we have not. 

Friday, August 19, 2016

August 19, 2016

The swelling moon brings about change
Pulling the tides of my tears and pushing 
New, new, new
Everything at once. 
What I eat, where I sleep
Who tells me goodnight 
Or doesn't 
Rebirth is the name we give death
When the chasm is too great to cross
The void reaching languidly to 
Slip it's bony fingers inside each thing I hold dear 
And I tighten my grip
Loosen it
Let go
Pull back
Pick it apart
Diagnose and analyze and seek and find and eliminate and augment and nurse and cradle and cry
And the only thing that remains is what's left of too much
Too much
Too much
Is the only thing within my grasp
Hold it tightly 
Nurse and nurture my too much 
Hoping, and yet not
For the absolution that I was not too much
But that you were too little 
But that is neither comfort nor consolation 
For if I am too much 
And you are too little
What lies between us yet again 
Is the void. 






Tuesday, August 16, 2016

August 16, 2016

A tactile memory, 
the smell of soil in the damp spring air 
The dancing petals of roadside wildflowers
Indian paintbrush, evening primrose, bluebonnets 
Leaning back into your shoulder and smiling, our disheveled faces tipped to the sun. 
A deer beyond the gate, 
close enough we could almost touch her. 
Waking up to the pinprick chills 
of the morning mist on my face 
And wandering caves 
ahead of the crowd to imagine 
it's just us 
Seeking out bats 
and stalactites and cubed crystal formations. 
Holding hands with mysticism and contentment
And I sit here now confounded that 
That lush green spring and the winding hill-country roads
Gave way to this desolate heat 
of the late August moon 
Sunless sky and stagnant air
So heavy it pulls my breath 
And where I once woke up 
At the waters edge 
with you close enough to touch
I now lay awake on my back 
Unable to see even the stars

Thursday, August 11, 2016

Perseid 1

It's not better or worse
It's just who I am 
Sitting so small under the sky
hoping to see flashes of Perseid
Where we once sat in the red-backed chairs
Leaning and craning our necks
For neon zippers flashing 
Laughter and shots of blue liquor 
Cigarette butts and the one who
Loved when I tasted like smoke
and whiskey
Loved when I didn't watch my mouth 
Loved when I was angry and raucous 
Loved when I drank too much
And talked too much
 and loved too much. 
And now it's a strange full circle
That I tried to love someone like you
And now all your sins look like fresh snow
Or cocaine left untouched on the mirror
I love you like whiskey, I miss you like coke
And the lines in that notebook have faded 
Under empty cartons and wounded soldiers 
Your touch was alien and so familiar 
Your mouth felt like home
But not like love 
And I still taste like liquor 
And you still look like the thing 
I'll never open my front door to again. 
And the meteors still flash over our heads
And we still crane our necks
To catch a glimpse of falling rocks 
The things we want most 
Are always embedded in the darkest skies
And forever out of reach. 

Quilting

I carved a needle from the bone
Of my left ring finger
And pulled my heartstrings free
And I took every word you ever spoke
Tender and kind
Vile and slick
Lies and truths 
Blackout promises 
And morning after apologies
And I pulled the threads of my
Bloody heart through them all
One at a time 
Until the shapes of them came together
Into a quilt
A puzzle picture 
Of bloody skins and displaced tissue 
Tumors excised from birth
Ex-lovers, abusers, teachers
Babysitters, date-rapists
And one night stands. 
It's not a pretty picture
This whole of us I've strung together
And it bleeds and we bleed 
When I tear out the seams
And It doesn't make sense 
when I Pluck it apart 
And I wonder 
How many words 
Do I have to put together 
Before I stop fucking
With this rotten cloth 
Woven of the sum of us? 

August 11, 2016

Maybe you're right, old love. 
That I'm far too much to handle. 
That I'll have to be alone. 
That no one will ever love me 
That I've brought it all on myself 
That I'm too loud and too pushy and too needy and too demanding 

But I've worked so hard to become
Exactly what I am. 
And it's not a vision, it's a mess
I'm not trophy material
I am tears dripped in paint
And wild hair
And the beginnings of wrinkles on my forehead 
And leftover rolls of baby flesh at my hips
I am not easy or simple or elegant
I am not refined
I am raw 
I'm often ugly 
And still vain 

But I have lived a lifetime
To become these things 
And all the things I'll be 
Twenty thousand mistakes
Tacked together, built my face 
And maybe I alone will love it
But I will 
Because I still have love to give 
And I still desire love 
So I will love
And love and love myself
And that, you can't take from me. 

And in the end of the end
You'll join the ranks
Of those men who went mad 
trying to love me
And my immortal heart
Will pause for a moment
When you join the ranks of those 
That no longer beat. 



Wednesday, August 10, 2016

August 10, 2016

High desert, high plains 
high stakes, high grades 
High functioning alcoholics 
Getting high in one way or another
In one way or another 
And I miss you
Or the idea of you that I had in my head 
Not what's left 
I keep hearing old conversations 
When there was more laughter than anything else
I want someone to go to the beach with me
I tried to teach someone else's hand 
to hold mine like yours did
But none of it remains
Scrubbed clean, 
words like low-grit sandpaper 
Erased everything 
Even my fingerprints are gone
Skinless, bloodless, raw, and pink  
So that I can make no mark. 
I'm left on tenterhooks, suspended 
Waiting for the day when my skin
Finally tears clean
And the new, scarred, 
Ruined 
version of me 
can leave this place. 

Sunday, July 31, 2016

July 31, 2016

My skin smells like someone else
I can still taste it
So familiar yet completely strange 
Outside my body
I used to think I knew 
What kind of girl I was
Ethically superior
So Proud of my moral compass 
But Jesus, you make me feel lost 
Needle spinning wildly 
And no North Star in the sky
And I know you can never anchor me
All the things I thought I wanted 
Are stuck in the back of my throat
I can't seem to spit them out. 
But neither can I swallow. 

Friday, July 29, 2016

July 29, 2016

When you were small you wished
For a friend
Just one 
Someone to love 
and to listen. 
And somehow now
You swallow your wishes 
Drown them
Drown us
The ones who are patient 
The ones with love to spare 
The ones who stay
I ache 
and I wonder
If someone had loved you then
Would you still turn to dust
In my mouth? 

Tuesday, July 26, 2016

July 26, 2016

I don't pray to gods for things that I might earn. 
My faith is in the science and the minerals and
 the elements of the earth and the sky. 
Tangible sparkling worlds just beneath the dirt. 
The history of the universe is in sand and meteorites. 
I Believe in salt. I believe in neurons. 
I believe in the electrical impulses 
between your skin and mine.
 I believe that nothing is fair.
 I pray to the gods of statistical possibility.
 I pray to books.
 I pray to dopamine and serotonin.
 I pray to the laws of physics 
and beg for an equation to outsmart suffering. 
Faulty wires, neural misfires … 
this one is brilliant,
Broken and brilliant
Unkept.