You blink and look and stare
As if trying to find the snag in the dream
the catch in the sweater
the cards hidden up someone's sleeves
The meaning of this miracle that tapped you on the elbow
As I sit on this stump and read
from these pages of your cousin's pulped flesh,
I burst with the excitement of next year seeing you draped in color,
You. master of graceful loss.
You, vessels of wasted breaths,
Spiraling odes of love and loss,
lost pages strewn on the desk and the floor and the eyes and the sky and my limbs,
each one with a piece of myself I do not want to see anymore.
what have I created?
There is something cathartic about talking into nothingness. Into something that always gives you an answer, unsatisfactory as it may be.
Don’t mind me too much--
I aspire one day to be a good memory.
It’s a sad dream.
some nights I wake up,
And curl around the metal box.
There’s a certain scavenger hunt mindset,
I wish for apple skin sunsets for you,
and may the fairies bless you with blueberry stars,
a bruised hue of battered pride and midnight.
Lined with lace, the conjurings of our tastebuds
we watched the world end from the top of skyscrapers
as the stars set the sea aflame
as highways gave way to yawning mouths
as kudzu devoured what was left of our neighborhoods
how do i say--
yesterday, you called me a miracle
and i believed you because
you can make me believe
(you have not always wielded that well.)
how do i say--
last week, my brother dropped his heart
on the pavement and we both
watched as it cracked right open,
spilling in red ribbons and golden gears
like a lipstick kiss smack-dab on the sidewalk.