...

everything you need
is already within you
listen to your heart

a writer's prayer

a writer's prayer

is an ink-stained tree

    gliding

                forward
and back


      in the wind

the way the forest shelters

the way the forest shelters
unintentionally, unconcerned
without thanks

shelters the animals
the moss
the manic monkeys

the forest is one
made of many
like a sea
of faces only seen
as a crowd blurring

smeared then erased
leaving only fine white
chalk-dust
behind

the way the forest shelters
i cannot shelter you

i am too invested—
curious too—
attached— 

taking a lesson from the forest
i lean back 
and fall knowing
earth will catch me—

absorb me without a thought  

little moon

half moon
of my face
slides off
and dances down
like wind taunting a leaf

2008

we liked to think we were adventurous
trail mix
an apple
crackers—
no flashlight or map

we drove out to the trail head
in your navy sedan
mid afternoon sun 
coaxing sweat from pores

this desert is something isn't it?
 
a couple hours in we wonder
Isn't This Supposed To Be A Loop?

the frantic man
noosed walking stick in hand
refused us direction and kept on
mumbling something 
about "losing the light"

that can't be good.

in retrospect
maybe we should have followed him— 
instead we held tight 
to this "loop idea"

as the sun 
slowly shriveled
i told you to Run
Run after me—
and you did 

until we no longer saw
anything
to run towards

collapsed in dirt
and fear speckled
with coarse grass 
and looked up at the stars... 

from Brooklyn

curled
ribbons of hair
defying orders
mocking you

all the way
from Brooklyn
to Portland, Oregon

there you worked in advertising
long days fueled
by coffee nights
by cocaine

just one screw
in a large timepiece
moving at jet speed

you only ate because it was easy
now the time
to cook makes your skin crawl

forgotten in this forest
anxiety a cheap date
cells reach out

shrivel and pop
like helium balloons

when I was a child

when I was a child
there was a car chase

not suspensefully detached
like in the movies

this was Shove It In Your Face
Press It Into Your Eyelids
real

followed
into the deserted parking lot

cacti stiff
catatonic stars

my father got out of the car—
approaching the one 
containing my mother

containing her
like water not yet frozen
in an ice cube tray—

leaving me as witness
as the car 
sped for him

his body splayed—
stretched—
anchored—presumed 
roadkill

as the car birthed 
wings
and fled     

jazz

he can no longer play the guitar

fingers shredded
carelessly mended

tendons mummified
fibrotic artifacts

he brings his own music—
jazz
lies down on the table—
surrendering

cradling 
the micro system 
of his ear 

intention 
on the tip of each needle

I spin them in
heart
kidney liver
lung

I Felt That Shoot Down My Entire Body
his organs light up
like a child's keyboard 

be here now.

stenciled—spray painted
"be here now"
words confined on asphalt
pulling space and time like taffy

I love art museums

the cold negative space
patient and yielding

paint and scrap
metal—fabric and—
charcoal lurch
from the drywall

my stomach flips
backward grabbing
at the base of my skull
grainy, sepia ink
the face of an old woman

scalloped flesh
pillows around hollow eyes

I lean into those eyes
collecting stories 
clipped to strings

and in that moment
just before I am irretrievable 
a hand expands

over the back of my shoulder
and guides me
on to the next room

a crowd was watching

a crowd was watching
speckled infant bird
twitching in its final moments
stunned by Nature's
brutal honesty

the small beauties of ordinary things

ripped seams
must be reunited

disheveled flailing threads
reach out for the others

something like that scene in Titanic
icy fingers—"Never Let Go"
only significantly less tragic

responding to their cries
I sprint over with needle

and thread frantically
weaving back 
and forth

stabbing 
calloused fingers
the tarnished needle

a reluctant hero
panting out of breath

locked

like outlines
of hearts
not yet colored in
the frame exists

smooth—resilient
yet fragile
like a ribcage lacking
its viscera

bones locked awaiting
the day
its soft peach-fuzzed
feathered fowl

returns
perches
and gazes
from the inside out

playing with double dactyls

higgledy piggledy
symphony melody
berberine valentine
cautiously hot

busted yolks

busted yolks at the Hi Life—coffee black
yearning to eventually be friends
fingers numb—winds slice
unapologetically through to bone

five months later I walk your dog
it feels strange to be in your apartment

you still display that painting—
that one of the bicycle we made
on my birthday

but now it is accompanied by
a new painting—
something more abstract—messier

I did not stare at it long.

one week ago

her eyes
were achingly transparent
sheer curtain of tears
vaguely 
tried to conceal
simultaneous fear
of being destroyed
and her calculated 
intent 
to do so

new old flame

the ones you're in
well they are big
burn the brightest

flare up
but extinguish quickly

fireflies
scorched moths
incinerated

my apartment
has a tiny hammer
at the end
of a chain

to break the glass
in these kinds
of emergencies

lucky

the toes of my shoes
are lucky

they are the first to graze
the fallen leaves

on my walk
to the record store

at first I am molasses
honey wax

savoring the cutting
crinkled air

swirling it against the inside
of my cheek

thoughts of summers
past holding the small of my back

eventually I reach
said record store

the owner strolls
out from the back

bits of pretzels hissing
through his teeth

#truth

i'm ready to
cauterize
this conversation

july

skin merges
with the black trampoline

you look up
towards the stars

that stain the sky
you tell her just the threads

encouraging
artistic license—but

it doesn't really matter
she will weave

her own stories now
whispering them back

like a twisted game
of telephone

dissolution

splintered clavicle
shards of bone
flaked off

like chipped porcelain
and strewn across
the ocean like ashes

dissolved
into denim saltwater
echoed by stars

ponies

that was a commendable tantrum, Sir.
your terms were clearly stated.

The Pink Pony Please.
BUT I SAID PLEASE.

Pleaase. PLEAAASSEEE!

you turned tomato red.
fire-engine red.
rare. meat. red.

but ponies are for...girls?!
what on earth?!

i can get down with your cause, Champ.
keep that inflamed head high.

haiku, or something.

steady hands surround
specimens sworn edible
intoxicating

the bridge

men's feet striking
pavement in unison

understated night
sweeps stars

and city haze
across their eyes

breast pockets
carry scars of wounds past

they do not reach for them

their hands
delicate carafes

pour
into each other's

sap pumping

through ballerina legs

hairy like coconut

in twisted embrace

stuck

i am stuck
my mind is gum on my shoe
old gum
not that freshly chewed
supple cloud of spearmint
but that rigid
immobilized wad
of unimaginative big red
turned more pink
than red--
the red was so uninspired
it slowly slinked away
like your lover in the morning
inching closer and closer
to the edge of the bed
so they may roll off
nail the dismount
and score a perfect 10

dark willows

widowed by men, i married dark willows
climbing up their flaking bark
we promised to be together

until death
until flood
until disease and quaked earth

their leaves stroked my wispy hair
and my dry, mud-caked skin

i told them most of my secrets
the nuts, bolts, inner workings
and serrated wheels of my mind

they built for me
the most sought after canopy bed
sturdy, yet expansive and free

together we lay under it
sharing the sunlit sheets
slowly drifting
into dreams

doctor

you say there are no haloes
but i see them clear and bright
you say there is no hope for her
but you have never
seen her fight
trails of red
across black night
branches reach out to aid her
leaves gently plaster
up her wounds
for her journey somewhere greater

i write this poem out of

i write this poem
out of clay

crushing
the bars together
soft and sticky

rolling
madness into form

somersaults
in my palms

splat!

i smash the sphere
and start again

not ever wanting
to finish this piece
for when it's done
it is frozen

paralyzed stiff
never to sprout
wings
again

overheard

nestled in the knowing
lonely for life
i let the soft music play
as my daffodil hands
sew a pocket in your heart

i know i have been happiest...

spine pressed
into warm grass
gaze up
at the sapphire sky
"look for the truth
in the clouds"
you said

lights flashing
figures
dancing ecstatically
sweat enticing
strands
to curl

sailing
on the deck
violent breeze
whipping
hair like a swarm
of bees

awaiting the ruling

"accusing me of my life"*
thoughts stand trial
shoulds curl their fingers
around my throat
jagged nails
tearing thin skin
cells hyperventilating
the jury faces away
long dark hair tumbling in waves
palpable tension—
i slide my fingers over it
pressing into the pads
allowing it to penetrate my heart
viscous burgundy melting
down the sides of vessels
like ice cream on 100° asphalt



* quote from lucille clifton's "it was a dream"

"like tranquil fish glinting underwater"*
there is beauty there
to be found
nudging dirt
and fallen leaves aside
beneath the lethargy
the gloomy skies
those hazy eyes
there is anticipation stirring
impetus and children yelling
the sweet taste
of strawberries
bicyclists pink flushed cheeks
and pant legs rolled
picnics
and courage
remembrance
yes, if you dig further
past the hail pelting
your icy skin
beneath the urge to stay
in bed veiled and still
lies new beginnings
forward motion
yin into yang
blooming
growth
and spring



*quote from lisa colt's "prayer"

tentative tentacles...

made with love...& over pints @canvas art bar + bistro

getting unstuck
is exhausting
lub dub lub dub lub dub

but if i stop now
it may just settle

slowly tumbling
then gathering
in careless piles
at the bottom

a slow-motion
pinball game

i keep slamming
the sides trying
to flip upwards
advancing

but inescapably
it all slides through
the center and i'm back
where i started

The Amazing Live Sea-Monkeys Ocean-Zoo

but when will you 

thaw me out? 

curbed life processes

without termination

you call it

suspended animation

i call it

                <<shrivel>>

yes, you

i like this song 

far too much 

to know the lyrics

for once everything 

becomes clear 

it loses its power 

something about bohemian

dancing perfect 

nipples and

passing out in 

your garden

we've been magnetized

for years and

i refuse to stop

losing myself 

in your infinite charm

amigo

sadness broadcast
thin lines connect
zig then zag
yeah
small fuzzy shocks
nag your shoulders
pesky gnats
coax them off
with your smooth
dance moves
michael 
michael michael
i'll change my hair
but inside i'll stay 
the same

i want to bless you.
do you think god
would mind?
achoo.
little mouse sneezes
and sighs
come from you.
you in your
high-waisted sweatpants.

excipient

she zipped up
her sprayed-on skirt
the teeth gripping
ruthlessly
snagging the tights
her ex-girlfriend loved
weeping an itch
out of every stitch

exorcising that thought
she walked toward the exit
in her excruciating stems
through the revolving door

at her favorite lounge
she whispered "french 75"
her fingers slithering
through his flyaway curls
exchanging confidences

for hours
although she couldn't
be exactly sure
she waited
swells raising
up and breaking
in the vessels
of her eyes

they finally splashed up
awakening her
and with that
she decisively
poured herself
back to the ground
for another night

sailing in

auckland, new zealand

crush

she woke up, reaching out for him

feeling the vibrations of his breath.

she yawned, paused–

rolled out of bed

slowly, methodically

as to not disturb him.

reaching for her red shawl,

a gift from henry,

she flashed back nearly a decade

ago– the brief affair.

as she threw it across her shoulders

she was swept away to that

evening, nine years ago, standing

on the dock, wet cheeks

and pitted stomach

watching the boat drift

further and further

until it was but a speck–

a distant memory of one

great love.

measuring one rounded

scoop, she poured the

coffee in. water up to the line.

a simple recipe, if you

could even call it one.

unlike the complex

formula that was 

her life.

she added another heap

of grounds with her

hand, letting them sift

through her

sinewy fingers.

eventually everything slips through, 

she thought.

like me lately.

 flat lining mostly–

with an occasional heartbeat 

just to appease those 

counting on me...or myself 

what is the difference?

at one time there wasn't one

I blended all your hopes 

and expectations with my

forming understanding of the world

her recipe was written.

one part the things you would have

done differently, 

two parts the things you never did,

a dash of fear–

a cup of beaming pride, 

a drop of tears. 

make that two drops, 

the tears 

are really tasty, 

they're in season 

right now

now hit the buttons.

grate

puree

crush

mix

liquefy

serve a taste to 

all you encounter

some will find 

they could drink 

it every day, it is their favorite

Where Has This Been My Entire Life?

for some its saccharine, 

they'd rather not

finish the glass

others will never have a drop

No Thank You, I'm Not Hungry

slumber-ation |ˈsləmbərā sh ən|

noun
1 the action or state of dividing attachments, beliefs, thoughts, or events into distinct, detached elements in ones sleep; processing, incorporating, and releasing in suspended consciousness

last night 

pieces rocked me 

awake 

a verse reeling

so essential

i knew in that moment

that i must commit it to heart:

last i know i'll leave it 

 every day a second day

do you grasp yours?

well hello, dear

homework

surprise!

I sweep the corner up,

turning the page

and find you, 

Matthew Phipps. 

You have caught me

by surprise.
Here I thought

I was alone, reading quietly 

on a rainy afternoon, 

when all along you were 

here, silently passing the 

time in my book. 

Were you hoping I would 

discover you?

Realize our connection and 

marvel at the good fortune

that we both enjoy 

laughter

bubbling in our chests?

Or did you aim to linger 

unnoticed for a few more days–

weeks even–

until finally mustering

up the courage to spring 

up arms outstretched,

mouth wide, heart 

quaking?

happy to see me?

not cool

I'm not walking 

like this 

to look cool–

my pants

just keep falling down.

I saunter side-to-side,

head cocked

hand on crotch. 

But no, I'm not cool.

I'm not trying to

look hip,

aloof or tough.

You see, 

my pants are just too big. 

The inseam is far

too long. 

And although I wear

this belt, they seem 

to slowly creep

further and 

further

down

as if once they reach

my ankles

they will finally

escape

and wander the streets

morph

into some sort of Blue Jean

Blob Creature,

and slink

into a nearby gutter

only to emerge 

20 blocks away,

apply for a job at 

Panda Express

and for a studio

apartment

so that they 

may have some 

steady income

and a place 

to work

on their novellas

Cracked

Ever since she was young, Dahlia 

wondered

about everything. She was 

full of wonder, yet 

somehow she felt less

than wonderful. 

Less than.

Those words often stuck

with her like some 

sort of treacherous taffy, 

clinging to the every corner 

of her mind. 

Corners. She thought. 

Why is it that the corners

are most easily cracked?

Like dried Winter lips 

or cuticles. 

It is as if the coming together—

the union—leaves them

that much more vulnerable.

This was a theme for Dahlia. 

Why was it that she always

felt this exposed weakness, 

this dependence, 

whenever she came 

together

with a new lover—

and then inevitably 

came undone?

Leaving her more fragile than

when she began.

A heap on the floor—small

and wide-eyed—like 

a child swimming

in his father's business suit. 

Sleeves pouring over tiny hands, 

so no one can reach them.

modern art or something

waikato uni, hamilton, new zealand

falling

fall. fall back. 

fall back into yourself.

back into your being,

your center. scurry.

get ready for the brumal 

future. let go. 

let go of everything 

which no longer serves

you. remember

to breathe. breathe in the new.

breathe in the crisp cold change. 

be grateful. be open. 

do not close up 

your lasting warmth.

your warm heart. 

use this beating 

furnace and call on

loved ones to gather

around it. remember

to hold to the center

amidst the ebb

and flow.

this time is change.

this time is

the present. 

be present. 

know the beauty that is

to be found all around you.

breathe it in,

let it encircle your entirety.

then let it go—willingly. 

do not hold on—knuckles

white and fatigued fingers

curled. it will all come back

and leave again 

and again in new form.

just fall.

俳句

needles pierce the skin

she feels them on the left side

escape—for a time 

closer

basement of a 

coffee shop

sheltered from the 

rain

the song comes on 

poignant

the song that grabs

pulls

me back 

two years ago 

walking in sheets

of rain 

"she took my heart"

listening to this 

song 

tears escaping

walking 

the sweetest misery

torn

"i think she took my soul"

trapped

in deterioration

and unrealized 

expectations

how to

escape?

but now it makes me

smile and ache

"baby where do i sleep?"

could it ever be

did you know

how i felt back then 

i dreamed of you 

my friend

"with the moon I run far"

your intoxication 

your dark beautiful 

energy 

pulling me in while 

simultaneously pushing 

me far away

you are the master of

coinciding contradictions

i know that now 

how long ago it all seems 

"from the carnage of the fiery sun"

whakatane, new zealand

electric fences

the soles of my shoes 

kiss the rain-soaked

cement and torn leaves

leading up to my 

building

i look up

regarding the roof that 

welcomed your keys

that day when sun 

and anticipation

were abundant 

some parts of me know logic—

they studied it extensively

with a focus in authenticity 

but others, little sparks,

break off

with different intentions

they are pulled to

my magnetic heart 

infusing me with 

romantic could-have-beens, 

theatric tragedies

and tortured visions

i imagine

in the distance i see you

running

full speed 

towards me

but wait
this would never happen
you would never run
you would come close 

but ultimately you could not 
pick up your pace
for fear 
of falling

your fist opens and

dried yellow roses 

are furiously 

released behind you

can you see me

from there?

the best parts?

not the mundane 

humdrum puttering

can you see my intent?

but then

the closer i get

the more out of focus 

you seem

and i question

it all

question myself

things are not

black and white

and these shades

keep expanding,

fusing

so perhaps we will glimpse

each other another day

from behind our 

electric fences

26

abigail waited.

bundled in layers and scarves,

catching strangers' eyes,

doing her best not to think.

eventually she would give in,

forging visions and 

gallivanting around 

her visionary mind.

in just a few hours she would be 

jostling against fellow travelers,

kissing the rim of first class champagne, 

licking her lips, and 

making conversation with 

noelle, the french beauty seated

on her left. but  

presently she was  

questioning her abruptness and

reasons for leaving. remembering those

salty tears that had run down, 

taunting her cheeks as she

undressed the night before,

vowing to 

wander this journey alone.

XII—midnight. time to drift

yieldingly into the unknown—

zero hour.

lost at sea...

mooloolaba, queensland, australia

blue-winged bird

blue-winged bird

spanned, blanketing the ocean

miles away 

a speck—a mini silver ship

fills with seawater 

as the rain spills down

bath shower

your eyes may be beady

but they are not small

i dove into them once

though i never properly learned how

as we picnicked, 

blades of green between

our toes, i listened intently

to your stories and 

passed you the jam

you made me promise

cross my heart and 

hope to die

that i would visit you 

in ever foreign country

you pushed me towards

i ached on that train

47 km to go

as the toddler in the next

row stuffed zoo animals 

into his already bursting 

cheeks as if he was

anticipating winter

just when i think i've

finally figured you out 

you crack open the latest

russian doll

revealing a more petite, 

ornate version

of yourself

i used to dream 

of fucking it all up

now i dream of 

holding it all 

together—

though my grip 

isn't what it used to be

so farewell majestic

creature soar

on your way

they're expecting you

remember to always 

bring a gift

or at least leave

a thank-you note 

when you depart