Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Sharing the House

My fingers
are always cold.

I don't feel chilled
but my digits are ice,
fleshy and freezing
as if there was no blood in them
to begin with.

It makes me wonder
who has tried to hold my hand
when I wasn't watching,
and how I did not notice.

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Something Japanese

You seem to believe we are equals,
when it's clear we are so obviously not.

I have wanted, and hid, and exhausted myself
in the name of personal academia.
I have prayed and refused and prayed again.
I have used every affordable resource
to expand my senses and open gateways.

It's like you were born into this.
It all comes so easy, as if the universe opened it's arms to you
and gave you a slice of herself.
You've made infinitely more connections
than I ever could,
in many senses of the word.

Even when i ask for instruction,
I feel you either

Monday, April 2, 2012


Through chance
and the addition of a 3rd vehicle,
I become chauffer.

Only a few blocks
from “That Fun Place,”
home to tokens, tickets, geodes, and laser tag;
back to Grandma's,
where sanity prevails
and the cat always hides after a few days.

He discusses both his literal and edible
definition of Airheads,
and promises, giggling,
to tell if I crash.

I find the paper remains
of extra-ticket Tootsie Rolls
discarded beneath his booster seat,
but he's already back in front of mouse and screen
launching little birds into oblivion.

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Simplistic Severity

I have 30 days this time-

to catch the paralyzed memories and untruths
that vibrate within
my veins and my bones.

to make sure that dull ache
that leads to bruises and scars
and broken trinkets
is sedated properly with many outlets and modifications.

to make my self smaller, larger,
more open, and more secure
while maintaining
normal functionality.

-Any lapses or achievements will be recorded appropriately.

Friday, December 2, 2011


Bloodletting was a common practice
in the past,
often incorporating leeches
to cleanse the blood
of whatever sickness
was weakening a person.
But there are no leeches
to seek out guilt
and none to seek out
These are things that
stir and grow,
and if we cannot cure each other
they will poison us both.

The Madness of an Education

In the hallowed halls of academia,
we slowly lose our minds.

Time disorients us:
is it today, is it tomorrow?
The clocks are never right.

There are no windows here,
only rows and rows
of future patients:
He is a suicide, she is an attempt,
and the rest just disappear.

Theorems lead only to repetitive madness,
a+b= you + me,
and Lady Lazarus herself
rises only to laugh
at our misfortunes,
disappearing once again
into a pile of text and ash.

I see no future here.

This is the Wasteland
he warned you about;

This is where
Beauty disfigures itself
in the name of Science,
and lies naked and pale,
ready for the knife.

They say there is no pain,
but I know she feels it all.

Correspondence Cremation

That first couch
on Floor 6
has become my funeral pyre.

I read your reasons,
whose arrival I anticipated
for over a week,
and I burn.
My face is streaked with wet carbon,
trails my wasted tears have followed,
certainly not enough to
subdue the flames.
These hellish serpents
born of your words
slither up me slowly,
intertwining and tightening around my neck,
killing the last bit of love in me
with forked-tongue caresses.

I am reduced to ashes
but I am not the phoenix
and I will not rise for you again.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Jesus Wins at Hide and Seek

Do me a favor and pray for him
because I already lost my god.
He got misplaced somewhere along with
my faith in humanity
and pictures of ex-boyfriends.
He might still be hiding
behind my father’s headstone,
but it’s awfully small (military issue),
and I doubt the divine idol
of an entire religion
could slip back there unnoticed.

High Speed Accident Kills Two

There is nothing left
of who I was
when I collapse into that mewling mass of trauma.
The nerves are dull, but not numb;
I still feel every word
that spins out from you
like a circular saw accident.
Our whole lives are some sort of accident.
Ten foot falls over unemployment
and incidental impalements for every funeral.
Our relationships, our loves, our lovers,
even the one night stands,
are all equivalent to
fender benders and fifty car pile-ups,
depending on the severity of rain
and road surface conditions.

Lab Work

The most natural approach to the situation
would be to say that just like the air that keeps me alive,
and the blood through my veins,
that I am in need of you to live.

Are we not made of the same molecules?  
Do not blood and air construct themselves
by the same rules that govern the assemblage of your hands,
and your eyes, and your mind?

Then it can not be impossible
for our lives to have collided so violently
that a few bits and pieces were misplaced,
and when they returned, they found
that other bits and pieces had taken their spot.

But it seems even our genetics get along:
we simply melded into each other,
layer upon layer of micro-structures
until separation was no longer an option.