THE UNREASONABLE COLD

and your ghost and you.

it's unreal

the movements forward are masked by the thick heavy right now-

which feels like the devil is blowing on my bones.

making them rattle

alone

but walking through a million particles

that fly in the air.

and did you know that when we shift

we part them?

millions of particles

reflected and changed

through even the smallest of movements.

i think of them constantly.

but here i am,

i have been.

and i believe that i would feel deserted 

if you stopped haunting me.

empty hearted,

empty handed,

i can always take solace

i can find deep appreciation

for all the millions of movements i am creating,

that are born of my own action.

my shiver, my shake, my rattle, my twitch.

even though it is

accompanied by your ghost and you.

image by andrea heimer

ALL THESE THINGS THAT I DO

drink cold coffee and

miss you terribly and

pretend i am not there and

bleed profusely and

cook elaborate feasts and

eat beans straight from the can and

touch you inappropriately and

let him crush me and

him too and

take whimsical photos and

lay in bed too long with the cat and

drink too much whiskey and

suck on lemons and

burn my skin and

sing made up songs and

dream about a bigger picture and

not think about the present and

twirl my hair and

flirt mercilessly and

eat meat three meals a day and

ride my bike cautiously and

draw forced pictures and

write forced poems and

create something beautiful and

cause self harm and

vomit in the toilet and

put mascara on and

not change my sheets and

graduate from university and

listen to the ticking clock and

yell on the telephone and

bite the inside of my mouth and

stare at her on the bus and

forget to bring lunch and

reduce my fragility and

realize i can't and

eat peanut butter off a spoon and

listen to bonnie raitt and

have intellectual conversations and

watch hillary duff movies and

fantasize about running away and

get painfully embarrassed and

think about him too much and

wake up (go to sleep).

image from the drifter and the gypsy

THE SUNDAY MOON

Your subtle sickle moon.

Over the heads of others

we stared,

For longer than is polite.

 

Meet small fox eyes

with a sideways glance.

 

And in one instant a dream was born

warm chestnut cheeks pressed against

hot blushing others.

 

a shadow of a dimple blesses you.

I smile after I’ve turned away.

But you depart

 

and in the next infinite moment my chest constricts and my heart

splinters.

 

Moonless,

it is so dark outside.

22/23

to be on the cusp

of this / dark forever

not to know

or to see

but feel my way.

small earth shattering cries

pierce / caress

unbeknownst to me 

i am recipient of both.

smooth jagged nothings

for these this  it

i can not breathe one last time,

i must

 now.

and this one can be called : when you walk into the luminous, 

do so to trust yourself.

TRAIN POEM/ JUNE 21 2008

I take this molten sun,

Falling west from the sky.

I catch it in my cupped fingers,

It saturates me with its golden hue

Staining my hands,

My arms.

A ritual in finality.

The sky is cooled by a lace of stars,

barely visible,

and I cradle this burnt remnant of yesterday—

and try to absorb it’s smoky stories, to inform

the virgin tomorrow

which lies ahead.

FAMILY

We are madhatters.

Who bicker and shake fists,

Then kiss and make it nice.

Then bicker and shake fists.

 

We do as madhatters do.

and talk all at once,

Then feign silence.

Then talk all at once.

 

in this world made of cells and stardust

we form a small nucleus,

protons and neutrons and

electric pulses bouncing off one another.

 

There is one and she is queen

And her madhatter tea

Is served in bed

Or off with your head.

She has spider hands

That hold, all the worlds comfort in their palms.

 

And also there is a man

Who is dark headed like the earth

And just as grounded.

He is formed of solid gold

And finds his ability to taunt

And tease

Both surprising, and wildly amusing.

 

Together they were

So young

And brought to life the rest

 

 All of who have lashing tongues and giant hearts and too many words and too many tricks and games and glittering eyes and are bound to one another with shackles of love and hate and a walloping amount of pure disbelief.

 

We are the apple of our eyes

And the dagger to our hearts.

we are madhatters!

And we do as madhatters do.

I PREPARE

he is

for soft ears / bovine eyes

and melted butter hearts

dearly departed.

last night

for whispers into dark / eyes tightly shut

i said goodbye.