poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually

alternatively titled: "buffy, season six" i am New York in the window,i am Paris in the glass.can you find me, i amlaughing—can you find me,i won’t last.cities in the stardustmake shit inside my head,can i sleep with Prague?with the adolescent-dead?the boys are saving nothingthe boys are going madi am just an illnesspathetic, never had.can you… Continue reading poem: emo song where the boy saves the girl, actually

poem: I do not want to mistake another boy’s kindness for love

Welcome To The Bottom of the Erotic. The Mood Swings Pure Chemical Hormone. I lose skin and I am watching the curtains make double-colors: the red too fresh, too fake the black like insomnia, the artist's friend, climbing in for psychotic kicks. I make my reflection in crescent nails I find that (once again) I… Continue reading poem: I do not want to mistake another boy’s kindness for love

poem: strangers three nights apart

she has made monsters and villains where there are none, where it should only be a boy and a girl. she is sitting in a shrinking place, watching the house lights dim and his shoulders fold like glass, crushing and crashing into all the Damning, as he leans into the nightscape window and counts the… Continue reading poem: strangers three nights apart

poem: the last pavilion (for me, for you)

I want to have God even in the dark places so that I am not writing revels or anthems but writing glass, writing kitchen-windows so ninety people can see inside myself, inside the chaotic parts where my mind is already on fire, already dancing like tomorrow is myth. So that when I say "I am… Continue reading poem: the last pavilion (for me, for you)

poem: the artist in hell, justified

she is perfectly halved: she is pouring black paint into the mouths of strange boys, her body all light under the strobe lights, her neck cut into diamond pieces by the sex moans made by singers too punk to be human. And she is reading at the window ledge her feet curled under a skirt… Continue reading poem: the artist in hell, justified