Posts

Birthday Suit

Let me be transparent Super fucking clear  I knew the moment I saw you Again That every moment had to be seared into my guts, gentle organ scars, the kind that people tell you are cool,  But when you know the story  how they’re carved:  To love them  You’d be a fool    Still I remember,  In delicate moments (when I want you)  But should know better that  My knowledge of you is detailed,  Even in the skipped years When I filled my imagination with  Expectations derailed  of our missed big life  Structurally sound  The one we knew  (Know…) Could’ve been perfect (for us)  Like how we fit  Down to every single bit.  But time is cruel  I’m as much butterfly as mule.  Bear and fly, weightless I try  To give you up  Your grinning ghost  Always doing the very specific most  At parties or with your dudes  Every single one of your moods:  Never moody, hiding your broody  But this last  Last time  I saw a glimpse  Simple, a lil blue of  The less than effervescent, sparkle free you  It was kind

Helium

There’s an element that makes us Lighter than air Fills parties with colorful joy,  Objects of desire  For each lil girl and boy.  Light and floaty, easy and true Primary colors Red, yellow and blue  But if you know what I know,  You know  What it really can do. Silence. Restful Silence. Sinister delight  And I’m so exhausted  That I just might. 

Brown Girl, with Freckles

They always told you you had skin just light enough to be high-ish yellow, a nose big enough not to pass, but to pass as beautiful and hair curly enough to be straight when required.  The sun-kissed you with a dark freckle right by that nose, your first year. So you were ok. It didn't matter how your cousin touched you, because he was a kid and you were a lil'er kid and that was just playin, right, doctor? And no one wants to admit damage of those goods before it is time to damage them. ...To forge you, the iron sword you would become, from yellow to a golden bone (Nothing matters as long as you use that murky-colored ground to create a middle space: safe, still light skin'ted)

The Rewind Machine (Pine Grove)

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What I need From our future machine  Isn’t in your mechanics Pedantic antics  Those wheels and cogs don’t respond when vigorously stirred, lines blurted   Years of scribbling to you  and for you  on bar napkins Tossed in bins,  black screens with orange font Never knowing what the fuck you want  Old school  College labs, notebooks:  every color of the rainbow  Shit you’ll never know  I lived for you,  But died for me  All for the love you didn’t see  The truth is… I need you here, near, dear  in it with me and in me.    No fear.  Pine My branches are thin,  but can hold a heavy load Your snow, my wind  and all the truth we spin  Identical waning gibbous moons poison bloom, ripped paper cranes   Fire dragon blood, cool blue Neptune In remembered kisses  Lips stained: teenage dirtbag red  Still I wanted you  Wrapped around me in every bed   Pine My branches are bending,  I hold a heavy load Your touch, my rain  In the foggy distance  We were blending  Dissolved  parallel minds open   To

The Rewind Machine (OpUS, Undefined)

I looked up the word pine,   Asked Siri, hoping   she’d have only one definition,  “fresh scented trees, often found on Alpine slopes,”  the kind coveted by  monied, tall Europeans swishing between pretty death traps on sticks,  boards or wheel-free wieldy mobiles  avoiding injury or worse:  breaking altogether.  I didn’t want the other definition, because if undefined, if ignored,  I could spend another 25, 30 years,  avoiding its tickle  at the back of my throat.  Its tingle at the base of my spine, intoxicating, icy, spicy kundalini.  But looking up at you: My pretty rewind machine  You are the perfect height, eyes locked perfect fit, bodies entangled perfect scent, fresh and rugged 1793 miles and less than two days is a gap  that changes nothing  When I remember standing  next to you (or laying)  hands clasped.  It’s pure  like snow immaculately, immortally  dressing those trees’ spiked jade needles, releasing winter pine’s intoxicating beauty, Beloved. In this most undefined us, I