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what is this useless bleeding? love is my wound, so it can’t be so bad right. you said this was wrong, that i promised never to write the break up poem, that this must be composed and decomposed in broken parts, that it is written in a language i don’t know how to speak yet, … Continue reading
how can it be morning when tonight is yet to be written? you’re there where the space of last night grows soft and still drifts. the waves whispered that i should do this, i can do this, i have not done this like the many things, will i pet that dog, need i pet a … Continue reading
tell me about you. i have made a lot of mistakes but i am still perfect. i work a little, am paid a little less, i am worth millions. not dollars, memories, moments where you tell someone else they are not that other person, where there is enough drink and no hangover. where there is … Continue reading
take me to that great date spot, that place that is warm and probably expensive and that no one knows quite yet, including you, that area inside where those childhood memories of sitting sunlight and strawberry winters stay, where there is the punchline of a joke you memorized to tell to the right people, where … Continue reading
is it the sad water of yesterday or the lack of it in today’s hydration that has me hung over the curl of a question mark in reverse, telling myself i’ll go on because i must, because i have been doing it this well this whole time. but i pause. what does it mean to … Continue reading
Dear you, Yesterday it was our anniversary. This morning we spoke on the phone. There is a mess of you everywhere inside of me. With striking clarity I remember the fireworks that blew up the sky above us, the sky that for at least that night, that moment belonged to us – only us. But … Continue reading
the following is small but huge and still, somehow, average. * she left not because you weren’t enough but because she wanted less of you you were abundance the sun a lake summer but winter always arrives
the following is the aftermath of promising to never do poetry again. the following is also not poetry. * when was the last time you stopped measuring the length of now the instant between when things were figured out and when they were not how often you would say um not for a filler but … Continue reading
i dreamed you alive, eating, slobbering and sitting there having albert einstein write a poem about your smarts. he started shaky, erased. nearly left. his hair fell on the table. he asked what of your lover? i laughed, your mouth was wide open too. he shook his head, knowing we didn’t understand. listen listen, he … Continue reading
i have thought of that dead writer one last time. i spoke to her softly, told her that her book has been read once more. not often or quickly. but during a summer long ago on a beach. the sun was right. the water was warm. and some of the parts were good even if … Continue reading
