the boys haveall gone; the city lightsswallow, the girl curledin wine dropletsand drained out— lastsupper, last chance. she has her shoulder-blades bare, she is waitingwe are allwaiting—where are the boyswith the black smilesready to devour my face;i have reflectionsin the alcohol glass, thisis modernity: i and i and iagain, eternal and gloamingand waiting alone.
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
my heart is a hole,the picket fence tornup and stabbed through,the thief leapingfrom the window, holding—the I, the past,my old myself. whydo normal words not fitin my mouth, their edgessharp and snapping—the camera catchingthe stripping, and Ithe old, new girlstanding naked by the sill.
something inside medoes not wantto get better. i am violently addictedto my own self-destruction.
boy in his head she is a woman I knew, when I was younger. she starts and stops— like porn dissolving, reloading into a face like Iceland, two eyes, two fishes swimming into my mouth— reloading their shaking pupils. when you tip your neck, I would like to bite the wet skin. - - -… Continue reading poem(s): split
some people light small fires—I, am lit. someday i will be won and not waiting: it is an old refrain, told by older woman; in the still afternoon i watch three sparrows circle my childhood, the greens glowing yellow, and i think— there is something waiting out there, there is something roaring.
his hands, holding me were like the ocean exploding in my mouth. and I brought the long fingers, the star-fish arms studded with sea spray and drowned crow gilt— i let them buzz me, the edges of things breaking against me like i was the world and he was the water.
he was a boy with stars in his eyes and the world laid out (carefully) at his feet. he walked too far, too fast. he missed the world and fell into the universe, into the cosmos. he came out— a god. he came out a scared boy with no better legacy than people dropping dead—… Continue reading poem: light yagami
published also in one hand clapping magazine, in altered form if you put my face into wet cementit would not leavedefining marks. my shoes squeak lolita lolita lolita after i visit my father;walking across town makes towninto thin manga lines,the people slipping into hotpencil shapes and his thumbprintskeeping close watchon my ankles, on the young… Continue reading poem: twisted
i put hope on the ceiling fan and turned it on and watched it fling off and splatter on the walls; my mother will be pissed, but I want her to know that the blue and the black now coating her plaster is how I feel, most of the time. for context, mother, let me… Continue reading poem: Emily Dickinson was so wrong (or: moving on like a mature adult)