just visiting. Strange, how we can tuck our memories into shoe boxes and slide them under our bed frames. Cardboard walls that hold bits of you and gather little clouds of grey dust around the battered corners. A receipt from the Inn, dated Halloween night. A gold condom wrapper with your teeth marks near the tear. There are Christmas cards and the glitter from the printed angel wings...
prose bones. you woke in the eerie glow of early morning, spitting gold from between your teeth like a fountain filled with diamonds and magic even in the fever of nightmare your words slice my skin and expose my bones i feel the cold from your breath and wish you could see yourself now your poem blood and bedhead tangled up in metaphor i hold my tongue out like a child catching snowflakes and...
Night is the kind of mistress who keeps her voice hushed. Her moans are low growls trapped in her throat, as not to wake the neighbors. We have paper-thin walls that Night paints black and silver. Night nips at my bottom lip and sucks the blood. Kisses the skin until it clots. Night braids her fingers with mine while the record player hums lullabies straight into our pores. She covers me in...
you rolled tobacco into the thin torn out page of a bible i watched as you torched the holy passage and let it fill your throat
I am not a slut. I am not a bitch, a cheater, alcoholic, smoker, liar or afraid. But I fuck and snarl. I cheat, I drink and I smoke. I tell lie after lie and I am terrified of them all. I may spread my legs and lips, my lungs and my heart, wide open on the stage. Everything is lit up by neon but the bartender only carries house liquor so I don’t need your labels either. This bottle,...
I became invisible tonight in what felt like a dream come close to true. Invisible, now that i am hiding behind the dusty curtains of your damn dirty studio apartment. You’re spitting tangerine seeds into a tin cup and I hear the clatter in your mind and feel the bend in your knuckles. I see you through the sheer and the ceiling fan threatens to blow my cover right out from around...
indiana. i measured my mid-western nights by half moon lime slices molding, defeated at the bottoms of beer bottles and when the bulky curves of a pickup truck began to look like poetic slants and the spidered windshields like well plotted line breaks i knew it was time i got out of indiana smash a bottle and pick the glass away from the rind and suck pack my pockets with state bird feathers and...
The Problem With My Thighs
The problem with my thighs is that I’ve got a problem with my thighs. They’re not used to this dependence I’ve put on them. Hold me up. Don’t wobble and most certainly don’t stretch your skin out to fit around your flesh. Spiderweb knees are not allowed. They’ve grown accustom to braces made of your bones but you chipped yourself free and fled. I fell. ...
every thought i have is a frag ment of a whole thought someone else had and i always round up when i’m counting calories and chances but how do you calculate how much you’ve had when you can’t formulate a full-feeling thought of your own
she’s got the bitter of jazz apple skins between her teeth orange peel tongue poppy seed taste buds talk about a sweet machine salivating liquid sugar i watch it bubble and brown until the caramel drips drips drips down the back of her throat and she chokes on her own existence
There’s a perfect line of bottles under my basement stairs. Largest to smallest. A flavorful rainbow of tin twist-off caps, sticky. There isn’t pride in the display, only reminders and the need for reminders. Banana vodka, sometime in November. Call Christopher, he’ll fill you in. These are the things I never write about. The goosebumps and lacerations. The dried vomit on...
Eight in the morning. Thinking about the car. Broken axles and the side of the road. I can’t believe you kept that mix tape I made. Can’t believe you still listen to those same songs. Can’t believe you remember me. You were always so high. The broken staircase you taught me to maneuver. The house they tore down. I wrote all of your papers for you. You stayed in my bed...
Here is how I died. Tax forms. Jammed stapleguns. Laminated posters, Reduce Your Risk. A pack a day or a bummed drag behind the building. Mid February with only a tee shirt on. A papercut on Monday morning before the big meeting. An infected flesh wound, down to the bone by Friday. The boys hide vodka in water bottles out back. They’ll let me pour some over the cut. For a price. ...
today i am uninspired by love it bores me but we talked for a while face to face and sipping coffee chewing on the plastic stirring stick and working it over with my tongue your lips looked good but i didn’t want them to whisper sweet things to me anymore i only wanted them to part in time with my own and for you to swell from the want and explode from the need and maybe the color of your...
When I was eight-years-old I remember one afternoon in Autumn. My mother was humming, boiling water with salt over the stove for pasta and chopping white onions for sauce. From my bedroom floor, surrounded by a skinny little army of Barbie dolls in pink plastic high heels, I felt eyes on me. My jeans were torn at the knee, grass stains over the thighs and I stared at them for a long time before...
The Twenty-Fourth Second
It’s terrifying how fleeting a thought can be. Inspiration expires more quickly than the milk I buy to make coffee clouds. It’s a hiccup. The world goes bright white in a flash, a silence and then the wonderful image of your muse, the image you wait up all night for, knowing she’s nocturnal. It’s like the screen during a bad horror film. A strobe of light and a quick...
she held together by black tights and lace i find a run and pull twist the thread around my finger and watch her skin begin to spill out into the room bruises, freckles, scars and scratches blisters and blemishes stretchmarks like a road map leading up to her chest i walk my fingertip along the lines pausing on pulse points she unraveled and exposed goosebumped by a sudden rush of air coming from...
i will heat soup for you over the tiny flames of bic lighters if these walls fall down and we’re banished to the edge of the woods i will wash your clothes in the stream no matter how cold and raw the current makes my hands i will put a bed of flowers over the pine needle carpet of the ground so you might find a softer place to sleep if you find yourself kept awake by the moon bouncing off...
the inside of my body scares me it’s acidic and threatens to erupt blood, piss and bile with a dying urge to rust everything within a three-mile radius i’ve got emetophobia and i’ve never plunged my finger inside of my throat or my pussy i leave that exploration for foreign objects and you are about as foreign as they come in tongue and intent and once inside i hope you’ll...
antlers i love how she wears braids like velvet antlers and skirts above the knee