Thursday, October 27, 2005

insomniac *

watching others sleep
in a strange house
amounts to: alone
so i mouth the word
in every
language i have a grasp on.

solamente, seulement.

my breathing
is the only noise because i've
muted the television

my limbs
graze the sofa,
and clink ice in my glass.
wince when
every gesture i make
echoes through the living room
when i walk, and the soft pads of my feet
thump against the bare wooden floors
but i know
no sound really matters.

the toilet flush and my restless shifting
in your bed did not disturb before, and so i won't
annoy you now with whisper-soft footfalls
or the sneaky hiss and hum of
the refrigerator
when i refill
the ice
for my scotch

although it doesn't stop
me from attempting silence like
the intruder it seems i am when
i see you two curled
around each other
shrimp cocktail

when four hours ago, i was holding

will the alcohol
do for a sleep aid, or do i
to smoke myself into
the tv light flickers
across my book’s pages. tonight is chilly outside
and ideal for the kind of rambling, blind
pacing i plan on engaging in, losing myself up
and down the streets, through your unknown
neighborhood, until my
body is worn and collapsing.
sleep (or not), heavenly fucking peace.

*senior thesis poem.

yes, i realize, at some point, i have no doubt titled another poem (or two) the same thing...
this is the one with "insomniac" as the official title. official, as in published.
to be frank, titles are very fluid with me. i tend to either get stuck on one thing (no matter how bad) or change it countless times. or to pick something randomly, stick it on there, and years later be so confused when i come across the weirdest working titles in the universe. it is, without fail, the very last thing i edit on a poem.

Wednesday, October 26, 2005

type O[negative] *

october music

her down in her niche,
she feels herself
back in.

hello blood,



becomes a memory. it does not seem
to matter the little sleep she had
the night
was really

coming down
from stimulant, hallucinogen,


she tries
not to
sleep. it feels,
more permanent, a
forceful takeover
each morning requires


snatches, terrifies her
here it comes, she can feel

the signs. the middle,
tripfall—this is less certain.
the madness,
an endless thing
takes her over

it will only be
later, through the recollections of others
that she will remember anything at all.

*senior thesis poem

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

what we do not let ourselves feel

it's to do with fingertips, the travel
on skin
up and down, light enough to
tickle, the hesitance.
it's to do with kisses so soft they
don't even pucker , but brush me
and leave goosebumps
in their wake. it's to do with
being awakened in the night
just to touch and be touched -
the realization that i have been
caressed the entire night through.
it's the new attractiveness of melting,
stuck together with sweat,
that look you give me when i
appear to be paying no attention.
it's to do with what i can feel for
someone silently, on the other end
of the couch, while you burn away
(but keep to your side, to be polite)

Monday, October 24, 2005

it only hurts when i make you cry*

i realize now how much i missed
fingerpainting my blood into
i am what i am,
(i do not pretend otherwise)

a warning, of sorts
prophecy, if you will.

can’t stand
to see your face
when you fail to tie me
together, helpless against the
of the razors, the
tremor of my hands, the tears or
the haze when
i lose myself.

i do
not get close.

i say it
like a mantra
(someone else will come first)

leaving be necessary, my
is well-rehearsed.

my oft-repeated organized flight
into my small,
dark mind where my blood
cements everything,
black is always my color.

i begin to sink
into my wonderland.
take my drugs as i like it,
feel the tingling limbs jerk
feeble response.
i am not nearly numb enough, no.
i do not know if i ever will be.
i pull
my sleeves
over my slashed arms.
i do cut and mutilate myself and
it is none of your business.


*part of my senior B.A. thesis. yes, i was highly controversial.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

i really can't*

love (no, not
at all, not
even a little,
okay, maybe,
maybe i do.) you

*senior thesis poem

Saturday, October 22, 2005


this is a pretty predicament,
an ironic note too good
to be kept quiet,
oh why
didn't i see it before. my
cunt has walked me into
another way to shatter my heart.
i will fill my small self
full of bittersweet memories.
i will let you know the capacity,
the meaning of the moments
i carefully hoard.
hand in mine, rub thumb
to fingertip, lips to palm, feel
the pull of warm body
pressed to you, holding
arms, crooked smile.

Friday, October 21, 2005

white quartz dawn

if you have not made the trip then
i cannot give you a clear picture.
the blurry pre-dawn light, your
headlights on and ineffectual -
it is still night for you. you
have not yet slept. you are
fresh from your lover's arms,
skin prickling in the relatively cool air
of the morning, makeup smeared
down your face. your roommates
greet your bleary night face with
morning energy.
eyes blurring, head
pounding with all the reasons
you had to leave and all the
reasons you wanted to fiercely beg
her to let you stay.
the incident
is inconsequential. it does not matter
why you left or why you
could not stay.
the only thing left
is the utter isolation of being
the only person awake from the night before
as the sun streams through your curtains
and the rest of the world awakens, drives
to work and drinks their coffee.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

[tweaked and unhinged]

i could speak of blood, but
you have heard it ad infinitum
from me.
i could speak of love, but
i have none to speak of,
save something that flutterwings
around, transparent and intangible
so that even your arms, strong
as they are, cannot cement this,
nor our expectantly fearful faces.
i could speak of loneliness, but
it cannot be described concretely
enough for you to see me
knees drawn up, feet resting on
the sideboards of my bed, i tight
in my corner, four am, the realization
that i will be sleeping alone.
i will not speak of blood, fascinated
though i may be, or of love because
i have no one to speak about.
loneliness one can imagine, or remember.
i don't know why i am speaking,
or about what. i have only two
certainties: my room is too silent,
and i wish you were holding me.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

i’ve been marked by better than you*

but suddenly it is your absence
bruises me, although my hips
still ache with the insistence of
your touch last night,

and oh,
i have to let this go
i see
the way it plays out.

you left
as the sun was coming
up and i am still not
tired i am
jit tery awake
exhausted, knowing that the day
will begin again, in only a few hours.
i am beginning to think
i am meant for

*senior thesis poem

Monday, October 17, 2005


i can't
leave a secret be, i pull myself into
hiding places, the cold wide metal ladder
on the third floor ascending to forgotten
i lose myself in, the hole in the ceiling
leading to boards laid, not nailed
across rafters which lead to
steep wooden ladders, unattached, and rickety
with age.
light filters only
through the supporting framework for the
rose window, the two tiny arched gothic windows
covered by wire to deter
the birds
and bats.
and i sit
on the highest point i can reach, the
narrow walkway slatted with ancient boards, nailed
by long-dead men,
which raise the highest
arch of the interior, the soaring ceiling
i now sit over.

my phone glowing in the dusty
i called her, whispered
i miss you
to her recorded voice,
may as well talk
to myself in the mirror, but even
my looking glass is
any private place
may do, but tonight's
the burrow that lies
on the top of cathedral arches,
the hole i lie in
to hide the abscess at
my core,
[wholly, holy, holey]

*in my thesis, edited quite a bit, but the original intent is all there.

Saturday, October 15, 2005


spoon with me,
side is fine
i just want you all
hot body pressed
to mine, i want
warm naked skin
next to me all night

goosebumps though i'm sweating,
i want
small lithe frame
wildly escaping hair
come on, lie
next to me all night

let our bodies ballet
in the slow languor of sleep
or we'll stay awake laughing,
and kissing, together
all night

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

do not deny *

the message
gets mangled in the afterglow.

the glint of white, iris, pupil
that flicks to your eyes, arms,
[guiltily into] eyes

cannot become the cure,
or the substitute
for the blade
you’ve taken to your crying veins.

nothing can be.

you have
tasted a poison sweetly sinister
it settles into you
nothing else
will do.

let the red
run. coping systems die hard, or
seldom do. the virus goes under-
ground, unchecked,
unnoticed for

until you find yourself again
crouching down, spilling your blood.

how, then, do you
learn to let it go?
vividly visual wristual evidence
that screams out no, i
am not okay.
(thank you
for noticing)

how do you live
without it?
the familiar
burning ritual,
the nod
to the fuckup inside?

stand straight,
tall, proud.

bear your scars.

*senior thesis poem

Wednesday, October 5, 2005


sometimes i wish as
you walk to your car i would
move to your side and
tell you how lovely you are.
you do not know that
i stare at you in class and
imagine you were
willing to agree on how
lovely we could be.
beauty like yours should not be
wasted on a man like that.

Saturday, October 1, 2005

places of power

in my mind this building
pulses, it holds the revered -
the powers that make certain places
sing the spiritual.
energy abides here, the thousands
of yearnings of centuries of reverence3
to deities has gifted this place
a hum that's bittersweet
and attracts those searching
for more.
days ago we discussed the meaning
i said there wasn't one,
because in all the chaos
i have found the patterns, but
even these do not have answers,
only order.
i pick up the resonance,
but this, too holds no answers,
just energy that i
cannot hold,
only the knowledge
that the supernatural exists.
i let it touch me