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Stand in the middle of a main train station, loose count of all the lives you’ll never know and find out how few people know your life despite the little while you stood at the centre of theirs. * Everyone thinks of suicide daily for to not would be to admit they are not living and … Continue reading
We used to kiss to say all we could, now we kiss because it is all we can say, an attempt at filling the bare gap in between us with nothing more than us and the empty words rolled on each other`s blunt tongues. * How lovely to desire a few pounds of flesh that … Continue reading
My swimming instructor drowned, leaving me stranded and wondering what technique I had spent perfecting would make me sink. * A beginning poet will always write about love. An experienced poet will always write about lost love. And a poet at the last lines of their life will always write about the love that made them … Continue reading
There is something in the way we stretch when a subway is empty that may be the closest we get to contentment found in the in between of then and now, where we are and where we need to go, and where, too, we can go if we got off here instead of there. * Ecstasy is … Continue reading
He loves me like a mouth to a lame kiss that burns common sayings but leaves no mark for he, Mark as he’s known, makes no noise while caressing my hand and using the fleshy fold to pray that he will not ruin the bare moment. What have I done to deserve this? * The fossil … Continue reading
Write me a letter and I’ll see a dictionary of you and I in between the dear and period that is the first in English that goes on when after the end in my reply and in the lack thereof. * I wasted my hands wrangling this poem and your neck. * People read poems to get … Continue reading
Dear dear, I slobber. I suppose you know this in your ceaseless scrub-scrubbing of bedsheets, the pillows that dribble with drizzles of enzymes and undigested food, and the hair that holds prime nibbles and germs. Your mouth too, from my kisses. It’s been a while since I’ve kissed you, and a while longer since my … Continue reading
Does a poet cut themselves into stanzas or do stanzas cut themselves into a poet? * I am on my knees in a dark closet just like before, where a man who could be disrobed tells me to look to the cross and pray that I change and change to prayer, so I do, chin … Continue reading
Little matters until it matters because it mattered and because you are little compared to the excess of a grocery store in its heavy light and bubbly pop and you are holding two bags of chip trying to figure which you prefer, cool ranch or ranched cool, and you think either is fine because either is … Continue reading
The bench simmers of forgotten engineering hindsight and heat but the crossed-leg man does not move despite movement around for he is the type to ask you the time before he steals your watch, not to find if you wear a particular brand or if there is a well of gold on your skin but … Continue reading
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