inquiries into nothing

we culled smiles from strange places
from panicked people
whole lives strewn on the floor
pennies in a jar,
living fantasy lives with
the best of all possible worlds
as spiderwebs float across our paths
we stumble on
reeking of cheap liquor
and cheaper sex
girls stumble blindly as
the world revolves around again.

your bibliography

i could speak of love
in multiple tomes
(my words would still be insufficient)

soft small chords

used to think it didn't matter
when i pressed closely to your side
it was a small gesture,
nothing more.
days have passed...i hold
your skin with hesitant fingers
your touch is suddenly new
and nervous hands press lightly

but i don't know who you want me to be
or what

philosophy

well if heaven is your playground...
(then i'm not your kind of toy)

so what

and i've lain down on blankets
under stars, daddy, read my mind
tell me you know who i am now
tell me that everything's okay
like they do in the movies
tell me my world isn't falling apart
in graveyards, where death is the
inevitable beginning and ending
of life.
tell me daddy, why for
three seconds the world can't stay
still and breathe
daddy breathe like gasping for oxygen
under ones stronger than you, tell me
daddy
tell me daddy
if i haven't become you, and the
family is a broken shell of lies
and i don't encapsulate my mother
in her breadths and widths, or mind
then who am i

to speak of secrets

- i even
do not know how to unravel
my inner desires
a nameless conundrum
set by the gods
a small puzzle piece
impossible to fit into the picture

(i do not fancy myself useless
only ill-fitting)

second sight

as i lay on the carpet
the world undulated around me
so long, goodbye
i could feel it coming
i could taste it on my lips

i cried, "i feel dead."
tasted blood where i had
smiled dully and
cracked my mouth

and i do
(feel dead)

paint it black

these scars aren't new
been there for years, now
but it's useless to wish to
change the past
(and oh i've tried)
i've been attempting to scrape
clean the skin, and start over
with new patterns
i've painted my outsides
with the insides carefully
peeking through -
black ink mars my blank canvas
my scarred canvas
if nothing else, i can
attempt
to turn myself into art
and ignore the rest.
(my eyes catch in the mirror
at the unfamiliar lines.)

3,000 miles

i thought i saw you today,
close enough to touch.
my surreptitious glances,
my inquisitive stare
fruitless in eventuality.
i could have brushed you
with my fingertips as i
walked past -
but my hands his shadows
and all i have left
is a vague promise
of december
and hope

i lied

i did not dream at all
i spent the entire night encircled by strange arms
a warmth that seems to leave me
the second i leave, these days
these days


these days
hands touch my skin, teeth
tear me apart. i am no longer
who once i pretended
was the real me, the
beautiful facade scarred and bruised
by my terrible need to escape.
i do not know who i am.
i have become the shadow
seen in the night, the movement
your eyes notice, but when you turn
i fade into the background, unseen.

heart stopped

simple letters on the page,
three words, all focused
upon me.
i gasped; i must
have held my position
for over a minute
staring at the screen.





(i love you)

emails left on the telephone

needle marks in my skin
faint knives and razors
in place of blank canvas
i have not stopped
looking at my arms in years.
my fingers are worn
my head hung
against all the shame
associated with my (past?)
profession.
i cannot apologize
enough, or
repaint the picture
with a smoother
type of paint.

snake bite

my hands, on her thigh
moving the night through
close in sync, i held myself
together, the beat goes
my heart won't quit
she enigmas her past
and leaves me guessing
while we dance closely i
hold her hands, her
belly her face her
legs wrapped around me
we refuse to return, these days
to the past we tried to scrupulously build
(has no idea, they will never know)
can't ever imagine what they do not
want to see.

nothing to die for

get real, i said
nothing to live by
nothing to put your trust in
i said she never seemed to care
and she always walked away
when i needed to talk
i said she was never good enough
she always tried to keep things simple
and what the fuck was simple
in those days.
we walked as though undead
through unchanging moonlit nights
we wandered the streets in
desperate attempts to live
before life sucked us under.

no answer the machine picked up

i listened to her voice
over the speakers
cheerful, leave
a message
i'm lost in
my own world.

i could hear the piano in
the background. the phone
is faulty, i know she's there.
she plays the familiar chords
over and over in the afternoon
the sun penetrates the curtains to
spotlight her sheet music
i cannot enter this world anymore
i have no invitation, no ties left.
i cannot be sunlight to
enter into her sanctuary and i
cannot merely be the wind.

panic

it was nothing special...just a cloudy night
shot through liberally with stars
we sat on a cement sidewalk
we took walks
architecture hunting and visiting graves
the moon was with us
followed unseen through the darkened skies
as we lay
trespassing on labyrinths long covered
in layers of time and guilt
we spread out in
grim imitations of the past
i don't know how to recall that night...
in a glimmer of panic
a warm feeling
cool wind brushing past my face
blowing my hair into my eyes
i can't remember a time when
everything made sense.

dragging

last night
was a beautiful dream,
the kind you wake up from
and wish you hadn't
you curled by my side
a blanket to shield me from the world
i'm fragile today,
and yesterday
i put on personas like hats,
and watched mirrors
for the right reflection.

bohemian rhapsody

words are in vain when
trying to describe this
volumes have been written
upon less - a mere touch
of skin, a scent, a glance
yet i grasp your entirety
which leaves me speechless
we are more than this
we fill our spaces with each
other and fall asleep,
lonely, in empty beds,
when apart.
(my face cannot drop its smile,
which warms my heart
so that i could not be cold
in even the most sub-zero weather)

she's not here

and as i turn to tell you...
no one answers
the doorbell never rings
your lingerie refuses to hang
over the shower
and i see shadows
of your coffeeshop logic,
of you scribbling
frantically
we are split like
rotten fruit.
the basket's empty,
we spread
over the continent
butter, cream,
the game is over,
the players are gone.

admissions

the phone rings and
no one answers
the phone rings, buried
under stacks of papers
of last year's dreams
in the pile for the shredder.
the interns shrug and
let it ring. the
receptionist's
leaning against
one of the
counselors outside
sharing a smoky kiss
in the haze
of marlboro light.
last year's dreams in
small strips flutter
to the floor.