Airborne

words sit perched on the tip of my tongue, 

and into the cold world. lifted by a slight exhale, 
we see these words flutter to a spark
that rests within the lining of your coat. 
i pray for my words to linger there long enough 
to ignite and send the exact meaning of what i am trying 
to confess throughout your body. 
my words, airborne and alive, 
search within your warmth for a spot to untangle 
it's punctuation and truly come alive.

Artist and Tenant

i'd like to trace a map

on your skin with the

tip of my finger. it sounds

like this has been done before

but not with your skin, and

not with my finger. we ought

to create this picture.

i'd like to etch a canvas

of vast wonders and rolling

hills on the curve of your

shoulder blade and create this

every lasting river that would work

it's way through the buckles

of your spine. i want to draw

these feverish trees 

that would outstretch to grasp your own

arms, a companionship. i want to

live in the picture, be warmed

by your warmth. i want to be the

artist and the tenant. i'd

like for you to carry this picture

around under your clothes and bring

it back to me to further explore.

i want to find pieces of you

finding pieces of me and

then our fingertips could create

a different kind of picture,

a mix matched image of each other.

Painfully Passionate

i fled my own train of thought becuase i knew the rails were leading to a brick wall that looked a lot like your calloused hands. i feared your video game tactics and the way you could manipulate my body to forget what my heart and brain were screaming. my pulse lied, quickened in rapid succession, blurring my mind to reel in what could've possibly been pain or passion. i've always been painfully passionate about you. the idea caused a rubber necking affect, and i surely had put my neck on the line one too many times for you. a tell tale sign of masochistic tendencies did brew like a pot of burnt coffee on my countertop nexted to my stale depiction of us.

You Look As If You Don't Believe in the Beach

You look as if you don't believe in the beach. 
You've got an indicative tone with the way 
you consult the sky and how you try to define 
it's line where it may or may not meet the edges of the world. 
There is a constant shifting being applied to everything
 you hear as if the world is out to get you.

An overcautious prowl with a quick whip attitude

you go looking for trouble, get into trouble, stay in trouble.

There is a pocket full of questions, the right side of your jeans.

You debate the jean vs. gene theory with yourself.

You tell me all of your concerns.

There are a lot of concerns.

You doubt your existence.

And mine.

The forced attention on the beauty

within yourself is fading quickly.

Your attention is demanded elsewhere.

You demand to be elsewhere.

Where beaches don't exist.

And you can play in the concrete. 

Shaker Full of Mixed Emotions

A thunderous feeling rolls in just behind the temples and as if its an expert in Morse code it sends tiny vibes throughout the mind telling the body to react. A wave of indifference shocks the system causing an instant recoil. Contemplation creeps up the spine and forces the shoulder to edge forward. Knees shake, a personal quake, and bring the body down to a slump. The angel and devil combo, that once rested on the perch of shoulders, now battles in the gut and costs the body an arms worth of mental anguish. The body strives for a certain company, longs for rain without an umbrella, but the mind and it's logic beg for shelter. A constant dog pile of thought and feeling. A shaker full of mixed emotions and not a single cocktail glass in sight. 

Froth From Your Words

The manipulation is stronger than salt here but burning the wounds just the same. There is pain in the words as they froth from your mouth and into my direction. I can feel the weight of that froth on my skin and soon it'll cool and stain and I will be reminded of such malice every time I look in the mirror. I've been avoiding my reflection because of the place you have decided to settle behind my eyes. I can't help but see little flecks of you in my complexion. You've become a sort of virus, attaching yourself to the likes of me. I am trying to become unlikeable in spite of you so that I can carry myself, alone, and you in a brief case. A case, that I can see myself so clearly, taking to the overpass and letting it fly like a fourth of July rocket and you will no longer be artificially noble to me. 

Covered in Pent Up Static

a dark cloud rolls in and your presents is italicized by the way my entire body revolts our must-have interaction. i recoil into myself, keeping all ill-mannered words at bay because the ruining of you would in fact ruin me, i'm trying to be a bigger person. the veil of immense discomfort envelopes me and i'm pleading with a morbid mailman to send me on my way because i can't be here without getting myself into trouble over you. i'm secretly sending daggers in your direction with my mind but the contours of my cranium are covered in static of pent up anger that i think by the time they land on your awful hair style they are no sharper then a toothpick. my mind is as powerful as a cupcake when inflamed in an energy so toxic, i am probably causing myself internal bleeding.  i am bartering with any super natural force that will hear me out and help you vanish from my life, however i think they might been a little too keen on the entertainment my self loathing is providing them while you continue to linger in the spotlight of my day. sometimes i wish my days were like a Shakespearean play and we could all just die with great creativity, and i would have a soliloquy telling the audience just how much pain you are causing me.

Unconcerned Concerns, Concerning You

i am beginning to be unconcerned with the concerns that once concerned me, and this in itself can be awfully concerning. i am not considering the weight of such entanglements to be daunting as a bear trap that everyone seems to make them out to be. i understand the pros and cons of life and that every up in fact has a down, but that's gravity, i am beginning to be unconcerned with gravity as well, i guess. the concerns that concern us don't consider us in the matter, they create blunders and pressure when we cannot demand to be left alone. i am disregarding the concerns that weigh me down, that keep me up at night, that create the sort of lurking feeling. i am beginning to be unconcerned with the concerns that once concerned me and this doesn't concern me whatsoever.

Won't You Snack on Me

sometimes i think our life is like a bowl of popcorn and the only thing keeping us together is the lightness of it's structure. other times we're like a bag of chips and everything is crumbling and we're all full of air but then we deflate and the lightness returns. i prefer when we're like a bowl of pretzels, all twisted up in each other. sometimes we feel half full and i realize that one of us is more involved in the other and devouring everything we've created, there is a lightness in this as well, but unlike the fluff i feel suffocated in the uncertainty of a refill. your mouth is like a soft drink and can make me pop and fizz. food for thought, won't you snack on me?

Mermaids for Adidas, Mermen for Wrist Watches

Acidic mermaids day dreamed 

about wearing Adidas while polishing

their scaly tales on a hunk of rock,

shaped like a nipple, just above the

water. While mermen sloshed about

just below the rock's crust under the water, 

waiting to maul their accomplishments with 

their Triton tongues. For mermen day dreamed

of wearing watches, but the fancy kind with a date

stamp and compass, not the all inclusive waterproof

brand that would further entrap them within their

watery existences. Acidic mermaids dreamed of

layups and mermen wanted so badly to splash them

with court side puddles.  Mermen wanted the opening

and closing of legs while mermaids were willing to

split their tails in no time. Everyone with different agendas

while wearing shoes and watches. 

Highlighting The Human Condition

streaks of light come through the window and i'm not sure why they chose to be here. if i was light i would frolic where the colours are waiting for me to stroke them alive. these streaks of light coming through the window are only heating my depression and i'm not sure i could get any more uncomfortable. i want to ask them, what is your purpose? are they in fact tiny particles on a class trip, highlighting the human condition and lightly laughing at the words: fetal position. streaks of light come through the window and i don't have the will power to roll over to the other side of the bed where your shadow lies.

My Sponsor Doesn't Find This To Be True

I stumble over you to get to know you because I think you'll tolerate me more when I am drunk. I confess endless amounts of love to you with the clink of a half empty glass because I think you'll find my wine stained lips to be much truer than my sober ones. I order another cocktail just to get your attention, and when I've got both, I drink em right up. I swirl the ice in the shallow of my glass to keep your eyes fixated on my, like toying with a cat with a laser pointer. I hiccup with anticipation, for another sip of you or this or that could make me absolutely wasted. I am an alcoholic for your love. My sponsor doesn't find this to be true. 

Beg Me to Live Inside

the buildings tend to lurch like monsters as the shrinking sun says goodnight. i become weary with each broken pane of glass i see, tattered on window sills of once so-lovely creations. if those buildings could talk would they beg me to live inside of them, to keep my secrets in their walls. would they not only house me, but love me, as i do admire them in the rise and fall of the ever changing sun. the buildings here, look like vikings, strong and spent. i see the love they have thrown away in order to rise tall. the buildings here tend to lurch like monsters, 

and i see my reflection in the broken glass of their structures.

My Love Drinks Because of You

a drunken confession of sober love. a drunken courage concurring sober fear. there is a sort of strength that you embody with each swig of beer, and there is a sort of lust that approaches with each sip of wine. i have this lusty strength for you. a sober thought while i'm half in the bag. i stumble in the right direction to make all of the wrong moves. i fumble with my phone to make out the right sentences to you, and in return, all the wrong spelling breaks my heart. a sense of calmness when i am usually so anxious around you. a loose affection, wound so tightly under the influence of both heart and substance. my love lacks this vigor when i am jaded by my conscious self, but in the blanket of absolution… i can surrender and love you more openly and more wildly, more possessively and intently than any sober love in me could ever do.. and to that and to you, I drink because of you.

To Be The Condensation On Your Beer Bottle

the condensation appeared on your beer bottle. your hand grasped it and there was a slight clench of your wrist as you tried not to drop it. i encouraged with my eyes, trying to force your grasp to weaken and send that bottle crashing, so that I could appear and be your hero. you were stronger than the power of my eyes. the bottle raised to your lips and i willed myself to feel refreshed, as if you were sipping me down the length of your being. i longed to be the condensation on your beer bottle so that i could cling to your skin and remain until your heat evaporated me into your atmosphere. i imagined the sky then slowly blooming into darkness and the clouds releasing me down upon you in big heaping raindrops. I would pray for the sun to stay away as I cling to your beard and you ran for cover.

Love in Small Quantities

My love for you is a lot like my weekend to do list, it’s made up of a lot of little things but those little things usually have a much bigger affect on my days then you’d actually think. My love for you is fleeting, but present. It conjures up these raw and often metallic like sensations, festering quickly and gone just as fast. My love for you is icy and hot. It’s like a perfect fall day when you step in a puddle. I love you in the tiniest of quantities, like the way I love a raindrop on the tip of my eyelashes.

I love you like,

- A 1-ounce shot of tequila

That very first shot of the night that goes right to your head and burns the top of your throat for just one wonderful second, but ultimately leads to more 1 ounce shots and less burning..

I love you like,

- Two swipes of my purple lipstick, the kind that makes me feel like a mermaid and daring all the way up to the end of the night without ever having to reapply.. because starting the night off with a plum lip and going home with a lavender one smelling like bourbon is certainly a treat..

I love you like,

- the last cigarette of the night, the one that lights your tongue on fire and concludes an excellent concoction of mixed drinks and beer in the pit of your stomach..

I love you like,

- a hole in my stocking that is seemingly cute until the next time I wear them and I try to recollect why, just why did I let that happen..

I love you like,

- the tail end of my favourite song, and the trick the music does making you believe there is still two minutes left until it brings you up and knocks you down and 50 Cent comes on..

I love you like,

- avocados, because I never have a concrete answer for just how much I like everything about an avocado..

I love you like,

- change jingling in my pocket and the way the coolness feels against my fingers when I'm walking home and have this sudden urge to feel something..

I love you like when the street lights flicker on and then off again.

I love you like when someone has over paid the parking meter and I get to park for free.

I love you like when there is still enough ice cream in the carton for one more bowl.

I love you like returning my library books on time.

I love you like a fresh pot of coffee.

I love you like a brand new day.

I love you quickly and impulsively and spontaneously but absolutely wholly and entirely.

Lousy Lie of Tiredness

i was deeply impressed by the way it looked like you were swimming in a sea of butter yellow cloth when you awoke, stretching beside me. i closed my eyes lightly, so that my eyelashes would feather at the top of my cheeks, that you wouldn't see any sign of 'scrunch' because i had been watching you for hours. you nudged me and smiled, i opened my eyes with a lousy lie of tiredness but you didn't call my bluff and cooed about the day, half wasted, that you didn't mind and that we could stay in the sea of yellow, our own private oasis, for the whole day if i pleased. i wanted that. you and me, inside the coolness of my comforter. clinging to each other on our very own life raft as we traveled through a day together in our own little mission; bed bath and beyond.

Pep Talk / Personal Superbowl

there was something wonderfully wrong about the way things were going, everything was not as it seemed, things appeared cracked and closer then they actually were, like the mirrors on a beat up getaway car. there was a slow unravel of my surroundings and it hung loosely, casting a seductive veil like a promiscuous move of a slightly older out of shape women. this feeling was omnipresent. i'd be squeezing a tough avocado at the market and know it was there lingering, and when i spun a teaspoon in my black coffee-- as if i was adding that feeling to the liquid to consume and harbor inside of me. there was a beautiful out of sort-ness that was matter of fact in my routine and as much as i tried to ignore it, i felt as if it was oozing from my pores, a condensation, reveling my unexpected hot and coolness toward the sinking ship of my character. there was something perpetually blooming inside of me and as i involuntarily tried to slink out from under it i hadn't realized all along, all along that time of weirdness, i was there reigning right over it, on top of myself, hands full of my own shirt collar yelling into my own face like a crazed football couch about to win the Superbowl.

Lace Doused in Honey

she wore a stained red lip anytime she went out, it highlighted the lies she was about to tell. making up occupations and heart breaks that sounded like lace doused in honey. she was incredibly smokey and appeared like a black widow spider, all purring and warm so she could make love to you and then devour the contents of your brain, the contents she had created and placed there, leaving you with a scar that looked like chewed bubble gum left on the pavement on a hot summer day. her heels matched her fingernails, the claws of a lioness. she clicked them on surfaces, as if a siren's call, luring anyone into her grasp. she could be meek and humble and compassionate and kind, but once she shed her serpent's skin she was tough and mean and fierce and irrational. she adored pain, feeling and inflicting it. she was empty and full all at the same time, like a gun always being shot and loaded. she had no real plans or desires, no real motives or agendas.. she was deeply unsatisfied with herself and only found redemption in the demeaning of others. twisted and ragged, she was exactly what people found enticing and was a pretty little trap for anyone looking for solace in a black cloud.

 

Beach Boys in the Hood

beach boys in the hood looking for some waves to ride. hoodlums in the sky looking for their Lucy. mustard stains on yellow tops, nothing really changes. hook up the Nintendo do your state of mind. dance around the hour glass because who even use these things to tell time. homeless people in their homes waiting for new lives. people with their roofs looking for new sky. stepping in a puddle as the rain comes crashing down. driving to drive, sitting to sit down. getting up to go, but always coming back. ketchup stain on the toe of your red shoe.. and nothing really changes, while everything is brand new.