Mend or manipulate, my mind is like
A once weighty tree now spliced by my
What a dark and lonely step taken
With wide eyes, lazy speech, and breaths
Could I be your home, your inked up
Book of secrets, your brilliant fire swept
Away at night?
Crackling, ensure the ego breaks
Because devotion is absolute.
When you tell white lies I write them
On scrapped paper, glue it to the wall
And paint it over in red, absorb
The preaching phantom who died
And lingered, pretending to be a hero.
How poetic, buildings so tall that they
Scrape the sky; and what falls out?
As many forgotten as pennies on the
Floor, how many for your thoughts?
Lazy whispers of air, I think these
Hotel rooms are a blur of tan walls,
Emerald carpet, and stray thoughts.
Vacancy is an illusion, things are
Filled to the brim and beyond, an
Apology and odd ends that fray
Like rope—I want to twist back to
A time where my body was pure
And the desert air felt full. Could
You even fake it? I’m not sure I can.
There in a cloud, where the street exists
Four feet at a time and curves at every pause
In natural speech, she was with me. And,
She was with me in such a way that we both
Knew we were safe, that the crest would
Never stop kissing us with fog. It was comfort
To stare at the road and feel like I was
Staring at her sun kissed skin, to feel like she
Was also this smooth incline with an
Absolute promise to take my breath away and
To remind me of how alive I really am.
She’s every road that hugged that mountain,
She’s every breeze cool as water begging to fall,
She’s every tree with vibrancy and composure,
She’s every cliff daring me to sit on the edge,
She’s that final view that fills me up before I go home,
She’s that last righthand turn before she leaves
And gets inside because
She is home.
Sunlight ceased by the sprinkling rain
And I still taste the plum Sake and I can
Smell last night’s slip-away dream
Between you, my followers, and I, this beautiful woman is the subject of a good amount of my poetry and we went hiking today. :)
Friction, siren, motor, closure,
Cycle, stifle… insanity, however
Small the wound, the words fill
It all the same. Irreplaceable
Kind of grace, it’s so bland to
The eye but it’s muscle and
The unbreakable to the brain.
Language gets cruel after 1 am,
Words like failure, skinny, lonely,
Faded, fallen, shallow, and lost
Soak into the brooding of a past
I know, has encapsulated your mind,
And I swallow your lies like dry pills.
I comply with your anti-cathartic motion.
I’ll never speak of it, never push
To hear you say
Note to self—it is just my delirium.
Greet me there
In the splinter of my bones
And in the passing of my
Last time, oh, it’s your
Name that is
Promised to that last
For my speechlessness,
I hope you place a rose
And tell my everstill body
It was a thing to dream of
Because it held your hand
And because it spoke to
Comely eyes and kingly lust,
Tell me, do you get lost in the luster
That is the sparkle of headlights distorted
In the reflecting glass of the buildings
We drive by in a nighttime drizzle?
I get that feeling, when I look through
Your eyes, skeleton of a city being washed
By the peaceful sky—it’s magic of the plain and
I feel it like the glow of wet asphalt, I feel it
Like the glimmering of shallow puddles.
Share your thoughts like needlework,
I want your history sewn into my skin
Because I like your fingertips drifting
On the taught flesh that reacts, always,
To your gaze and the vibrations of your
I soaked it in, I remember the French
Your grandmother spoke to you, and
The unpolished shame of how your
Cousin touched you—life’s a craze and
I’d take it’s direction if it leads us back
For a while I tried
To be better, for you.
Then I tried to just be
A better me (for you).
Now I just try to be me,
I wrote this some time ago, but it is as true as the day it was written.