21st
Clouds stretched thin
like dead end
roads or frayed hair
sharpen the pencil to the point.
of breaking
of knowing
the answers
| watch |
the world weeps to celebrate
cross the street
meet a friend
and another
for lunch and a book
that reminds you of someone
watch the sky die
let the bold moon
speak to you
drink loud music and vodka
shake the floor with your tongue
sway and smile
desperate and dizzy
on the night you agreed to
nod and say
it’s time to leave
and wake to the rising sun
This ain’t his house
a man lives in my attic
I don’t know if he knows that I know that he lives in my attic
but he sure as hell knows that I know that this ain’t his house
his feet don’t hit the floorboards right
the house squeaks to let him know
he fuzzied the bristles on my toothbrush
and the cabinet doors are wide open
he lets them breathe
speakin’ something sad
Every night is a rhythm:
stomp the steps
lift the door
plump the pink
pillow in my attic—not his but mine
because this ain’t his house
though he snores like he owns it
I’ll talk to him tomorrow
Birthday Card
It was your birthday like every year
colored pencils to paper
(what knives are to skin)
you told me green was your favorite color
—you didn’t have one
I know that now
but I didn’t know that then—
so I tore up the backyard
ripped leaves from maple trees
scooped moss in mighty handfuls
fistfuls, pocketfuls
to give to you
you lied because colors don’t shine
for old shuttered eyes
closer to glaucoma than clarity
bleeding monochrome
the dull and dim
the world without harpsichord tones
on rolling hills born into richness
of flavor
of color worth witnessing
on the page and in your palms
you are running out of birthdays
Be There
Who would save you from yourself
When caution signs turn invitation
Who would dampen the fire
At breakfast, lunch, and dinner
Who would force the world to turn
When the door is wedged
And you’re worried about tomorrow
Who would hold you in your head
And carry you in your waking
Who would love you when it’s hard
And calm you when it’s not
Who would be there
When the drugs wear off
Living gets heavy
I won’t be there
I’m sorry
*Content warning: Vulgar language*
Dick around in shades of blue
Blue jeans trimmed at the ankles
Blueberries buoyed in jam
Oceans I’ve never seen
Lakes like paintings
Searching for Moby Dick
Crayons in cornflower and indigo
Blue raspberry Slurpee for two
My brother’s favorite orchids
Blue bunnies on plush pastures
Late night bubble blowing
Songs with somber melodies
Twitter when it was ours
Blue jays in the park
Beneath a soft sky
The color of her eyes
I tended to pastures
Jammed ankles that sang
Like indigo weather
With melodies like paintings
I’ve seen before
Orchids were her eyes
Two parked beneath the sky
Blowing wind
I love your shades
Of blue
Alternative Transportation
As a child
colors dissolved
and speckles of magic
emerged
I waited for something
to take me away from here
But nothing did
so I held up a mirror
and imagined I’d fallen in
to a world opposite this one
grass grew from the sky
clouds like slippers
teary eyed turned upside
anger was to satisfy
a vendetta paid in full
My friend gifted me a book
empty pages and a burn building
in a chest beating
for a richer life
where pain isn’t pleasure
where people mean what they mean
where I’m far away
but home
yes, home
