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It is

Jun. 5th, 2010 | 02:37 pm

"It is"

or i will crumble
into pieces.

something’s gotten stuck
in my heart.
it won’t get out without a fight.

i am standing here
waving my arms at you.

your eyes glaze over.

don’t ignore me.
the thing inside me
scratches and claws.

it is
screaming louder
than i can
it is


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Jun. 5th, 2010 | 02:36 pm


he asked me what
my consciousness looked like.
he said
it could be anything;
a bunch of suitcases
floating in the air,
i asked him if he liked
surrealist art.
he said yes.

i told him my consciousness
was a dark forest.
with vines? he asked.

i said yes.

choking vines
and tall trees
and you have to crawl your way
and fit yourself through
small spaces
and sometimes you’ll find
something small and
and sometimes you’ll turn around
and there’d be thorns
stabbing into you.

he asked
what the air is like.
is it heavy?
what is the smell?

i said
i don’t know.

he said,
i don’t mean to keep bothering you
about this.

i didn’t tell him
that in the dark forest
there is one sound:


yes, yes, yes.
i am saying yes.

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Jun. 5th, 2010 | 02:35 pm


we ran frantic in the dark
to the bridge
feet slapping on
dry stone like stranded fish
we were beached
belly-up in spring humid
with the frogs singing our
fevered song we
stripped cotton from our backs
the water aching for us
the trees louder than our
naked voices we
slipped into the shimmer
of the moon-drunk water
the forest fell in love with us
that night and even the stars
wanted to be near us so they
fell laughing into the bushes
threw their light all around our feet
and lit the earth so we
could dance

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Jun. 5th, 2010 | 02:33 pm



I am standing on the edge of this thing,
as it threatens to swallow me
i can reach one hand out, push my
fingertips through the curtain, out into
the other side, that world of freedom that i
can smell buried in the grass somewhere.
if i dig enough it will emerge,
like worms in the raintime,
flushed out by all that sudden wet & heat
their home destroyed
the very foundations of their world
falling all about them.
they squirm blindly out into the sunlight
praying not to be devoured.
i am that worm
pushed out by heartache,
too old now for this place,
every seam bursting.
don’t sew me up again.
let air rush through my lungs.
invite the sharp painful intake of life
to shake my body like music.
let the beat of god’s drum
rouse me from my deep dreaming.
i have been asleep.

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Feb. 13th, 2010 | 11:53 am
mood: chipperchipper
music: Modest Mouse - All Nite Diner

I had a dry spell for about a month. Couldn't write anything. It frightened me. But then, last night, something very good happened unexpectedly, and I wrote another poem. It's hard to describe how happy this makes me. It was like coming up for air.


Let me read you poetry,
and read some back to me.
Breathe the world in deeply,
like you mean it.
Laugh without shame,
and cry just as often.

Let me be a child
and be one also.
Let me be ugly
and love me for it anyway.
Know that I will want to
take care of you.

Touch me without asking, but
listen when I say no.
Know your fingers
are like words to me.
Know your touch is
a brushstroke:
leave sacred verses
on my skin.
Tags: ,

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Dec. 20th, 2009 | 06:49 pm
mood: calmcalm


About six months after you left me
for a blinding pain you couldn’t yet name,
I realized our love was perfect.
Perfect in the most painful sort of way,
because it’s something neither of us
can go back to.
Like the comfort of your mother’s smell
in childhood, you can recall its sublimity
but can never conjure it up again
as real as it was then.
For all the times I damned your name,
spat obscenities at you in my head,
wailed haplessly at you over the phone,
there’s another time when
you kissed my forehead in the dark,
or whispered that I was beautiful.
Once you drove for five hours,
just to see me for thirty minutes
and turn around and go back again.
Once my phone rang at 5 am
and it was you, giddier than a child
who has just memorized his ABCs,
calling to read me a love poem
you’d just written.
Once you told me that
I opened a hole in you
and let the flood out,
let you feel things
you didn’t think were possible.
I didn’t mean to do this.
I was just following the scent of your skin
like a dog.
Once you told me
you think of yourself as a fundamentally bad person,
someone who steals things,
someone who hurts people.
I can’t say you never hurt me,
but I do think you’re
a fundamentally good person,
a better person than me.
Even though I get good grades
and come from a good family
and have never been arrested or
hated my family or
thought about killing someone,
I’m not as good as you,
because for all the ways you love me
none of them are with jealousy.
That is perhaps the only monster
you have never let roost in your breast.
For me, it is a leech stuck squarely to my heart.
I’ve guarded you like a castle.
I’ve even been jealous of you,
because the very demons that vexed you
were the same who freed you from any kind of
overbearing responsibility.
You love me in a way
I cannot understand.
I could fuck your father
and all you’d do is
be disappointed in my taste.
Perhaps I hate you for this.
Perhaps I hate you because
you hate no one but yourself.
Perhaps I hate you because
I can’t fix you.
Not ever.

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Dec. 19th, 2009 | 07:20 pm


When I said I had a crush on her,
you encouraged me, rallied behind me
like my own personal cheerleader,
sent me girlish text messages with
leading questions, schemed a dozen
outlandish ways I could win her:
a drive-by kiss in the hallway,
a photograph of my hand holding a flower.

I don’t know why you did this.
You’re still my lifeline,
the salt-stiffened rope
that keeps slipping further and further
out of my hands.
I have dreams
of you and me being the last two people
alive on Earth.
Your body is my Holy Grail,
the cup of life I yearn
to drink from.

If it were you whose affections strayed towards another,
I’d curse your name
and the day I fell in love with you.
I’d no sooner be your giggling confidante
than cut my own hands off.
I’d rage desperately at you,
wondering why you’d already hung up on me
instead of pressing the lifeless receiver to your ear,
listening to the dial tone drone on
for days.

I can’t understand this love you have for me.
You’re speaking in a different language,
even as you say,
“Go get her,”
even as you tell me
life is a game, and the least I can do is
go out and play it.
At what moment did jealousy
shake hands with desire
and walk away, smiling?

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Random Acts of Kindness

Dec. 19th, 2009 | 07:18 pm
mood: groggygroggy
music: a prairie home companion

"Random Acts of Kindness"

I just want to tell you that

you have blessed me like a thousand prayers.
I wanted to let you know

that those words you spoke to me lifted my heart out of a secret darkness.
I guess I’m just trying to say
you stirred my soul into waking like a child on Christmas morning.
Hey, this might sound weird but

you brought me out of my cold orbit
and sent me crashing into the sweet and searing love of the universe.

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Nov. 1st, 2009 | 04:49 pm
mood: pensivepensive


I have two realities.
One where you’re with me
because we don’t have to speak.

The other, you’re gone,
because you’re bad for me.
A poison I long for.
I’m not allowed to have you.

Sometimes I can only breathe
in poetry,
the only place
the world meets me
where I am.

I feel suffocated around here,
with your fingers wrapped silently
around my neck,
trying to get the child-proof lid

I don’t want to be here.

I’d rather be in the place where
words are stealing my oxygen.

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A year later

Sep. 27th, 2009 | 11:10 pm
mood: contemplativecontemplative

"A year later"

A year later
Under the house
in the sand
where we’d been lying
I found your bandana
I must’ve pushed it
Off your head
Let it lay there
Beneath us
As I kissed you
A year later
When I found it
Under the house
In the sand
Where we’d been lying
I walked
To the ocean
Through the mist and half-rain
I gave it up
To the ocean
Let the waves carry it
In the swell
A spot of red bleeding
Through the frothing blue
I watched it
Until it was consumed
The surf rushed up
To my ankles
I bowed
To the ocean
A year later

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