october.2009

we are fire, lungs autumnal with
stinging eyes into the dawn.
we have no legs to rest beneath us,
but turbines cutting against the ground.
now we’re spitting in the stairwells,
surrounded by another’s sound,
burning between the bricks and tree trunks
learning how to stick around.
and with our fingers thin as wire,
we’re strapping on our shoes of pin.
our necks bent towards the graces,
asking how to keep our stretch of skin.

{framed july.08}

photograph 8'' x 10''

that winter i fell into girls like relief & nicotine. i turned myself inside out looking for more to give while i pinned victory vertebre to sunken walls above blue ribbons and souvenirs. i knew all my sounds but forgot my cues & exits in the rush.
strung out between iron and ice i spun the bottle, fingers crossed for spring.

{chrysanthemum october.08}

chrysanthemum
the first words you learned barely
dribbled from your tongue
now you’re pushing off against the
setting of the sun
i won’t let you loose after all the
banners i have hung
chrysanthemum,
hold on chrysanthemum

i pressed your freckles in my palms as you
cascaded across the tides, and i,
I undid the masts that
tore you all too wide and i,
i painted your lips
with the winter’s hum,
chrysanthemum
i'll follow you,
chrysanthemum

{i feel it most in the sun may.08}

my mother spread her shoulder blades along fault lines and fossils before heading east and heading out. daughter of avocado-tinted contradictions she followed hollow-engine wrists over alphabet cities and garden skylines. my mother folded cardboard castles in nostalgia's stony backyard before strapping on tradition for travesty.
sometimes I feel her wanderlust waxing warnings between bones and sun-tight skin but. it's not a need for change just another excuse wrecking myself under the pretense of knowing better next time. I hold on to space after I know it's dangerous and I still gravel-down-gravitate to places I know can hurt me but like her, I just want to keep looking.

count it up

in my long list of faces i've held up:
little one
baby
sugar
cunt
shorty
witch
beautiful
kid
sweet lips
ani
rootbeer
slut
clementine
deluxe
slow talker pillow queen
impy
sage
cheeta

it's great to not have to write my own resume.

{i can speak for myself april.08}

now I remember how little
heat you radiate
when you’re silent
and you’ve lost your shape

{we were fashioned from terra cotta july.07}

your teeth let me know it will never be the same as
the summer we were renegades in your attic room
little pieces of you falling away into my open palms and
i kept them-
i kept you fossilized upon a high-up shelf
now your sighs are dreadful and unbearable
they hang archaic from the beams above our heads
i don’t remember your mouth always being this stale,
i know i tried to fill you with breath
to the brim-
to the point of overflowing
i can tell you need something but you’ve gotten to feel too safe
your reassurances are too restricting
it's only alright because of how you fold into me