Dec 14

Alive?

I try to write a million things 
and never try to forget falling

Failing doesn't exist at the bottom of the ocean
or in the sky
or when they're sleeping

We are versions of our future selves, 
trying to get by on his smile 
or the warm blankets in the morning,
or the slight ticking from the clock downstairs 

I have imagined myself every night 
waking up,
climbing to the roof, 
finally escaping repeated timelines

There are pieces of myself hidden
in a bag, on the top shelf, in my locked closet

a collection of notes on how to survive the urban wild,
a bus ticket that expires the moment I decide 
my wanting isn't necessary

I'm surviving on possibilities 
and waiting for my chance
Dec 12

Not How We Think to Find (the long wait)

Dec 07

Night

Nov 28

Winter Song

I have never found answers in oceans

I have stood on the edge of the water,
screamed my questions to the world,
pretended not to notice the silence 

There are streets with empty alleyways,
lonely poets at open windows
(worrying about the future of a pebble that falls by itself, 
we're all similar anyway),
broken lightbulbs, 
a quiet child that watches it all fall apart

Do you remember
what it was like when we were young
and could fill our empty together

You would pour hot water on the floor 
and I would come, wipe it from your brow with a jacket cuff,
fall in love with your dust a little more

We had strong feet
dedicated to laughing at empty eyes 
and sneaking quietly into ourselves

Now my feet are only running 
Nov 12

Black Hole

I'm leaving soon,
meet me 
where the sun is ours 
and the dark only ends 
when you swallow it. 

I don't think the wind
knows what it's like to want someone
so desperately that the sky
falls for him too. 

Yes,
I'm leaving. 

No amount of rain
or flood
or dying can stop me. 

My going is up,
my leaving is gone, 
my living is starting. 



 
Oct 23

Lost and Found

"Suns are for those
who know how to find them."

There was one in my jeans pocket
this morning and I refused to let go.

That's not catching, it's torture. 
But, fireflies are really golden raindrops
and they induce just as much suffering. 

If you want to know
what it's like
to hang upside down by your feet
on the corner of Main Street,
just above the road
I will tell you.

Sometimes I scare you
with the toenail of a word I learned
the night I forgot my names in a dream. 

You know I'll never drop you. 

He's in bed at night:
creaky wood floors,
drafty windows,
an open book with smudged charcoal antics 
from the day before. 

I can tell this life doesn't belong to him
or the person in the room next door. 
Or the ghost of a man
at the end of our hall
who screams for the idea of birds

Oct 21

Road Trip

The photos of the little bottles were taken in the George Eastman Musuem in Rochester, NY. The bottles are filled with different techni-color powder samples (for coloring photos). 
 
Oct 01

Rain, Again


I'm pretending not to know,
I want to hear you tell me.

Whisper it quietly into my waiting ear. 

Tell me as if you were the rain
that slides down my nose. 
Gentle: I'm laughing,
but my ribs don't hurt any less. 

I'm smiling again, 
you've brought me back
from waiting to be saved.

This is my call to freedom,
"Yes, I'm alive!" 

I'm not sure how you save
a soul like that but look,
here I am... 

now it's my turn to hold you,
please let me hold you. 

I still love the rain
but now I know why.  

Someday I'll tell you it reminds me of you.   

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