moving my poetry from tumblr to ywp

he pulls spare six-cent reactions
from her dark skinned lips
so cheaply does he reveal an
invisible heartlessness inside himself
but still she tosses pennies that 
she thinks she can afford

stains on damp sheets that must be
washed of iniquity
he robs her body and her heart
the same vessel that so readily shed its light 
for a necessitous man with a soul of disdain 

she doesn’t know 
what it’s like to be
too poor to
love 

He has this sky of compassed homes,
broken bones, feathers split to
ink wells but the ink has dried to stone;
in this westward view he spins while
collecting bombs that haven’t blown
(and the pins are now within,
like the quills beneath his skin).

I have the world hung on my fingertips,
spun like the gold of my hair
or the sun-strewn remnants 
of a weather-worn spider’s web.
I have the world at an arm’s length,
because just when I think I know my own strength,
I break something.

I don’t know what I’m saying, but
I like the way it sounds.
Some say I’ve got a way with words
but birds have me by leaps and bounds,
their artists’ brushed branches unheard
through whiskey’s sated whisper slur.

Tap-tap on my window’s glass,
such an early bird for cartridge brass;
he slips on trills when sirens call
and walks the plank to catch my fall.

There’s a robin on an ark;
his dreams feel real, but 
he doesn’t exist beyond my window.
I’ve broken him,
watched him break himself,
puppeteered his fall
with a click of my pen and a flick of the strings
– he used to dream of flying – 
but I hung the moon
and the rain still makes the water rise.

These words are vaguely cognizant
of blood and gore and prayer;
I have the world on it’s knees for me,
the birds and the bees for me, and yet
I don’t know what I’m saying but I
like the way it sinks.

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eyes wide open
staring endlessly at the
cottage cheese icing
on my water stained ceiling 
I’ve got crack-caffeine insomnia
buzzing behind my lids
telling me to
get up
work out
make something of myself
because if I’m going to be awake
(can’t coax sleep in now)
I might as well be doing something
using time instead of wasting it staring 
unendingly
at the ceiling above my bed 
but instead
I lay Einsteining
graphing eons in the topography
of the underbelly of my roof
listing formulas for
hills and valleys of plaster
and refiguring them because
I might’ve missed something in the
rationalization of the complex fraction
that I have assigned the stain
left from spider guts 
smushed just overhead
in a fit of unbridled terror
and even now 
I’ve been reduced to
dictating leakage and
seepage and
see?
the ceiling is staring at 
me, too.

they are listing as a ship on spacious seas
with wind so harshly pulling back and 
ripping forward
a rewinding tape with
characters living life in reverse
because time is relative to the direction it’s played
and these poor pawns have
forfeited the remote.

they are heeling back
against the hiking straps
to right the submerged starboard side
bending their spines to dip far past the deck
so that if either of them look down
they would see the center board mere inches from breaking the surface.

the dialogue is read as murky words
spit across great expanses of earth that
are only counted as stage right and stage left
but are acted as though they are oceans apart
and when the director fails to yell cut
and the lights never fade to black
they realize they will relive
rewind playback pause
until they curl into the safety wings of their harbor home
roll up their sails 
and slip beneath the waves to live
as they were meant to. 

There’s a piece of me with
teeth, 
like razored diamonds.
Teeth that snap and bite
and yearn to tear. 
I have teeth because evolution
said I need them.

There’s a piece of me
- several, in fact -
that have no use for 
teeth.

In these places,
I am soft and rounded because
evolution said I must be
balanced,
the sharpness of my teeth evening 
the roundness of my calves. 

Evolution said I need
both.

And there’s a piece of me with
feet,
solid and beneath me.
Roots so I can stand my ground
and trunks to keep me upright.
Evolution said I must have
two
(in case one should fall off,
I must assume) 
and I intend to always
use them. 

I like to move
when I move
(evolution told me so). 

There’s a piece of me with
eyes,
I believe it’s so I see. 
But often I have come to find
that I have better peace of mind
when I am completely blind. 
Evolution said I need my eyes,
and evolution 
doesn’t lie. 

I have eyes so I can see
where I step and
step where I snap.

I have feet so I can walk 
where the wind is and 
tear a new path.

I have teeth so I can bite
where I need and
watch time lapse.

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decomposing headache 
like a candle catches flame
slowly
flickering to life
behind 

May 
who lies
halfway shut
webs with threads stretched and cut
beat-beating tribal drums
smacking relentlessly against
skulls 

zip ties around 
wrists tied like a leash
on bad dogs
hair tied back
lids slack
vomiting down chests with
winter-mint breath and
friends of friends
and “it depends…”
and they whisper 

judgement
hammer falls on pavement
so sudden
one-sixty spent on
bad decisions
leading
toward

candles lighting
and
headaches coming
undone 

he sees the shades in a rainbow
in multiples of three
face tipped skyward
he’s stepping closer to the bandstand
with his arms spread wide
he’s jumping
swaying
to submerse himself in the music

he’s not alone 
here
though he usually is

the woman playing the upright bass is 
glaring at him
wondering how his
babysitters 
could allow him to become so out of control
how they could permit him to
bellow-shout
so close to the music 

but he’s beaming
the thirty-year-old man
glances back at his peers
some in wheelchairs
some drooling on their shirts
he’s beaming at them
and some are clapping for him

he’s not alone
not here
where his group has lunch on Tuesdays when it’s sunny
he’s not alone here

an older woman 
who has a badge on a lanyard
that says something along the lines of
“I’m in charge of these people”
or
“I care when no one else does”
stands and leaves the group of middle-aged men and women
to take the hands of the dancing man

and in front of god
in front of the glaring woman on the upright bass
and all the people spread across the green on this sunny Tuesday
she takes the hands of the dancing man and
she sways with him
face tipped skyward
she’s smiling so widely
laughing
with him
because he’s not alone
not here

he is prone to
self destruct
to sink his teeth into 
his one-track heart
drop a quarter
spin the knob
kick to start

he tends to push away his feelings
wraps his wrists in cellophane
call girls names that
aren’t their names
to pretend they’re not
the same thing he hates
and he
darkens his eyes 
without thinking

he likes the way
soft-skinned boys
shine in moonlight
wind weighing in on his
conflict
accusing eyes cast down
too quiet to confront
too entranced to remain
unnoticed 

he curses his blood
for rising to his face
for pounding through his veins
for fleeing his upstairs
and flooding his downstairs 
he curses his blood for its 
treachery 
(he’s not like that) 

he swears to god that his first kiss
was a fluke
was nothing
they were two ships in the night
but instead of passing invisibly 
they crashed
and he’s sinking
and it was an accident 
(and it was a mistake) 

and he says that his second kiss
felt different but
it was the same thing
his mind was playing tricks on him
swirling dream and reality
like cream into coffee
until it went down easy enough to
swallow 

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