Tuesday, December 26, 2006

the new apartment

mostly empty room,
just a mattress set
i've seen so often
i have it memorized,
and you and i.
not touching
at first, both nervous,
probably shy
remembering, together
happier times, interrupted by
the same woman who's now
interrupting you

but i had to touch you, run
fingers through your close-
cropped hair and let you know
i meant it when i said
i love you
a year ago

Wednesday, December 13, 2006


skimming clouds,
blotting spilled water
from my books and my jacket 0
the water's vivid on the leather
staining the color dark.
i don't want to be here, but then
again, i don't look forward to
my destination. and although
i'm damp, i see this as a sanctuary
cramped as my feet may be,
where i may watch the sun fire
the horizon.
and maybe last night,
i was too drunk to catch the joke, or
maybe it was on the inside
i'm no longer part of,
but i feel you're laughing
at me.
stuck, suspended between
two places i do not belong.

Tuesday, December 5, 2006

your knife waits

it's either
a sharp, bottom-of-pit
or a nauseatingly
full slosh these days,
and though no one mentions
because of course you're aren't
really all that thin
[all things considered]
you know the signs. they
confront you
when you least expect it,
holding their truths
in the mirror
the way you judge everything
more harshly than anyone
you get sick more easily now,
the fact that the stairs make you
out of breath. your mind
is a cloudy haze. is this
the same affliction, or
something newer you've developed
from your nasty little habit
of refusing to eat?
who cares.
hold your insanity to yo
like a shield.
sink into the covers,
head aching, stomach
the world revolving around you.