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

heavy heart

\

salvation

i like this bar.
the low lighting and
dramatic arches lurching
forward from grainy,
crimson walls


i have been here for over an hour
observing, listening, smirking.
i should be sulking
from the looks of the others.
but somehow this is cozy, tender


the man with the crumpled beard 
has been two stools over 
all night drinking 
countless somethings
amber and veiled


he returns from the toilets
saddling up to the stool
on my left
and begins apologizing


Naomi I'm Sorry
You Know, I...I...
i stop him to explain
i am not, nor will i ever be,
naomi


but i am his naomi tonight, his
sham priestess
welcoming
sins and repentance


I Never Told You
I Never
his incoherence is
both tragic
and welcomed


the truth is,
i don't want to comprehend
the life
that has made
this man so eager to
drown


but i can piece portions together—
serrated jigsaw
of tireless nights, of death, 
preoccupation and bitter
regret


i would commiserate,
but at this point
neither he nor i
believe 
in salvation

a hammock

it is difficult to write in a hammock

not to find the words, the words

are children hiding, desperate to be sought

but the mechanics are awkward 

fickle wind jostles 

ecstatic chimes 

traffic sounds like the ocean

if you listen

and that smell

fresh rain, grass

a barbecue ignited

this hammock holds my heart

it is my lotus

supporting me so that I may be 

in the world, yet not of it

it lets me hang suspended

floating higher and higher—

glimpse her now before she is 

but a speck in the sky

swaying, yet somehow perfectly still

tress rustle, jazz hands leaves

spackling the air, don't miss a spot

fill in the cracks

a raindrop kisses my lip

Welcome Home I've Missed You

if it weren't for the chill in my back

I'd stay here forever

no one wants the hammock

on this dreary afternoon—

lavender ice clouds carved

out with silver streaks, axel lift

you see, hammocks are not just

for sunny days

in fact, you won't learn a damn thing

from a hammock

on a sunny day

their secrets aren't safe

in the sun

waihi beach, new zealand

this particular cup of tea

this particular cup of tea   
dances with me
swaying back and forth 
swerving shoulders
eyes closed
eyelashes sweeping 

a slight smile 
heart open 
reaching out 
pulling me in 
to dance 
Come On 
Dance With Me 
Grab My Hands 


and we let go
breathe in 
dissipate 
slow it down
bounce 
cease. 

stark

it is snowing. 
snowflakes fall--gliding 
down                                                                                                              
falling on grey sludge.             
it is piled up
about sixteen inches. 
eroded in some places, 
speckled with dirt. 
the sky is hazy
and white. It is calm
peaceful and gloomy. 


so gloomy. 
my coat is warm
my hair is short.
my hood is lined with fur 
and pulled up. steps
short steps. deliberate steps
graceful, timid. 
shoes caked with dirt


and snow. soaking through to socks.
the right sock is worse, 
i ignore it.
the buildings behind me are tall, 
not too tall
the windows are foggy, streaked
and cracked. eyes
follow me for a moment
behind a half-open window.
they look down. and disappear.
two trees. bare. twisted
away from each other, 
they guide me home.