would you take me back, north carolina?

were you sylvia then, or sexton?
was i dorothy, shoeless, or the inscription writer hiding in the eaves?
i still write love poems to you even though we never were lovers,
only twins broken apart by lovers that were not eachother but  who knew us as two halves,
even when we were in thirds and sixteenths and fragmented across bordering statelines-
me ( Read more... )

we will riot on the curb, the flash-magnet lust of virile bodies plunging into one another ( Read more... )

i've got the lonesome day blues in apartment 406 ( Read more... )

remember the tick-tock summer of teenage blunders, of antique blouses and dramatic antihero romances, our thighs sticking to the backseats of beach-bound stationwagons? this is when grammar flew its flawed trajectory from pink glossy lips and landed on a swingset in the rich part of town where we found music hidden under the sand beneath our toes. ( Read more... )

she has post traumatic love bite disorder, crazy cap and gown goodbye fantasies where football players with dirty knees scream her name from behind her... laughing, the page boy drunk girl soberly flies through the cafe on winged tortoise shoes, black lined eye dreams gazing at the sullen chocolate-skin boy shoo'ing flies away from his coffee and ( Read more... )

someday i'm gonna stay
but not today.

soon the thick chocolate leaves will line the tree trunk bottoms,
night will seem closer to afternoon
and ill be far away
in another time
where september cant find me
beneath the bubbling volcano
zig-zagging through the rain
smoking a cigarette
and thinking of someone
who is not
you.

fine. well then, here i come. just try and stop me.

September 12th, 2008. 
[all could have been different.]

[r.i.p. Laurel.]