An appropriately disconcerting composition. Good work.
You're most welcome.
OuvertYou were the one who showed me how to breatheHow to open my mind and my eyes;to the emptiness and vastbeauty (see also: suffering)of the world around us; to touchthe wind(and feel the sunshine on our backs)and when my eyes openedyours closedand with it came the slam of a doorclosing in,you were afraid of what you sawyou revealedunveiledexposed(left naked in the streets)the abstract ebbs and flows of yourbrainI was jealous at how miraculous it was(without the necessity to go with gears and symmetrical lines)you exiled yourselfclosed the world away and turned to a darker corner where you could be alone with your thoughts(Oh how I know those corners as well)with the idea that you were not exiling yourselfyou were banished (mais la verité te libérera)you almost turned around completelyyour back facing my front,butyou reversed,and I saw in your eyes:The watery image of an old person,weary with ageand in your irises (deeper to your retinas)I saw
BolideIf the world ends tomorrow--My dad will sit out in a lawn chairthe freezing Minnesota air,chainsmoking and smirking.And you, maybe if you wanted,we'd stand at the top of the Indian moundslike we did on the Fourth of July years agoand watch meteors firework across the sky.There will be no mini doughnut stand this time,no children laughing at the bright flashes,but also no repentance.If the world ends tomorrow,you don't need to apologize for anything.Hearts are fragile thingsand it's not like this worldhasn't been struck by a meteor before.
board shortsto be the Jesus doppelgangeron a skateboardin orange Hawaiian board shortshigh-fiving Pittsburgh businessmen.i know you've seen him.because i've seenyour face watch subway doors open.you count the trench coats,the newspapers,the interns running late.you can tell howlate they are byhow fast their arms are moving.to have my armsbe an oasis in a city.to have my handsmake handshakes full of summer.to have my fingersbe forever giving becausewe're always receiving.we're always making house calls.we're always adding creasesto our skin so we can fitinside of suitcases.but who am i kidding?in ten years i'll be anotherpair of dress shoes addingcracks to the city sidewalks.i want to have a garden.i want my weeds to talklouder than anycomputer glowing in a cubicle andwhen i walk i wantarms moving slower than anysteamboat on the river.my best friend wants to be a housewife.i said writing is my lover.our dreams may be different citiesbut neither could ever be a
Your EveI'm definitelyyour Eve- tempting you with justempty apple skins.
The Universe and YouHalfway to infinity and nowhere near the endyou find yourself torn between your macrocosmic existenceand the endless tangles of your haircaught in the universe’s mechanismsthat turn and turn and turn and turn and turnuntil the words spin and make no sensea jumble of ideas never finding expressionon anthropic tongues but trust in faith beforethey fall through space.The land is parched as the sea licks its lipssaltatory undercurrents keep the world feelingbut never knowing
i've ripped my lips from every burned thought.iii. my feet and handsare always cold,will always be cold.i. i ransack memorieslong forgotten.i thought i'd burned them all,turned them all to ash,and placed them in tupperware containers -each one neatly labeled with datesand numbered with catastrophes.ii. apparently,i shoved them all in freezers -saving them for lovelier days,thinking i've never deservedanything better than freezer burnto sustain me.iv. my limbs are blue and reek of stale air.my nose and tongue are covered in frostand my lips are paintedin red.v. i will trace new memories,on your skin with my lips,and pray i won't needto burn those too.
Butterfly EyesShe touched my butterfly eyeswith dark hands in the heartof an empty apartment.The walls concaved in,the ceiling dripped down,the floor captured us;We were molded intothe fine lines, the insidesof this place.It was sheltering usfrom the divine stormthat only she could see.We kept our fingers interlockeduntil we drifted to sleep.It was night for days;The rain fell like the skywas in as much pain as us.The wings of my butterfly eyesshuttered under the finger tips,soft from weeping.I desperately wanted to flyoff the face I was attached to,cut away the burden of my bodyand release the little part inside of methat grew the butterfly eyesin the first place.I left her sleeping on the floorof our empty bedroom,and crossed the hall into the bathroomwhere I locked the doorand switched on the broken light.Where eyes were supposed to bewide lilac wings fanned outacross my face, with white lacefringing their edges. Grey freckled my cheeks, and eternity
this shit isn't dranoI would mix a pasteof saliva, tears,and broken dreamsto replace thingsyou thought were lost;recover all the little thingsyou hung with delicateabandonin spider's webs andgive breath to paperangel wings for flight.but, with vinegardoused upon these wingsand epoxy riddled webs,you pour my concoctiondown the drain with disdainand claimthat you aren't good enough.