peel loose skin from my
skinned knee.

wrap my arms through my
legs.

stare off; twist my
neck.

feel the beating of my
heart.

think. think. feel.
well:
i can't know if
its right
i can just
do what i do.

stretch my legs.
wiggle my toes.
succumb
to
the
flow.

when all this ( Read more... )

i miss
my poison.
but i guess
really
this way
i can
always
be disappointed
(since you're
obviously
gone)
and not just
sometimes
(when you
feel likeit).

it has not been warm ( Read more... )

an infection ( Read more... )

i am faithful in my own ( Read more... )

i'm in a place
that is old
but always looks new.
shiny surfaces,
smells like bleach.
fresh,
clean lines.
stretch of fabric tight
over the back of a chair.

oh
there's something about
precision
that tickles me.
clean lines and
small sounds
all perfectly
situated
in this small orchestra
i'm conducting.

oh
there's something about
prediction
that perverts me.
because no matter how
precise
i can get
how could i ever know
what the outcome
will be?

i want to believe ( Read more... )

i'm not sure
where i've been.
i've been
making mistakes,
digging holes
in my belly,
fighting flies
from some decay.
making lists
of things i've done
forgetting
what i've left to do.

i'm feeling empty,
breaking branches,
mending bones.
it's something
decomposing
but not rotten
yellow leaves
or banana peels.
alluding to death
in little spits
of