i wish i could
sing.
i would stand in the corner
and rasp
the blues.
i would tear through
the air
like a fog
roaring
bay-bee: take me back

steal me
away from this place
steal me

inside ( Read more... )

so. somehow i did it: made it to the top of a mountain and back down again ( Read more... )

i used my yearbook to fill out a form and so of course i looked in it ( Read more... )

if i have
these questions,
if i am full
of squigged lines
and points
of punctuation,
what do i do?
if they start
to spill over,
slip down my cheek,
drip from my lip,
should i catch them?
would my desperation
to keep them in
be in vain?
or do they
defy gravity
and really just
f l o a t ?
if i have these questions,
should i ask them
or will they
ask

an infection
of the eye
has left me
constantly spilling
tears.
i wonder now
if its no longer
an infection
of the eye
but one
of the heart.

tics, like the rips
frm a bear's claw,
mark our
time in intervals
undescribed.
one, two.
three,
four.
is its accuracy
a coincidence?
i am meant to
rest, bleed from
four short wounds,
but on my back,
i cannot see them.

its not like last time ( Read more... )

sometimes i get joy ( Read more... )

it feels
like a whisper
so strange
when it happened
tickles
though my ears
some unsettling
truth
so close to my body
soft and harsh
it was all wrong
but i miss it