most days

I spend a lot of time looking at
the ground, look
for spots I could curl into.
The warm grass at parks, the sides of
a road, a field I could disappear into.
(The corners of your arms.)
Why is gravity always so heavy?
Loving me straight into
the ground. I can’t stop
looking at the ground.
I dont even know if I was here today,
I almost hit a car today. 
I’m clawing myself out,
I just don’t know from what or where.
I think about hiding a lot, 
more then I want to admit. 
The lights are always too bright,
what I mean is sometimes I don’t want 
to exist. Everything feels like a crawl,
feels like bruised knees. 
Then there’s you, the warmest thing
I want to sink into.
I hope to god you can swim. 

now you’re really living 

A picture in and I am
already seeing the universe
in everything. Some times I
can’t decide if everything
is a miracle or if nothing is.
My days tend to blur and every day
is learning what it means
to be alive.
Do you ever look at your hands?
I know my lover’s hands more than 
my own. What does that say about me?
I stare at my palms. When does recognition 
become less and less?
I’m back in the hallway where
the elderly lady showed me her 
hands. Soft wrinkled flesh.
Flips them back to palm and says
“When did this happen?”.
She laughs but I am stuck in the moment 
right before. 


On the floor I see the once
pinned fortune cookie paper.
It’s a dumb piece of paper that I’ve kept.
What does it matter what pulls us forward?

I watch the pieces of my life rearranging,
it’s a picture that almost makes sense. I 
just have to get there, have to wait for the 
“fall into place”, for the dust to settle. 
Even now I listen for the sounds
you hear as you push in a piece 
just where it belongs.
Reassurance has weight in my hands.
We imagine the things we need, 
what does it matter, what keeps
our feet moving on?
Three months from that date,
I’m counting down. I’m a sucker for 
things that aren’t real like fate, like 
gentle waves of air in the shape of a 
hand, sent from something bigger.
I place the paper back on the cork board.
I ask July to be kind.

changing states 

Playing with the physics of our 
bodies in your bedroom.
We use key instruments of self,
adding friction, adjusting pressure and 
temperature in search of
 “just right”
Perfect conditions. Tightly wound 
body made soft by your hands. 
When you feel the vibrations
keep going. Changing states
of matter on your sheets.
Pressure turned higher, heated to the 
boiling point. Melting.
Bodies favor the existence of desires.
Reach the center, 
baby right now we are stars 
and you’re in the core of me. 
Can you feel my heat? 
The sun has nothing on me.
Tell me I make you burn. 


There’s something about sharing my feelings 
that always makes me think of the circus. 
Tightrope performances of my tongue,
“tamed” wild things and my ribcage.
The contortionists, how the body can bend
to please others. 
Suspense building, you’ve practiced a thousand times. What could go wrong? 
The questions you must ask. 
The spotlights always make me nervous.
Smoke and mirrors, I’m sometimes 
confused too. The rules, like don’t 
tell them which staff is new. 
Padded locks, backstage is restricted. 
So are some doors, saftey precautions in place.
Drum roll surprises.
The lines between reality and fantasy. 
The importance of accuracy.
The importance of accuracy.
The importance of accuracy.


She called you Rapunzel and you
swish your tied hair back and forth,
swish your hips back and forth.
Show me pictures of your rats and how you look when the sun hits your face. Warm.
I want to know what makes you
smile at night like it’s morning
and you have the entire day
and you want it. 
Tell me how more about what impossible must be possible, mathematically speaking of course.
How our recent discoveries mean more is 
boiling under the surface. 
I watch your freckled face like
I watch the stars. With curiosity 
and awareness of the space between us.


I spent the day clawing at the ground.
I pulled you out by the roots. 
This needs to be done.
This needs to be done by my hands. 
You do not deserve to be here. 
You do not deserve to stay. 
I grab salt to purify 
the ground. I’m reclaiming it all. 
I want nothing of you left.
I salt the ground, not to keep it bare,
you will have no memorial space.
It will be like you were never here.
You do not deserve to be remembered. 
I salt the ground to kill anything I could miss.
Kill the current but only because 
I’m making room.
Life will grow again. Spring comes every year.
You just won’t be in it.