in the same bed
two of the same, two generations above
where i was standing,
i told you, in brooklyn

monday night,
previous planes,
handheld conversation between us,
(over oceans, not land-- to be understood)
by your facial expression
a forest in the attic
a hidden chest of lockets
buried beneath the roots of our homeostatic inclinations,
to be found.

a market of vegetables
vibrant colors, with
a sunlight bursting above our heads
spilling down our arms, to the warming black pavement
he told me to take the A back home,
take him with me, i wanted!
to only miss a poetry class, i wanted!
to be with him, instead!
to lie in the bed, to sleep, with another's heartbeat;
i wanted!

i imagined, then, a desert river
bursting through trees (which were above),
ripping through brush,
we were floating
but still,
there was space between us

An étude
formulating in your mind
a black fungus
swimming between your bones,
and further we swam,
under enemy camps
jellyfish in rivers
a sting to your brother, but a campsite revisited time and time again
you were exposed, but i wanted only for myself
a similarity in forms, but
a much smaller beating of hormonal inclinations had understood
besides her brother,
a restoring of diamonds
in clouds beneath the bonfire of our beings
if i pleaded with you, would you have had it to give?
to have a complete lack of presence
would somehow be increasingly well (in my opinion--
besides a small cookie shop,
an art exhibit,
a sleeping under trees,
besides a man reciting poetry,
a tired mother's uvula,
and a slow drowning)

to become
melted.


just as a marshland
is an industrial
boom of
homeward bound silks around our wrists,
so exists self-addressed envelopes
with no return addresses

constellations are overlapping,
causing brilliant images to appear-
however, our eyes are closed and we could not notice:
the seams between the stars,
discarded inks,
clay jars.


(at seven, i was a decadent soldier)
i made tea: a stable, a harness, a beating of bones, featherbeds, promise rings, sunday mornings, walking downtown, a pile knit- i am late

circa sept. 2009, re: wintertimes, seven

It was our hair there, the smell of sleep-

hot cocoa fluttering up around all us as a silk garment
her voice,

a clashing of pans

Coffee beans being crushed into red, sweet earth

violins screeching

wind rustling between my knees.

There are tree branches,

A thousand suns exploding in my throat;

nails continually being dug into my side.

(Old wood, blood, liquid metal as beads of sweat

camping in each bud) My arms as pillows,

the mug warming my hands, but wool blankets are like soil-

"moss in my hands, moss in my hands, moss in my hands," I keep thinking,

but all I hear is buzzing silence

a refuge of iron,
firecrackers,
humbled stones-
you told us, "raise your eyes to the north!"
a final deed to
salute, or
sacrifice, your
young to him; what
if it were i who perished?
she told me it was downtown, a memoir turned fable,
an antique shop, a harbor,
yearning to be ripped apart by You
called but i didn't answer (accidentally)
called, you did- out into the air
for me, you called!
for me, you called.
(i forgot)
how long before this continuity becomes (deceased? desire)
i possess to own a given love,
seeing you lying there
holding the same desire, but reciprocated (to love,)
so let us rejoice like steeds throughout wild,
multiply our love as bacteria rustling through blue-green waters.
wondering, "how deep a love can be restored?"
(answered without saying) a word.
beyond your glances i see a dark satisfaction,
i desire to be
as you are but am unsure where to begin. to share like you would be incredible, i am (still, as i pointed out before) unable to see past stagnant marshes behind fluttered eyelids.

"one day," she replied,
"he will realize the depth, how pools of deep waters are reflective of our hearts, as a single mechanism!"

each bead was moving away from it's center, but my heart felt a slight tugging back. we are two-sided, i told you, but the ink on the runway stains the livid air.
a mirror, he wrote about, a french dove, lucid dreams, a photographic memory.

you were a shortcut to the end of the earth, a ride opposite the tumultuous rivers, a rat tail wrapping its roots around our manufactured forms. our nails, crossword puzzles, and our hair, vines- tassels braided together.

a deception crept closer, german wines clouded our eyes and we felt a connection to the silence. you gave us honey, a lost song, but a place to rest. for months we waltzed together, her feathers clenched tightly, the wind demanding they return to the earth; she refused. "be continually built up, like atmospheric jungles," she said, but we slipped away.

the spider veins
the ocean waves,
constantly crashing to regain their speed.
David departed to the cave,
the prison,
the forest.
He heard the heavens
rejoicing in each place.

backyard performances
whispered things to come, but
a prophet has not the same duty as a surgeon!
one cannot edit,
an artist in detail!
default, default, default-
a man you are, not a worm!
you do not crawl, you
sit upright under the
slow hum of
the spring that passes over you.
each deity is crashing down,
each a skeleton in a garden
weeping bones
cleansed arteries
food for the living
forever undead.
we can hide from the peacock feathers,
we can bury ourselves
under the arch of a footbridge,
but our bones are not silenced!

a place to hide
in a stone,
where our blood is
golden
and each word,
a profit.

astute knowledge,
abandonment.

a narcoleptic spectrum

forgive me of my continual misunderstandings
my fingers
crimson
for each nickel worth saving.

above my flesh, a thousand pounds push down
squished, i am,
pummeled with the weight
of each life i could choose, while
Dionysius is suffocated
under the lace of his lover.
But boats are falling under
the riptide of casinos-
buzzing and booming
and falling- into dark, dark, dark chambers
bound to their owners,
bound to their captives,
bound to all of our feet.

i used to think, "it is all parallel,"
but no! perpendicular! intersections!
slicing and cutting and searing!
open wounds,
gauze, blood, blood, blood.
all i can see is crimson-
forgive me of my undying misinterpretations;
i am sorry.
i will
scream it-
"my eternity did not begin at my inception!"
i will repeat it
until i comprehend
we were existing before we began!

EVERLASTING HOMELESSNESS

scrambling to find your paint smeared hands
unearned currency
held tightly in your fists

ridiculing your fathers,
but they founded you within deep blue shadows,
ones that actually belonged there

you found yourself there,
if understanding stands alone,
you searched and searched.
together you were sewn, however,
endlessly
unfailingly
still being knit together, even now
knotting, unknotted
knotting, unknotting
unknotted. unknotted.

ropes, inside it had cities of bronze,
and glitter batteries with fuel consistently increasing
love never ceasing
your heart, inside,
your palm continues to beat
a steady rhythm,
when i hold your hand,
when i hold your hand,
i can hear it drumming
bum bum bum
bum bum bum bum

a full circle

mediocrity and sounds

you jumped in with me, but still felt

the sincerity i so longed for,

praying for-

your eyes to light up

i felt them on my back

your glittering form in the shallow, pebbled water

we thought it was dead, but alive it became and swam away

it was mutual,

you kept saying, but how could you know i was feeling the same?

so we washed the crust off the bowls,

scrubbing them with rocks

apartments in my mind

blue walls, blue walls, blue walls, i kept seeing.

the banjo still plays and i can't buy my love

any longer, so

arise, we told it-

arise!

her eyes were amber, with the sun shining on her back, the

ocean at her side.

she preferred it to engulf her but his heart was a ring of turquoise- she took it from him, put it on, paraded around as if it were a sign of his love.

"you're not sick,"

i told him

"you are beautiful," i had wanted to say it for so long,

but i read his lips like tea leaves, each crevice a memory, every hue a call for more.

in the van you told me how each note,

a bead,

moved at a consistent yet unpredictable pace away from it's center.

i didn't understand; i just thought it was pretty.

a bumblebee for every step closer to the afterlife
each one buzzes in my ear
"sad, so sad," i murmured,
but the buzzing just got louder, until it split into a million pieces
piercing my heart and causing it to rupture

"forgive me!" i said,
not wanting to fall, but arms they reached towards the cosmos,
we planned it before, but the time was now.

erasures clogged up my throat
edit, edit, edit. it will not come through-

"we had a good home," he told me, "a breath for every meal, and a moon garden that became our own."

"bumblebees came and pollinated, but you know, it was never enough"

so they circled round our heads, daunting, taunting. the bed and breakfast is now closed, and the skyscrapers rusted. the sky has fallen down, so we now live above the atmosphere, but my arms are still too short to reach the open window.