every night since you left me
i’ve held a hot water bottle
to feel like i’m not sleeping alone.
there is a difference between poetry and loneliness.
this is the latter
just slick gray
who don’t recognize my stiff gray hands.
i sweat my poetry; it needs more heat
than i have to give
And i miss it, too.
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.
I’ve forgotten how to write poetry.
Everything gets caught up in my hands.
kidding on syllables and
seizing up at the sound of
My tongue is the letter w;
(won’t admit he’s a vowel.)
Words curl in my mouth
huddle in a dark soggy mound.
Hide under the blanket.
like too deep to care
too wet to cry.
"This morning when I looked out the roof window
before dawn and a few stars were still caught
in the fragile weft of ebony night
I was overwhelmed. I sang the song Louis taught me:
a song to call the deer in Creek, when hunting,
and I am certainly hunting something as magic as deer
Do You Think There’s A Heaven? - DeVotchKa32 plays
I realize that I have grown old with you
when I look back to the first white day.
My laugh was as nervous as seafoam
and the clouds were a glass menagerie
against the bleached sky of our little coast town.
The air smelled like
the orange you picked me,
leaning over a white fence
stacked like teeth.
We were caught in the clownish sweetness
of being young
and pretending that we could share a hijacked orange
like a wild Sunday milkshake.
I made you a playlist
with a song by DeVotchKa called “Do You Think There’s A Heaven?”
I thought you were eternity.
I should have known then
that that day was my baptism
and I would spend my new life
brooding over the moons of my fingernails
thinking about God
and winter numbing questions I had known.
We watched the ocean together;
Now I can see the blue in my hands.
Flying over Arizona.
The land is the wrinkled forehead
of the people who loved it before I did.
are the gentle pools of their stale worries
and the mold that remembers their age and
writes their eulogies in flowers.
I feel their presence
overwhelming me like the llano.
Imagining their coffee hands on my shoulders
laughing at me with their jackrabbit eyes
I begin to understand that my journey
does not make me a pioneer
and the wind does not change with my sighs.
We fell out of love
on August 24, 9:53am.
Your face began to squeeze like a lemon
so I shut the door to save us
and waited for the acid to melt my skin.
The PH level of my stomach is 2.7
but it feels like nothing.
My skin is an old bandage
that covers everything
and hardens my hot blood.
I roll and motor like my own invention,
like you never hummed in the back of my head.
My body is supposed to work.
My kettle is supposed to boil.
I should be rubbing at the ropes on my wrists,
beating and tearing at my ribcage
because you’re clawing at my bones.
If there’s a fire under me I should be screaming,
like a coal-skinned martyr
just to prove that I’m alive.
I am not domesticated.
I am not ok.
I do not owe the world some pseudo-homeostasis.
My skin is crawling back to you.
When you left me the oil ran out.
Your legs were my temple, your kisses my prayers.
I called to you in the night and you knew me,
hemmed and held my unformed body
until I flared at your altar
and covered the mountain in a still white flag.
I’ve been starving since you’ve come back to me.
But each time my stomach rolls
I keel and pray,
rolling my tongue over your rosary beads until
I’ve grown closer to God.
I sleep with the light on
and wake up with you burning next to me.
But you’re flickering
and I’ve forgotten how to pray in the dark.
it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands
I love you
Your hands streaming along my silk gown
and swallowing my hips.
Those long looks on the highway
that cause you to drift into the next lane.
You never reached under my dress.
I was wearing black lace underwear
and you kissed me like you knew.
We listened to jazz radio
and laughed as I ate my fourth chocolate chip pancake.
I kissed you like your mouth was
a cherry ring pop.
Your fingers wash over me
No one ever told me how the river runs.
I am done
"Forever is an incorrect concept" feels like someone replaced my stomach with a black hole and gave me a lobotomy.
My tears are mine.
You can’t take them from me
like you can’t close a dam once it’s broken
because I am too strong
I may shut myself up
because you’ll drown in me
but if you try to quell me
one more time
I’m going to show you
that I am beautiful
but I do not trickle or hum or flow.
I crash and roar
and obliterate concrete like limestone.
I am a child
of the ocean.
I am no child of yours.