when you want to be alone

remember how aunt marie’s house used to smell?

thin layer of baby powder smell over it all

alex’s room was the attic

top floor, so pink

with frills.

all my dolls have matted hair;

i had neither the time nor patience for

brushing every day.

i regret having a body.

polyphonics meant to soothe often just ferment.

i can’t tell if i want you to or not anymore.

a woman behind me yells, “mi amor!”

i don’t remember what it was like before

i started to fear that.

to love is to die again.

i became aware on the bridge tonight

that i simply do not possess the desire to kill myself.

i miss being able to hold her in my arms

and know we were judge and jury

boiling from the u.v. rays,

raw and exposed being high like gods.

don’t pick at wounds, they scar.

i loved how scared you were about

what we were

i thought it made it more real.

it just made your red flags pop against my white walls.

flag you down.

sometimes i wonder if i’m waiting.

i want to wake up but i get afraid some days

and some days turn into every day

because i don’t know what else to do anymore.

i left myself scattered on your bedroom floor.

i wish i believed in any sort of magic anymore,

believing in things is the only hard work worth doing.


but for the grace of god

i went whisper walking,

saw trees with tongues for leaves,

saw your name in neon lights carved across the trunk

outside my two-flat on wrightwood.

i never meant those things i pressed between lines, you know,

like cheat sheets I made for years before our laugh track life started up

you make me move, and I was never a mountain to you

i had a dream we met on the western bus south

you kept saying we could have til next winter

but you already pointed out the nearest exits for the fire in your belly

i get it now

i don’t meet girls i wanna marry no more

since i saw it was

just scooping lines off her palm.

with my own box in the attic, we acted

as if this was normal:

we never got normal, though, why don’t you see

that every backup keeps an address and someday I

have accepted she’ll go away

and you will be dealt to to love with the face that I know

what that

when i was five i put a sparkler in my mouth

not for the mythos

for the mistake

i still feel you inside of me

middle school sneaking

barely masquerading to a studio audience

who the fuck feels things

i am necessary in their devolvement

hero of horrors cause we make this world our hell

when the hell was it less about you

and more about me, though

it’s hard to admit you’re a wicker man

i’m a wet blanket

this is a poem with no lies,

that’s how you can tell.


did your mom tell you bout the man on the moon?

i am critical of the concept of truth these days.

i wish you could see what i carved into the tree outside your old window:


i never knew how to live in the moment

i wanted to pin you down behind glass

it’s art if the scarab’s dead//

you’ve still got living to do

i don’t like movies about space

the isolation

i need gravity and an overabundance of air

windy city, lakeshore drive at night when we pulled over the car

to watch the waves like glass shatter on the shoreline

a sure sign of winter, longer nights.

i’ve had two lovers i don’t write poems for,

why is that?

i stay up all night, staring at the moon,

following the cycle and sleep through the day;

i’ve always had insomnia, you fell asleep first

so i can’t ask you if you know

or if you’re angry with me

when i’m just sad i chose to miss you

that i needed to.

for my twenty-third birthday i went skinny-dipping in the lake

moonbathing, floating

you weren’t there for that,

i want to go back to who that boy was.