living under the light

some days i can't but crouch over
the spitting image of my mother hovering
over the kitchen table, cigarette in long fingers,
Another one burnt out in the ashtray.

"Even is never really even, is it?"
I ask, but later forget her answer

i'm no good at telling fortunes for the future,
though i know exactly where you came from (exactly)
somedays you can't but remember your father on the grey couch
saying "you're a fool," and you know you live your life that way
you look just like him (spitting)
but even is never really even, is it?

and as the day fades to night and the shadow of the lace curtains in our kitchen drapes itself over my mother's face
and the wind from the open
window in the living room of your childhood house
brushes against your father's ear-we know they live their lives this way

separate from the waterlines

this poem is a demi glosa, the two lines are from "equinox", a poem by susan musgrave.

the lines are as follows:
"floating from darkness
like separate tides"

here goes,

I looked into you for a second
split into fragments.
our fingers laced, hips twisted,
and legs touching. I let the water
wash over my face, numbering each
drop to slide off my nose. outlining
the shape of your lips.
Alone in that room again.
Closing our blinds.
Floating from darkness.

Could you be rid of me sooner? sticky
with guilt, I placed my bare feet on the floor.
I remember mother saying "try holding an
asprin between your knees". marking me
before the target. Our bodies lapsing
and turning, you rushed past me.
Cracking bones and
removing veins.
disecting, intersecting,
like separate tides.

untitled

If I disected my brain- myelin sheeths and membranes
will you piece them together to find the impression of your face?
I've had my fill of music
tones- noise.
This is not how I imagined it.
Hazy and illuminated
you sitting next to me
hands touching
wanting
to be so much closer
to come into me
to posses, to stand in
my body, your bones
as my bones. That's how close.

I had my fill of men
toes tapping, fingers
reaching to dance
with me
This was not how I imagined it
Groping, pushing down lungs,
vacuuming out the air.
The pavement on a residential street, head smoothed over
like an oil painting on a harsh cool canvas.

branches in your way

i saw the stars in this black
sky. i saw your face your eyes
looked through
me my guts spilling, pleading
to be with that
feeling you have around you
you're soft like warm
water filling me, filling up
in that black sky
i found you
washing my face in the sand
washing ocean over rocks over
my skin i am sleeping
i am dreaming you illusive you
are barely touchable
not quite awake the hair on your arm
is blonde i should think bleached by
the sun are you so illuminated, bright
and painted amber i see you
before i drift away

break me like branches in your way my bones could be your bones but
i am not you
are walking past me my shoulder
edging past yours i am weaving away
from you a cloth spun out of the clouds,
i am silver so simply silver you could
be golden but you are just so many
grains of sand i cannot grasp, i cannot
grasp- i am branches in your way

february 23rd, or the day i fell apart from you.

welling up like a punch to the chest
i am aiming my words at you
dead in the centre

it has been two hours, one minute, and twenty-seven seconds since i last said your name,
and its starting to ring like a tired fire alarm
single file out the nearest exit

tugging at my arm, you are like a sick baby, wanting wanting everything you see
i would tell you emptilly that next time i will leave you in the car
but i dont even own one

you have not seen my face enough times to notice a change, so maybe i will wait a while
i am not not not an ever morphing "changling", i only experiment every now and then

if i am lacking in any area please dont hesitate to point it out
i would rather know what you hate about me than guess and have the insecurity.

if i bake you a cake, you are more than welcome to lick the icing off the spatula,
my finger tips, or the side of my neck, because my breath escapes anyways why not quicker?

cantelope is round and sweet but my melons are of the flesh, skin is the only thing separating us, now how do we take off our birthday suits and ties?