the weight of things

his voice is the impact of a falling plane, ringing
deafness in the ear
setting fear aflame

children laughing is summer rain dancing on a lake
lightly falling,
giddy and free

your eyes are a smile
an open gate
inviting me into more than
what they can see

i bear it in my chest,
the weight of things
heavy and full,
like the flush of lips before a kiss,
the touch of hand imploding stars

everything has its weight
i feel it inside
and carry it
until each thing has
a name

what if i stay

what if i stay
when you say go
when hands in anger up you throw
when something in you thinks you know
exactly what my heart will show
"her love for me just isn't so", although
when you say go
what if i stay

what if i stay
when you say leave
when angry hands roll up your sleeves
when what you say to me feels mean
and your pain makes you want to scream
meet me somewhere in between?
when you say go
what if i stay

what if i stay
what if i never run away

what if i run to you instead
hear all the words you left unsaid
and not the ones you have misread
rest my tired aching head
on beating breast atop our bed
with tenderness, lightly tread
when you say go

what if i stay
when you say go
instead, my arms around you throw
"my love for you is real, you know"
and that is what my actions show
feel what you need to feel, although
when you say go
i think i'll stay

open

open, into me
beyond words, and deeply
paring off the surface, to the
empty me, slowly
falling, into
you

open, into me
without haste, and deeply
scrape through skin, with
fingers, softly
explaining, your
motion, into
me

open, into me
wide, and deeply
spreading soul, and
stretching inside,
of me, inside
of you

open, into me
gently, and deeply
leaving behind, all
preconception, preparation
without defense, and open
into me, anyway

let me into you
let me in,
to you, into
me

dream

when morning light turns awfully bright
and blackest night fades into white
arms cling with might to pillow tight
a final fight for my mind's sight
to hold you right 'til end of night

enough, together

small fragments of a torn heart strewn
about the gold and garish room

with shiny trinkets dangling
from chains prepared for strangling

there pictures of my first love fell
into a darkish blackish hell

and you found me on naked ground
cradling wrists that i had bound

i told you that i am too much
too deep for another to touch

you handled every wound with care
with tenderness i knew was rare

and thought of silly things to say
to put my frightened heart at bay

placing each sliver in your palm
held in each tear a healing balm.

your weary eyes made you look older
as your head lay on my shoulder

and you confessed your own heart's lie
a rule of thumb that you lived by

you believed you had to be tough
said you felt that you're not enough

that what you want was never heard
no one had listened to your words

and in that moment i could see
that love was new inside of me

i placed your calloused hand in mine
as we drank down our saline wine

that filled each other to the brim
sent pleasure through our every limb

and with our rubbing hands and feet
crawled in-between the rumpled sheets

fingers that made my empty bed
were folding into you instead

and with the blankets of restart
i tucked you safe inside my heart

when clouds cry

warm drops drip down the face of the glass
to the melody of the desperate mockingbird

the taste of saline sky
tells her that time is shrinking

strong and erratic are the notes
unfurling her fear that she will never find a mate

so she sings stronger
for the snotty nosed stratus

who knows that when clouds cry
the birds will still sing

slow and steady he swims through sky
shedding tears on tongues who will sound his sad song

unspoken

her long legs slip onto the pew like a pair of worn blue-jeans.
she is comfortable here, next to me.
my eyes remain fixed forward
as her smallish brown shoulder inserts itself under the cleft of my arm;
she fits, and
i have never felt more grateful, for her;
for a warm body, easeful and close
with its touch of tenderness, of innocence.
i am safe
in the hands of this child.

her slight lips part in prayer.
softly, fervidly, she rolls words off a salty tongue
that smells of morning snack time;
of peanut butter crackers and concentrated orange juice.
her sticky mouth moves, and
i too, pray
that there is a God whose ears reach beyond the limits of my hearing
that her words, in their smallness,
are significant.

she prefaces my name with "miss,"
but she is my teacher--
eyes wide and ready to receive
whatever we do not withhold, from her
wanting eyes
from waiting fingers
wrapping themselves around wishes wasted with words.

when she turns her round brown windows toward me,
they open into my soul, where
i hear a song gently sung:
some prayers are better left unspoken.

onomatopoeia

zoom, zoom
goes the muffler on the bike, riding
passed me, on the front porch
i sit, enclosed
by a white wooden frame and wire, screened in
to a room that feels full of words, but empty
of hands to press them into my skin

whirr, whirr
comes the breeze, breezing
through the gaps in the screen
lifting the hairs on my arm, toward heaven
where the hands of my grandmother still, rub
my back when i am tired

tweet, tweet
rings the chime of the phone on my lap
where disembodied love, reaches
my heart without ever, reaching
my body sitting on blue painted planks, far away
from lips to whisper words into me

glug, glug
groans the heart, pushing
blood through veins, rushing
my ears flush with red, every time
i hear my name, called
Adrienne

let the rest go

broad shoulders stretch the thinning fabric of his shirt
as he stretches, his arms
wide enough to hold a half-dozen, children
giggling into his open embrace, know
what it is to be loved by him
and i know that i love him

when i see warmth in their, tiny eyes
sparkling with delight, in his hands
forming their spirits with laughter

his head lifted just, before
i knew why, the wind stopped.
he took the laughing from the breeze
and he gave it and said,
this is for you, take
and be happy

and they took it and shared it with one another
and I thought to myself, this is good
you can let the rest go now

a spring morning in bull city

it pitters and patters
into my ears, and
i hear the sound of nickels dropping, though
there are no tin roofs here, i hear
they have them in Fayetteville

they walk their dogs anyway, Durhamites
wearing flannel coats, with dewy eyes
smiling under knit caps for the morning, chill
softening the rain falling into animal ears, listening
for the sound of squirrel, and smelling
the rain, instead
i lay motionless in bed

the owl outside my window
does not, hoot
at the clouds slowly drifting eastward
to Wilmington, he moans
in harmony with the Avett brothers from Concord
where there is history in a song's trajectory

the hills of Boone laugh
their eyes, dancing
hidden under thick fog,
like the knit, cap
when they hear, the tune
bouncing out of valleys and under cliffs, soaring
above the clouds, and back to heaven
where the rain came, from

my head, laying motionless
atop the white feathered cloud, atop
my bed

rage

fire in the blood, poisoning
the face of passersby, shaking
hands

daggers ripping into, self
pounding in the chest, screaming
eyes

boiling rage, water
searing, knuckles
and knees made black and blue
brought low

clutching fingers steal, through skin
to heart and tear,
out of body, out
of mind,
out, out

raw emotion, trapped
and d i s s i p a t i n g

and some of my soul, leaves
with it

she fills me

she fills me
swollen, like the stomach
of a woman aching to give,
birth to a life, she hopes
to share with one whom she does not know,
will ever be

she fills me
swollen, like twisted
ankle bearing too much, weight
of a heavy heart, wanting
what it cannot carry, alone
it stands thick

she fills me
swollen, like summer
thighs spread in heat, under
clothing sticky with sweat
from a body waiting for, a breeze
a cool breeze

she fills me
swollen, like a mountain of, desire
caving in, walls crumbling
an avalanche of feeling, flesh
rushing down slick hills slanted
into me

to my last love

my dearest darling,
if only you knew
the sad tale of love
this life has produced

i pen this message
with ink blood and tears
seeking forgiveness
for all of the years

of lovers cheated
and good friendships lost
sentiments squandered
full knowing the cost

poems exhausted 
and songs left unsung
speech now long faded
on tongues long left dumb

my own words cut me
sunk deep like a dart
forming an unshapely
poor piece of art

lost treasure afloat
in bottomless sea
promises, secrets
known only to me

i thought i was dead
under warped wood, bent
into ghastly shapes
left exhausted, spent

until you caressed
the glass of my neck
saw through into me
straight passed the shipwreck

you lifted me from
the lonely ocean
captured with your hands
all my devotion

read every wrinkle
of this confession
written on my face--
my heart's repression

take each desire
and want undreamed of
and plant them inside
of you, my last love

untitled

Sometime
Someone
Somewhere will
See me.

And
Someday
Someplace
Somehow will
Inside me

Know
Somebody
Somewhat in
Someway.

And I will call this something
Love
Because that's what we keep calling it.

sewn

our conversations are plentiful
while you're moving to and fro
in life's improvised tableau
so i'm never sure which way they'll go
the dialogue just ebbs and flows
and yet there is one thing I know
there are some words you don't forgo
your lips seem to enjoy to crow:
"maybe so"
"oh... I don't know"

i'll find an old worn school photo
recall a story from long ago
a time when we were toe to toe
pick up my phone to let you know
and find you're drinking white Bordeaux
while you make the kids some sloppy joes
as you grab a piece of cookie dough
to mime for them a puppet show
I ask if that's a text typo
you wink and tell me "maybe so."

i admit i'm a romantic doe
with words i can seem quite a pro
so i'll tell you that your meek "hello"
sounds like a sonnet by Thoreau
or i'll paint with colors like van Gogh
a portrait of your golden glow
from my heart an overflow
so that you'll always ever know
my passion for you -- even so
your response tends to begin with, "oh!"

i finally tell you i'd like to know
if i might take you to a picture show
i can no longer undergo
my desire for this love to grow
all this longing has me sewn
it hits me hard from head to toe
and i beg you for a quid pro quo
some sign on me would you bestow
to soothe my angsty bachelor woe
the response i get is, "i don't know..."

after all the seeds i sow
what do i for my labor show?
this poem and its afterglow

with eyes to see

 

with two full sets of eyes to see
you'd think the world would clearer be
while yours with others interacts
mine could stand guard behind your back

but each eye finds a new occasion
to view things from its own persuasion
yours tend to scan periphery
mine focus right in front of me

because our eyes are each attuned
to different kinds of visual cues
our sight can become microscopic
and lean toward visually myopic

for as we boast of our precision
to combat all perceived derision
the expectation of invasion
has taught us both to seek evasion

its clear we want transparency
knowing full well its rarity
so we close our eyes and feel our way
through another turbid opaque day

anxiety

Eyes itch
Red and dry
Left open just a crack
Like a bedroom door
To the hallway light glowing in the night

Cotton mouth
Sticky and parched
Biting down on crumpled sheets
Like a slave-boy gnawing at the bone
Of a scrap fallen under the master's table

Sore hands
Heavy and strained
From fingers clutching invisible promises
Like the phantom pain of a limb lost
In the limbo of twilight's nightmare hour

Satiated stomach
Swollen and sour
Soothed by the sugary fantasy of frozen desire
Like a snow-cone drenched in a sad shade of blue
And locked in the hand of a childhood tantrum

Head ache
Tight and pinching
Post-it-notes of pressure wedged in the fissures of fractured memories
Like an artist who beckons a break from reality
So he can pretend his blood does not bleed onto every page he creates

Eyes close
Mouth softens
Hands cease their movement
The stomach growls
The head asks for a tumbler of whiskey

mistakes

More numerous than seeds sown are the mistakes of a life.
Inside the kernel of every decision
Steeps possibility for growth or decay,
Til the kernel splits,
And action germinates,
Killing dreams deferred,
Emptying the tomb from which beauty emerges as
Shoots spring forth something transformed.

Mistakes make a life.
Anchoring these bodies to the dirt of this world,
Keeping the humus  inside human hearts,
Enfolded within each decision until we own who we are becoming,

And decide if it's who we want to be.

Live your mistakes
Instead of dying with them.
Feel the warm cut in your flesh,
Empty what withers the spirit,
                                     and grow wiser.

stillness

an interior cartography
with no point to pin
unmarked, unsettled, undefined

stillness.
i want the word to mean something.

be still and know that i am the ancient ones say
is it willful--
this abstinence from movement...

or is it a burden on the naked soul
a weight left by another
in all its heaviness
in all its fullness
pressing in on the self
breaking a heart
until the fussing of breath ceases
until the body is pinned to something solid

does it force its way inside...

stillness.
a union
a finding
a cessation
a conclusion
an end.

a heart expanded

there is death in the exhale,
the slow movement of the body toward its end,
a moment encapsulated in a breath,
gifted to the world as a sign of life lived,

i breathe in your scent,
and savor its course through my past,
down the slow curves of tree-lined country roads,
turning the corners of my youth,
in scuffling shoes on gymnasium floors,
with paper words and postmarked prayer,

and i exhale,

i drink your lips at last,
and taste the freshness of the present,
of foods spiced with sweetened spirits,
and laughter lifting burdened souls,
with clasped hands i lock time into the palm,
and with it the vision of myself through your eyes,

and i exhale,

i see within me walls built for crumbling,
fortified fears defending the warriors wounded,
from senseless battles fought within my heart,
their wearied eyes tell me that there is still hope,
for a future framed by moments passed,
its a knowing that only nostalgia can bring,

and i exhale,
and i breathe,
and i exhale,
and i breathe you in again,

algebraic love

my friends say that there is an average rate of change
for getting over my last relationship;
that it's in direct proportion to the depth
of my love and my loss,

but you are my x-intercept;
the additive inverse of a matrix of improbabilities.

the combination of convergent series of events tell me
that you may be the unforeseen constant
on the coordinate plane of my existence.

our greatest common factor is that we share a history
that proves their rules mean scatterplot.

I may never be able to justify to them my end behavior;
they may say i'm on an undefined slope downward,

but I sense the exponential growth of my soul
every time I make you smile.

you distribute your determinant traits in such a way
that I can't seem to help but feel my absolute value
when i'm with you.

I move through the day
as though gliding on a harmonic series of golden spirals
that send me in a horizontal shift toward you.

the root of the equation simplified is this:
there is a fraction of a second each morning and each night
when I feel that no one else could satisfy me like you do.

the feeling isn't something I can solve analytically;
it's a translation of the heart that won't be divided into real parts.

all I can do is find the midpoint
between the radical and rational expressions of my love,

and hope that you'll maintain interest long enough for me to convince you

that happiness is not a pure imaginary

but the origin of our future.

wandering heart

like wind that winds is way through cracked glass and rotting wood
like waves that wash over wet sand and seaweed withering
like wisps of warm smoke rising to winged renegades
like wanting hands rushing toward a waiting wight

so moves my wandering heart

my lenten valentine

[read me from the bottom up, or not]

              grow.
             O, little heart of mine,

            and heal.
           tend to these wounds
          hold the heaviness in your hands,
         O, little heart of mine,

        and wade through it's waters.
       seek the darkness within
      O, little heart of mine,

     and do not be afraid.
    listen to the sound of your tears
   O, little heart of mine,

  and love.
 look inside yourself
O, little heart of mine,

through the looking glass

Damp hands press hard into the glass

Pushing like a mother birthing her first child

Clumsy and forceful

Sweat beads under the soft tuft of fringe above creased brow

Heart muscles flex and strain

A drumming beat through pain in the gut

I can see her on the other side

Eying me dimly through the glass

Denim clinging loosely to softening skin clothed with Chucks and plaid

She is an echo of time slipping away

Gentle eyes greying with the guilt that comes with age

The honey of hope sticky on her lips

The weight of history heavy on shoulders and inside the knees

We reach for each other with cartilage clicking in the joints

Through gritted teeth and abdominal groans

I hear the rhythmic snapping of fingers

Like a Broadway musical cuing our song

Voices reaching into the fear

Of this mirror

With its splintering shards and bone breaking covenants

Made of fanciful dreaming and nightmare possibilities

Body pressed against body

The reality of today staring back at us

Through yester-tears and tomorrow’s sure sorrow

Eyes laughing -- tender and full

An invitation into an other’s darkness

A bleeding of self, seeping toward the light

Being intertwined with you

Is like the pain of a second birth

A returning home to begin anew

snowfall

you captured my longing
my desire
for cold mystery
for swirling stimulation
cerebral satisfaction
for the geometric perfection of the flake
that is unlike any other

I fondled your uniqueness between fragile fingers
of hubris
of deception

you are my dripping dream
of brittle death

my heart entombed
in a frozen reflection of itself

you are winter
the snowfall that reminds me of home

the wheels roll out
as white wings flex their metallic muscles

I fly through your blizzard
until I am
above you
beyond you

and when I land
I find myself in a place
where the season has changed

autumn in me

cucumber and bread sit with me on a bench
we do not touch each other

sunlight presses on my back
eyes shaded by the sparse stems of the locust tree
whose green has not yet turned to honey
thick with water and light
thriving in the harshness of autumn

emerald leaves laughing at unfortunate company
at trees with veins closed to nourishment
leaves who have lost their color
who will not grow
who find comfort in dirt

withering

dying

falling

sunlight presses on my back
seeking shriveled veins

of late maturity
of incipient decline
of inanition
of autumn in me

coffee

Frothy lips
Heat touches my tongue
I taste sweet

There is dust below my feet
Brown beans and cake crumbs
I look above my head and imagine the ceiling is the floor
Virgin slats of unscuffed pine
that is my mind.
Lights beneath my shoes
My body aglow
My head is a burning bulb

Everyone here is staring into their own heads
On computers and books
On screen and paper worlds
Silent solitary voices simmering
Grinding thoughts
Tamping ideas
Brains reaching boiling point
Dripping history
Dripping poetry
Dripping politics
Dripping emotion
Dripping their minds
Dripping coffee
Into a cup
Into a world

Drip drip
Onto the floor
That is the ceiling
That is my world upside-down

Frothy lips
Heat touches my tongue
My lips are sweet milk
My tongue is earl grey
I warm my hands on a mug of tea
Remember her bitter lips
And wonder what it would be like to drink coffee

this tree

hanging upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes bright
wind

i love to swing from this tree
hanging upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes bright
wind blowing my hair
wind stinging my eyes
wind lifting me, carrying me
i love to swing from this tree in the empty lot next door

walking home from school one day
Bruno escapes from the fenced-in backyard across the street
Bruno is a Rotweiler
Bruno is mean
Bruno is chasing me

i drop my bookbag
i am running
i am running to the tree
my hands reach for the branch
the branch i love to swing from
Bruno's warm flesh touches my shin

"crack" goes the yellow bat
Bruno's teeth clench the plastic
my father's arms are flexed
i can see his veins buldging
his eyes are wide
he is afraid
his neck is sweating
Bruno's tongue drips sweat
they growl at each other

i am hanging
upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes wide
the wind is blowing my hair
the wind is stinging my eyes
the wind is lifting me, carrying me
i am safe
in this tree

walking home from school one day
i hear the sound of metal on concrete
i smell the scent of grass and dirt
the lot next door is not empty

"crack" goes the yellow truck with claws
it is scraping away everything green

i drop my bookbag
i am running
i am running to the tree
the tree i love to swing from
my father's arms are lifting me, carrying me
i cannot see the tree
i see my father's neck
it is sweating
the wind is stinging his eyes
his eyes are wet

my father is lifting me
my father is carrying an axe
his arms are strong, they are bulging
i can see his veins
he takes me to the tree
it is small
i hold the tree in my hands
it glistens in the sun
it smells of shellac and permanent marker
it reads "my climbing tree" above the date

the tree is small
i cannot climb this tree
i hold it in my hands
"it is safe," he tells me.
he places the wedge of tree on my bedroom dresser
my eyes are wet

I am not hanging upside down
arms dangling, knees bent
eyes bright
i am not safe
in this tree

unfinished

Do you remember the time that we

Yesterday I learned that my grandmother

I went to the dentist and they told me

and she said, "Oh, my god, I love your

I was thinking that maybe

He actually yelled out

I emailed him and

And then my mother came and

I had bought you a

And it was so huge!

I got a new

You'll never believe it I just

I remember you saying

When I drove there

I can't find the

At the grocery store there was

Last night the dog

and it made me think of you.


You left me with so much unfinis

recipe for falling out of love

Ingredients:
1 c.    selfishness (can substitute with "I'm not happy")
1/2 c.  misplaced desire (can substitute with emotional immaturity)
1/2 T.  cold cruelty (can substitute with lack of trying)
2 pts.  salted delusion (can substitute with "this is not my life")
1/4 t.  unsweetened lies (sometimes sweetened are too obvious)
1 pkg.  human body (amount relative to desired quantity/servings)

Directions:
remove conscience from body and discard

score the heart until dry
stew, stirring continually as it fully softens
let dry
(repeat until satisfied with texture)

set aside heart 

parboil lies in conversation (should only be partially tender)
blanch with sex
caramelize physical attraction
remove from heat quickly (don't let it sit too long)

fold into:
a pinch of lust
a smidgen of sadness
a dash of hope
(this keeps pockets of unwanted air from taking over the mix)

julienne feelings of trust and certainty and disperse throughout
cut in commitment (you don't want too much)
mince desire so that you can't tell what it is anymore
add everything to mix and dredge with sugar

garnish with true love
serves two

Important note to remember: 
the only cure for love is
to let yourself fall in love with someone else

painted woman

I painted you
mingling mediums on a mixed palette of pride and pain
a patchwork picture of my past
to cover your blank page

rumbling rage to redden your brow
an open orange and honest face
white wine to touch your wanting lips
ghost gray in the eyes

a golden hope lightens your hair
violet vanity veils your face
charcoal knuckles of candid confidence
turquoise tongue tainted with truth

pale skin, unripened peach
brownish back, the color of fruit turned rotten

pink pores of passion
green groin of guilt
yellow marrow
black bones of silvering shame

I painted you
with every color on my palette
each drop of my blue blood formed your crimson soul

I painted you - beautiful.

you peeled yourself from the parched paper

go.

go.
live.
you do not need me anymore

afraid

"Tell me what you are afraid of;
It will tell me who you are."

I fear being wrong.
I overcompensate with confidence.
I live boldly into whatever comes my way
because I fear being wrong.

"Tell me what you are afraid of;
It will tell me who you want to be."

I value knowledge, but what can I ever really know?
perception, recognition, certitude...
direct cognition? no.
I fear that I know nothing for certain.

"Tell me what you were afraid of,
and it will tell me why..."

I was a afraid of her uncertainty.
It made me impotent, emotionally numb,
I fear it even now.

"Tell me what you are afraid of;
It will tell me who you are."

I do not know what I am afraid of.

the pit

I am climbing out of the pit
a nostalgic clutter of retrospection
of remorse
intuiting

There is a past that never happened
a future that never existed
you and I are there
dreaming

I extend my arm over my shoulder
clutching clods of broken stone
and scale the rocky cliff
grasping

They tell me there is light above my head
I am looking down
into the abyss
longing

Liquid drips from my hands and wrists
grated and scraped, rasped, cut
my life bleeds to the ground
falling

"Keep moving" comes the vociferating cry
my ears chase the sound
a skyward voice
calling

The walls are tight, I am constrained
my body bowing in the in-between
I am floating
hanging

melancholy and mirth

You do not miss my love, My Love.
You do not miss my love.

I close my eyes and see you here
you're lounging on the couch
the computer screen makes you laugh
unquestionably louche

I gaze at you half-knowingly
your pleasure's my delight
you glance my way, feeling my stare
and bruise me with your sight

You do not miss my love, My Love.
You do not miss my love.

I see you in each passing car
In stranger's faces, hair
I look for you where e're I go
Knowing you are not there

Of all the lovers in my life
I'd placed you far above
trusted you with my fragile heart
yet you never think of

my love, My Love.
do you not miss my love?

I still desire your love,
My Love,
but you don't miss my love.

a word

a word
one word
is all you seek
a word to shape your soul

you open mouth, eyes, ears, and mind
receive whatever comes

a word
one word
a form of speech
with which to build a home

a place where masks can be removed
a place to write your tome

a word
unique
an utterance 
perhaps this is the one

abstraction, image, notion, thought
your labor's never done

a word
one word
from whence it comes
may matter all the more

for deep within it shall emerge 
the other words ignored

to speak
a word
you must unlock
your lips, reveal your place

until you can release your fear
no one can see your face.

My love,
Psyche,
Oh Butterfly,
Why have you flown so far?

Afraid to face the ugliness
and show me who you are.

movement

There is love in the world.
It tells me I am beautiful.
I am wanted.

Unbinding burial dressings fall.
There is movement.
My feet dance.

I rise with Maya Angelou
and breathe the moment with Margaret Atwood.

I give ode to pity with Jane Austen
and remembrance with Emily Bronte.

I let the turtle go with Mary Oliver,
I let go of our whole life with Adrienne Rich.

I have found them and with them I am found.
There is love in the world and it tells me I am beautiful.
I am not alone.

unbeautiful sunset

I can feel the finality in the pit of my stomach today.
Hands trembling for want of food.
Throat sere; eyes a drought.

you. are not. coming. back.

This is an ending.
An unbeatuiful sunset on a tenure of dreams.

I give you my future that the day might rest.
Tomorrow is no longer mine.

I will sleep without the whisper of your breath upon my neck.
I will wake and rise with no lips to graze my cheek.

I will not let love whither under your gallows any longer.
My soul will not be snuffed by the squall in your wake.
I will wind with the morning wind, with the new gale of a rising sun.

And someday soon I will forget to remember
that you are not coming back.

I will forget to remember
you are not coming back.

monster

when we loved did you grow smaller
when we laughed did a part of you die
was my joy your hell
your delight, my pain

you are a monster
invisible and ever-present
threatening and mute
you are sinister
you are ugly

beware, Oh the beautiful
her pleasure is to frighten
intentionally, deliberately
you are dangerous
you are deathly

I live in a wordless world
a saturated silence
all is quiet, sickeningly still
but my ears can hear you screaming

i would have listened

I would have listened to every word you spoke
waiting as you cleared your throat
watching you choke out your fears
letting you cry, drawing you near

I would have listened if you asked me to
searching eyes to know its true
biding as you gave your speech
said "I'm sorry," kissed your feet

I would have listened to anything you said
craving thoughts inside your head
even if you were a jerk
wishing I could stop the hurt

I would have listened if you opened your mouth
but your tight-lipped frown won out
"I'm sorry... I have to go..."
Three years, and that's all I know

far away

You feel so far away.
Not distance.
Not space.
It's in the wanting.

Where has your wanting gone?
Have you given it to someone else or are you keeping it for yourself?
Does keeping it make you feel strong?

desire for... without you mine is incomplete...
You don't want me where you are
but where you are is what I want.

lost

I feel lost.
Like I don't know my way.
Certain only of my love,
but uncertain why.

Where do I go from here?
The signs are unrecognizable to me.
The earth gives way under my feet,
am I sinking?

I feel alone.
Like I don't know myself.
Certain only of my love,
but uncertain why.

Where do I go from here?
The signs are unrecognizable to me.
The earth gives way under my feet,
am I falling?

I feel empty.
Like I have nothing left to give.
Certain only of my love,
but uncertain why.

I keep walking.
I know not where.
Certain only of my love.

commitment

I still have it.
I can't bring myself to give it up
        yet.
It means something,
something I don't understand.

I haven't seen it since you left.
It's in a black box tucked away.
I remember it when people laugh,
when they smile and are happy.

Today I found it in my mind,
felt the weight of it in my hand,
looked on as it glistened,
until the water ran cold and my toes wrinkled.

I can find it in the shower,
when I hold my own arms.
That means something,
something I don't understand
        yet.

the kiss

I no longer remember your kiss.
I can see your lips, thick and soft.
I know firm pressure and the taste of coffee,
but I can't remember what it feels like.

I no longer remember the smell of your hair.
I can see your curls, thick and soft.
I know the wet pillowcase and the scent of fresh,
but I can't remember what it smells like.

I no longer remember what the poem read.
I can see the paper, white half-sheet and blue hotel crest.
I know you told me that you love me,
but I can't remember why.

I no longer remember the touch of your hand
the tight grip of fingers

I no longer remember the kiss of forehead, the nuzzle of nose

I cannot see your eyes.
It is dark.

I lean in.
I cannot see your eyes.

reflection

unattractive
undesirable
unwanted

controlling and territorial
helplessly hopeful
oblivious

too tidy
too bodily
too confident

too present
too attentive
too detached

"I was never in love with you."
"I'm attracted to someone else."
"It's a symptom not the reason I..."

a fearful anger
a naive generosity
a beautiful foolishness

I squint into the glass
and try to see myself reflected in your eyes

I am afraid.

memory

i've lost my grip
you slip away
no tears of mine were shed today.

brittle paper
and inkless pen
no ripped remembrances to mend.

i cannot cry
i will not bleed
no one is here to hear me to plead.

the walls are cracked
with empty frames
they do not dare to speak your name.

tomorrow comes
today will go
another night you will not know.

i am still here
my love unchanged
exposed by ardent burning rage.

you lost your grip
you walked away
these lies will tangle you one day.

to loneliness

there is no hope
there is no saving this
you decided it.

I am surrounded by ugliness
burning things and smoldering memories
the air is pungent and weak

you are hideous
you are death
there is no life in you

no words can reach you
no body can warm you

you are cold
you are wretched
you are excrement

my perception has changed
you have changed me
i am forever new

to hate

I've been circling around the word for weeks
a vulture, conservative and chary
scaling and skimming the air, sliding and gliding toward you

Is the body still fresh?
Is she breathing?
are you alive?

weak and woozy from the dive
I soar upward beyond all reach
the stench rises with me

you are dead and rotting
grotesque irregular curves
devious, sinuous, torturous

a carcass impressed upon memory
scorched into skin
I cannot escape it

I see you waking and sleeping
leave me alone.
I do not want you.

the naked more

orange paint.
gray ink.
I draw your hips round.

shoulders soft
concave back arched
neck thin and light

waves of blond and straight brown clumps
blue eyes, the color of bruising.
bulbous bottom
ballad cheeks

feeble fingers fondling
full lipped
fallen face
freckled shoulder

legs thick
stomach strong
skin pocketed smooth
rough, tight, and sagging

and then there is flesh.
the naked more.
I long for you.

dry and tepid
numb

orange paint.
gray ink.
I draw my hips next to yours.

beauty

koi ponds and thick patches of wild flower
wood burning stoves
poetry

"Chant the beauty of the good," she says.

incense
candle light
groans that come like prayers

"Chant the beauty of the good," she says.

a gentle voice and concerned gaze
the kiss of lips, a knowing moue
tight grip of hand

"Chant the beauty of the good," she says.

the cool breeze of autumn air
idle walks in warm sweaters
a serendipitous song

I chant the beauty of the good
and wait to learn what others have learned before me

I can almost ...

who is this skin

my dreams have changed
love enfolded in rage
recognition
of your carelessness
of your naivety
of apathy
of guilt

like a child playing Russian roulette
the revolver aims at my chest
senses heightened
I can smell the rush of your adrenaline high
my palms sweat tears
I feel only terror

"I win
you lose
game over
now we both need to heal"
you whisper

recognition
of your carelessness
of your naivety
of apathy
of guilt

a hand brushes against my flesh
is this my hand?
what once was soft to touch
grows thick callous
forming over a deep wound

I don't recognize my own skin