beach 6, pt ii

there was a letter i wrote
and destroyed for you
the contents escape me
but they were probably a declaration
of love with a strong dramatic flair
the destruction dramatic as well
but i suppose destruction usually is

i wonder what you felt that day
at the edge of the water
when i took your picture looking out
and slipped a rock into my pocket
which now lives on my bookshelf
with other stolen pieces of your state

that day’s long enough gone that
i can’t remember specific words
just gloomy skies and quiet
and a lake so deceptively calm
i would not have guessed
its capacity for sinister whispers

tonight in the car we got a call
a girl in our community hanged herself
most of us hadn’t seen her
since she moved back from pennsylvania
but the fallout will be huge and terrible
dex is on the couch smoking in silence
staring upwards into unreality

he says it’s weird knowing someone
who actually went through with it
knowing so many people
who think about it
or talk about it
or try, a little
but don’t

all those artists we love who died
are more like historical figures
true grief has a less heroic flavor
than the distant loss of a person
who gave you a gift, not personally
but collectively

the letter, i tore it up and hid the pieces
the day you said that hurtful thing
angry that it sat unread for so long
and that the words could leave your lips
as easily as paper flowers rip
it’s a regret, small but necessary
given a second chance, i would not
unsay or destroy any words
i ever meant to offer you

and maybe it felt like that
for you, that day at the lake
every time we speak i recognize
that i almost didn’t get to know you
thank you for continuing to hold on


bed bath & beyond: a play in four acts

i’ll shave my legs
because radical feminists don’t
three inches above the knee
because nice girls don’t
wouldn’t be a part of any club
that might have me
i’ll run a brush through my hair
but it won’t mean anything

i have received your message
and look forward
to our future partnerships
although i must admit
a certain reluctance
to trade this book for black lace

selah

and the flipside
depilate and moisturize
if there’s fucking to be done
there’s plucking to be done
these boys they love a smooth leg
and if your skin ain’t soft
you might as well kill yourself

the price of beauty is high
you’ve seen the tiny cuts
around the ankle
the ones that just won’t stop

still i feel so low
but who cares
this isn’t about me
this is about pretty

i could not have done this
in march
this is lavender scented lotion
and
i couldn’t afford a different bottle

selah

this morning i woke up and nothing
was wrong
i lit a cigarette and remembered
war exists and we are still sick

but those first two minutes
were perfect calm
sunrise on pale skin
nightborn halitosis
and quick-flashed memories
of ecstatic rope and saliva
unmatched pieces of a semicolon

selah

i tell the doctor it hurts
when i press here
she says, then don’t.

i’ve had better responses to mirrors

hunched on a brokeback couch
with a clutched cigarette
i get what he was going for
but when i read poetry
i want something more sensory
or emotional
he says, it was emotional for me
but these emotions are new
and nameless and abstract
i’m not annoyed
some people don’t like cilantro
or yellow, or swimming
but it was like reading a photo album
the pictures are pretty
but i feel nothing
i smell nothing
i can’t taste it
looking down
for the first time
i notice age spots on my hands
so i walk to the bedroom
and leave the door open
while i change into a turtleneck
and high-waisted jeans
it feels like a book of liminal spaces
he says
like hallways
that’s what i love about it

this one weird trick

you can stay up late playing video games
you can quit your diet and eat white bread
nobody cares that you didn’t shower
you never have to take your clothes off

there’s a secret language
which can shorten life expectancy
you’ll feel better having learned it
so much taller and braver
with those words in your head

he said why do you think
i am so fascinated with deep sadness

because you’ve never really suffered
your life has been rainy
but never stormy
and never for long

yes but that was months ago
still just a song pushed from an angry throat
with visions of prisons within prisons
how do you like the weather now
now that you’ve seen a tornado

at least there was movement

a point of exhaustion where
you have chills and two lumps
rising on your head and all
you can think about is
how he tangles up in you
when you go to sleep at night
the short distance feels
impossible to cross baby i
miss your body next to mine
i have tried so hard for naught
i never said what it means to me
all those times fitted together i
am so sorry i
am in too much pain to speak i
am nothing without the darkness i
am nothing without your body i
am nothing

i never dream about the mountains

might be there’s a lesson
about choosing to move forward
walking on blisters
trundling forward
on nothing but the sheer hope
that there’s an oasis
in the next mile

strange to think we loved each other
in interesting times
that if we all survive this
the memory will be infected
with the ones who were the closest

strap on the time helmet
take me back to the moment
we first spoke and i knew
something about you something
important my mind and heart
stumbled for a moment who
is that why did the record skip

tell me the story then and see
how well i believe you
love is not an easy thing
to understand love
is not an easy thing

here i am with the blisters
here i am

wildheart

in the beginning
she sent everyone out of the room
and asked me: do you believe
in demons?
i’ll answer your question, i said
but first we have to define
what a demon is

i asked her: why
did you steal the patient list
from the nurses’ station
she said, they had mugshots of us
why can’t they just remember our names

do you need anything while you’re in here?
yes. send me a priest.

truth or time or bodies or enlightenment or awareness or

my love are you still
breathing in the depths
somewhere in my spirit
i have missed our talks
under water dark as ice
just a short swim away
from the city of lights
i never got to visit

you told me if i left that day
i would never be able to return
and there were so many people
waiting to meet me down below
my love is that where i will go
when i fall asleep for the last time
is that what you meant
i didn’t want to leave

this vague distance drowns me
too many times i linger
on the thought of what you’d say
to all this mess to me as I am
i wonder if you’d be proud of me
i wonder if you are proud of me

my love i am dying of thirst
please tell me one more time
what we’re talking about
when we talk about water

nocturne: the sea appears at a certain depth

language practice
in a grimy diner
laughing at gibberish
she followed me out
to film the parking lot
aspin behind the camera
i joined the dancers
dizzy with cobblestones
cutting our feet bloody
i caught branches to swing
in the soft grey damp
floating upward becomes natural
if you let go of gravity
a simple matter of pointing
head as compass and engine
to rocket into the blue
three layers of rush and zoom
past mandalas of cloud
to the inverted Sea above
i paused hovering
a vertical straight line
vibrating as you taught me
knowing if i broke the surface
you’d be there waiting
and i cried out your name
as my head touched the water
i crowned with a yelp
into consciousness
in which universe do i find myself
this time around
same cup of coffee
same yellow dog
please come back
it’s been too long