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Tweet The wax and whiskey taste of your tongue, the ragged sound of your breath and the appoggiatura of your whine as you closed your velvet eyes. In you I saw god. The backboard drummed the drywall in perfect time with the backbeat of the song on the stereo. As you ground your teeth and . . . → Read More: I Will Be a One-Night Stand Tweet I forget now who ended it or why, but I don’t have that tattoo anymore and my hair is cut short. I eat soup and salad only, go running twice every day. I think she knew I never wrote poems, but I wanted to. (2002) Tweet Sticky perfect circles, sketches of beer bottles or nepenthe on the rocks left on glass tabletops; rings scabbing over with detritus, miscellaneous debris: dead lashes, dust, cold grey ashes. Building a perimeter around parallel lines, battery-wide and blinding white; powder mountain ridges, hoarfrosted tors that formed an AC outlet into which I would plug . . . → Read More: Coping Tweet Gravity draws everything down, even hope. And people die or don’t (whichever is worse), hearts are broken in the major metropoles all around the world, every single second of every single day. I should relax: my sorrow will soon sublimate, become lost in the confusion, as it becomes statistic. (1999) Tweet When my thoughts collapse, I can still feel your breath and small fingers, practicing power chords on the tendon frets of my forearm. What was blue for me turned red for you. I promise that my first tattoo will be a polychrome apology. Everything’s gone too far and everything’s gone too fast. And by . . . → Read More: Altered Tweet You pointedly turn your head left and so do I; walking towards each other, past. Your hair is a different cut now. My skin is tanned caramel for a change. We both have new tattoos. My pant cuffs drag on the tiles and planks collecting dust. Your breasts are parted by the crinoline strap . . . → Read More: Negating Intimacy Tweet Out of my bed before the roof caved in. Strands sewn into dusty sheets. You’re all over. The room, a crime scene. Clues of you and the shadows blooming. You’re all over. Wrapped in the rubber band round my pens, the shadows blooming; you’re all over. Back of your head: lost hair clogging the . . . → Read More: Braid |
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