little crypt keepers

picking off scabs- to reveal dazzling, burning scars of

multi layered, colored, expressed pain.

WHY does this hurt?

fold origami shapes, around my heart. lungs.

fluttered paper cuts along my abdomen.

draw blood from places

not yet felt.

i remember your stone face

shards of glass

mixed into the

cement of your skin- so every time you reached inside of yourself,

you got ripped apart.

it's like how, little kids

jump into pools

jack-knife

without worry.

or how,

i can lay in

darkness, for hours

upon hours.

SOGGY LITTLE MOMENT

on another note, i hate you.

she said

muffled

by the choke of

the feathers

growing out of her neck and

sticking,

embarrassingly,

into her liver slick mouth-

as she curses our name

repeatedly.

MISS GRASS

i met you at starbucks.

crossing the street, zig zag, squinting into the tinted windows to see if you could

watch me

.

you took your break (starbucks!)

sat outside, shady stoop.

after your bike accident you had band aids all over your legs.

I sat with you, touching your bruises to see how badly they all hurt.

it's a good thing to know; how badly one can bruise.

VANCOUVER BC

i want to go back and see you. surprise you at your door. knock so hard you wake up. groggy. answer. disbelief! i want to put my head on your shoulder, sticky neck. make you late for work. go get a coffee at union market. call scott, say sorry. make out with me, watch you ride off on your bicycle. heading down National avenue, know that this evening we'll make dinner. sit in the park. go knock on their door, or, visit them at work. surprise you all. see you all. wake you up.

A BELATED GIFT FOR SATURDAY

Saturday's baby,

she cries.

and moans.

hasn't been fed, thick enough.

SPEAKING OF WHICH

the air! Saturday's air, heeeeeeeeeeeavy with pollen and moisture and dog hair.

Making Saturday's baby,

get fussy.

get colicky.

hasn't been fed, thick enough!

IF LIFE WAS A BOAT AND/OR IF WE LIVED ON ONE

there is no stopping

MOVEMENT and

MOVEMENT won't feel so bad

because

it's just what happens. Floating along

out of our control

waves pushing you

and me

to destinations unknown,

but where we're meant to be.

AND MAY WILL ALWAYS TURN INTO JUNE

There are crumbled petals,

and Tina's at the door

tongue sucking on teeth, walking the

neighborhood

with her accordion. Hatching plans.

There are these animals, she says

steal other animal's eggs.

when they hatch

it's always a surprise.

tina used to take her shirt off at parties.

go "wooooooooo!"

the night before i left I helped her rearrange her living room.

we shared a coke. Listened to Korean pop music.

I'll miss bringing you flowers, I murmur

curled up on the stiff couch

on the East wall-

Tina placed between two windows,

on the West.

she walked me home. "There's so much room in the world for

us".

Her slight hands make quick work

of the accordion keys.