Reading confidently that you live in branches in my mind that bend so low into styx I can't see you anymore

the name I used to write shakes the earth and I fall over

I've been taking quiet stabs at the ghost of you.

Could you be more yourself now than you ever were with me?

I draw the darkest line under your name.

Permanence, stick to my mind

somewhere. Letters I used to write

this word, your name, is a story

a real ending now, is this true?

some kinda lost

and i've never experienced love at first site

except when i fell into a black hole 

and you reached your hand in like a wise fool

gypsy tinman

looking for a furnace heart

and i'll dream of burrows in the dirt

warm and rough

where I knew you made of clay

and you always were enough

your hidden sew

Last night I fell asleep believing in you, and when fractured light danced through flaps and painted watercolored memories above my bed I woke up quietly. I dreamed you had sewed the most beautiful blanket I had ever seen with all our favorite colors and shapes. And you spread it out across the floor for some dreary expert and his approval, while you took no notice of me. But, when you were looking away from your blanket searching his magnificent criticism, I became entranced snuck my sliding, clutching hand across your threaded scapes, sighing at your stitches, and fell in love with you for the first time again. Warmer than worn corduroy, softer than warm coffee.

drunk and dropped

Tied knots
not us not us
i broke a sink and watched my dreams of you
disappear through cracks
swirling with the tide
a genie sucked back into its bottle

now i know
to feel alive
a body is just a body
 nothing else
and when you
the only one who could
demanded a higher love from me
 and I was a better person
I was.

The bones in my back
just bones in my back
the buds of my lip
to talk to eat
but nothing more
my hair nothing lovely
a mess i ought to cut it all off

There is no beautiful me
loved me there was
when the magic wears off
when the booze burns up
when the lights exhaust out
a floating body
 light
insignificant as a wild daisy
 waiting and knowing
for dogs and hunters.

february roaches

I wanted to know I could feel happiness without you, and when I did, and when I did, and when I did, and when I did, and when I did I felt it, a sadness fell upon me like a streak of sharp
blood blue paint falling into Their morning alka seltzer glass,

because I had not You to share my happiness with.

indecisive in love…..what a true pain in the ass I am; but I’ll always be that, I’ll always be that, I’ll always be that, I’ll always be that I’ll always be yours. 

Because you'll never Believe

It's daffodil Season, and so I
think of winters past

           Remember
     how we used to season
     our sweet
     potatoes with
oregano
you kept in a tiny jar

        My old fashioned
             candy heart
    would get sticky...    as I watch you
    hovering
lovingly    over such
a warm stove      fingers earnest
     and reverent,
       saxophone,
 careful-l-y dropping     fairy      dust
on 'range sleep wedges
          ...
breathing    like
             warm                     crystal     in   the window

We'd smash
potatoes
    into shape-shifting
pools
       dark
       thick  
       tomato     .ketch up.
that glistened in the steamy house.

Caution not, leaning back
smiling at eachother for     making
   for...
living
such a day worthy of that     moment
bellies full
of equal parts
     ketchup       and        sweet potato, timeless
     orange         and        red..

But most of all your oregano, a secret aphrodisiac of your turning Roma ancestors
                          no doubt.

a pleasure filled death

I offer you my lips
parted
by rosebuds
  wearing
the
deadly mask of a child you
reach
  my face
and squeeze
until you see the juicy beads of angry red
rolling
   out