ONE DAY, YOU'LL GO BACK TO SANTA FE

She's all grown up, i think.

with a dog she sold to make money for food, once.

and i woke up in her bed with the skylight to the roof above.

a gaping white square of light.

and we were on separate sides.

maybe our ankles brushed

or knees touched.

polite, sleeping.

hey you,

the night is coming to an end.

it feels adult to tell someone you like them but

not to their back as you follow them down the stairs,

your bleached hair pushed back.

And that time i was doubling you on the bike and

your hands rubbed the skin on my back

and i felt

mostly like i was in the best moment of my time.

"you're everywhere" you said, as i plucked a long hair off your ankle.

the night before tomorrow

of every night, is the first one

and the next one

that i want to see you.

that i want to kiss you.

feel your tongue, and pull away to see your smile

and taste the lime in my mouth from your mexican beer.

hey you,

the night is coming to an end

but don't let us go, quite yet.

ANYDAY NOW

we're all just beating hearts, walking

crowing out

our plight in this morning.

taking revenge on on the disheveled nights of

past

past.

it would be good to be in the past.

after being present.

but we could never be the future, or could we

ever stop our selves

from beating one last time

as these organs

blowing, discordantly into tomorrow

sending thistles and long tangled weeds

to murk the view, bleeding ourselves

as we walk along.

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!