sigur rosss

a rowboat,
a sea of lily pads and a sun the size of a silver dollar;

all the colors upside-down,
a night-black pond and a golden flower atop a disc of orange;

the plucked flower,
held in my shaking hands;

i wanted to offer it;
but you were looking away,
into the shining night sky —

or rather the water's surface,
dotted with slivers of brightness,
the sunset's way of laying a comforting hand on my shoulder;


i saw

you




and you
were looking away

eight hours of

pulling off the top of the container,
the smell of raspberry tea rising
as i tilt it forward;

a distraction and a porch light,
the stars in shades of orange,
a violin in the background (or is it cicadas?);

husbands or boyfriends?
forgetting to think about that
and thinking about you instead;

scared and knowing i shouldn't be,
surprised and still trying to get my head around it,
switching a useless black for a warm blue;

raspberry tea
dripping down my wrist
and onto the floor.

ode to cloves, take two (i'm hoping for some redemption)

you heard me say the word "bitter"
when i was talking to you
but it wasn't about you

even though everything should be about you
because the new dawn blazing out from your city
stuns me every single morning

sometimes i just slow down because
i don't want to hear words anymore
and i feel bad because i lie

i lie and say i love you, goodbye
when i really mean i love you, please stay,
please help me out a little bit here

which is selfish, i realize,
but i can't help it that i've gone back to my old ways
and the word "collapse" is the angel dancing on the head of a pin

take me back to where i was
before i learned the word "bitter"
so that you would never hear me say it

sometimes i slow down but sometimes
i make a swift descent, like going straight down the middle
of a spiral staircase

i could reach out and grab an iron step
to stop my fall

but the concrete of the floor below me
looks so warm

that i remember you (hopesfall hopes fall)

aligned north, pulled by the mountains,
unable to sway ourselves from the satellites;
things are crashing down around us;
our cameras are trained on the falling towers.

in a hundred years, we'll be buried under the mountains,
piles of ash compressing our bones into useless rubies;
but the surface of the earth will be littered with
pictures of the rotting world in its final days.

you don't have to come with me.
i have a satellite dish to guide me home —
i will not be that man who exits;
but you are weightless, pulled down by possibility.

please don't bend down to the steel in the ground.
across the bay, taillights wait for a voice to free them.
if you are weaker than i believe,
then i believe the earth will swallow you.

angry emo poem

a little while ago, i couldn't tell when i had a headache
but now my head is falling into quarters
(cracked through vertically,
sliced open horizontally;)

i thought i was going to go to sleep,
but i need to stay up so i can
KILL
this PAIN
on time —

four hours between the smaller ones
six hours between the bigger ones
(it used to be eight, but i got tired of waiting)
(i go early sometimes if it starts making me curl up)

and when they rip the stitches out from behind my teeth,
and my brain comes cascading down through the sockets
and spills out my mouth
maybe i'll write another shitty poem like this one

and you can be disgusted with it
and leave me here




angry angry emo emo emo

worse for wear

it's been a long time since i've been around.
i sleep in a hotel room for the sake of not living.
i need that feeling of being kicked out.
i need that feeling of sleeping alone.

the typewriter in front of me is on its knees.
my tired mind gives it a supplicant voice:
"will you please start seeing things on their sides?
will you please look through them instead of away?"

i looked through the drawer
(and saw a razorblade)
i looked through the ceiling lamp
(could it take my weight?)

half-finished cigarettes mashed between the keys
crumpled inspiration in a heap on the floor
at the top of the page, a few words: "sometimes, i just want to"
and then rows and rows and rows and rows and rows
of x's

rise against the sails

"all because of you, i haven't slept in so long,
and when i do i dream of drowning in the ocean,
longing for the shore, where i can lay my head down.
i'll follow your voice. all you have to do is
shout it out."

i'm walking the thin line between "slipping away"
and "too far gone" (to be saved)

the waves on all sides
and the rhythm of the bruises that cover me

i won't deny it; we lost control
i don't know if the screeching was real or just in my head

or if lightning split the mast
or just my exhausted lungs

if i can smell the blood, then i'm sure they can too
sweetest salvation, take me home.

le coucher de soleil

if someone told you,
"there's no such thing as safety,"
would you believe them?
i think i did for a while.

but the sun in slow descent
gave me a place to put all my fears and doubts.

that glowing star sank into the earth.
that shifting shimmer slid away across the water.

i gave the sunset my eyes,
but the sun wasn't the one racing through my mind.

dear you,
i believe in safety.