Tuesday, January 17, 2006


the ways you treat me are ambiguous
and change daily
last week i was wrapped around you
and enjoying your mouth in mine

tonight your hands explore
my body familiarly
but no more
than anything a friend does
to another friend they feel
close to,
but share no spark
of passion.

i have made my feelings for you
as transparent as water.
you neither mirror my desires
not run away from them,
leaving me staring at your
beautiful face, like always
unable to see the answers.

Monday, January 16, 2006

desperate measures

sometimes it seems as though i've
simply taken a break
and any
day now
i'll walk back in the
door to your welcoming arms.
i know what i'm doing to myself
is torture but sadly enough
it seems to help

the ache of not seeing your face
light up with a smile when
you see me does not cease,
but sometimes i manage to
drown it out with the
right mix of drugs. i know
better this time.

trying to change things is like
attempting to turn my skin
right side in

you are
working too much and i know
what you're doing.
this semester i lost myself
and my grip

and i kept looking at the phone
and wishing so badly to hear
you speak on the
other end of the line.

there is no quick fix, no superglue
will hold this broken thing
i'll hold the shards
in a small box tucked away
in the back of the closet
so i won't think, too much
of you.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

a glimpse through the window

take a look see now
the tableau, the long fingers
that run over my body, what
does it say about me?
what does it say? enveloped
in arms, what do i feel and
how do i go from here?
my hair falls into my
face, candles flicker in
the darkness, the melancholy
notes filter down, nostalgic.

miss you, mirror, i hope you
are happy with him i wish
i could see you.

heart still
take a breath and start
listening and lie back down,
eyes closed and spinning.

Saturday, January 14, 2006

[auto]sarcophagy *

your mouth is bleeding
it wasn't intentional, you just
chewed it red,
a nervous
(guilty?) habit

you’ve done it for years
like your father before you
just another thing to make your sanity
: (maybe you’re due
for an inspection.)

you could do worse,
have before.
a hole-ridden mouth
is private, known only
to those who are too
not to taste.
but blood flows for you,
no way around it —
comes when you least want
the obligation,
down your arms and fingers, a
wristful of mental case

your bloody show
your life-like girl

blood becomes a lifestyle,
a way of crying
when the tears
won't flow, when
you fade

into numbness.

constant companion, friend
you always have
within arm's reach.
spill your life onto the paper,
ink, blood, passion, fingernails,
razorblade, tears, sweat, heartbreak

throw your wordy bloody gauntlet
down (you)
stupid fucking bleeding

*B.A. senior thesis poem.

for the uninitiated, the title basically means "self-cannibalism."
i am particularly smug about this one, i like it a lot.
(thesaurus power!)

Friday, January 13, 2006

privation *

this loss is physical it
hits the solar plexus, making the
air hard to


my vision swims but whether
from tears or
the ache you leave
in me
is unclear.

today i sat all day,
phone in front
of me on the counter.
do not want to hear the ring
which i already know will explode us
like a grenade held
in a soldier's hand, the
pin flung far.
my body feels what i will
not accept.

i have lost you. i
for the call that ends
our fragile, uncertain ties.
shake my shoulders as i wrap
my arms around
my gut wound,
stomach cramped,

and empty.
is this desire, mourning,
violent anger? my body
knows only the terrible

the void.

*senior thesis poem

Thursday, January 12, 2006

conflagration *

[part 1]
the cold eats through the
blankets, hats, gloves, but you
warm me so well i
let go these layers,
strip myself for you and burn us
both to ash, to bone.
my searing lips sprawl your small frame
on my bed

my thumbs on your nipples,
the buttons you love to loathe
that send
electricity down your
spine and through your arms
which attempt (but fail) to pin
my limbs.
you gasp. go on,
touch me. i won’t pull away.

i will burn us
to ash, to bone.
give me
power and your limp extremities
will twitch and jerk.
burn me, burn you
set us smoldering
and watch the sparks catch

in the white-hot heat of our connected hands.
scorch me now,
burn me, ash, bone, blood
burn you to nothing but
between us

burst into flames.

[part 2]

fire is
dangerous, but mostly
it elicits transformation — blistered palms,
sweaty faces,
flickering light that romanticizes
even the harshest
fingers snatch
from the flames or else
the burning sensation, the flames

jumping playfully from
to bonfire
realize, please, that all of this

with flames
will necessitate the fire
of untruths, the burning
keep the flaming show from setting
life afire, from

letting the searing heat out
so that others might
feel the touch
of fire
and be hypnotized
by the burn.

*senior thesis poem

Wednesday, January 11, 2006


hours spent passing back and forth
the hose of the hookah, aromatic tobacco
scenting the air, dreamy.
our voices rising excitedly,
gleaming tidbits of information,
learning more in an afternoon about
life, love and other idiosyncrasies
than semesters of college
ever could teach.
hours lived in a carefree, non-
obligated moment, a brief gasp
of eternity
long limbs, hands that encompassed
mine, feel of a length stretched
down your side, close, whole.
unconditional love, words whispered
in ears that do not demand
reciprocation, merely the knowledge.
sunshine in the afternoon
that glints off of your white pages,
blinding in the ecstasy of a
lazy walk through a moment,
a beautiful brick history that leads
to buildings with antiquity
where you channel knowledge
as a conduit that passes
through time.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

(last night i had) *

drinks in a stifling, smoke-choked
bar where i told a stranger we
should be friends. i am done

with subtlety. today, stale
cigarette smell clings to my
unwashed hair so i tie it back
to displace the offensive reek.
promises more smoke, a
whirlwind afternoon filled with
duties before drinking becomes
the only certainty in
the always-changing plan
of the night:
following the band van to another
disgusting bar to do the


thing i'm really up for—
watch the one who gives me
that fluttery feeling

on stage, singing into a mic,
stroking beauty out of the
mandolin with nimble fingers

*senior thesis poem