I am sleeping on the couch

because the bed got so empty tonight

empty like a clean bowl

nice set of China, we took it out

to use whenever we wanted because

fuck special occasions, it’s an occasion to be alive 

and in love 

and to miss your laugh. 

I painted blue lines on my body

and you told me how your veins once collapsed

from dehydration, 

I once drank so little water I turned into a stone ridge

and got Scarlet fever. 

Same mindset. 

Same rings around Saturn and this dishware. 

Same hole I’m boring into the floor I pace

because I can’t sleep on a red eye. 

The sheets are made of glass. 

Curation and preservation of where you last saw me. 

Arrange your art so it’s beautiful to the eye. 

I have two couches in this living room,

one for me and one for you. 

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9/8/16

if my limbs are curled 

it is the training 

my body received

on how to play dead

and if this flailing is a message

it’s just that I carry so many words inside

like a novel, ideas 

that are screaming at decibels only dogs 

hear

or fish that glow in the dark 

see

or boys with no eyelids 

dream

this mouth is light a lightbulb

or a screwdriver

depending on the second

hand you are laying down

in the drawer

problem drinker. 

and there it sits, 

that half empty bottle,

and it wasn’t meant for a special

occasion, like a baptism or funeral or in between,

but it was meant to be. 

And She rolls around in your mind, 

though you can’t say her name,

for familial reasons

(thanks D [and if you say you know this, you reveal a lot]), 

so you just sip quietly

and think of how not bad it is,

and that makes a lot of difference,

to compare and contrast

like fifth grade math. 

It is better,

and that’s what you asked for,

when you went back to praying

for any kind of sign. 

Maybe the sign was the kind of dog your ex wanted,

the one you wanted everything with,

and the one you love agreed

but had addendums

that were actual improvements

so you stay

every day

and the routine is more like a massage 

and the rules are lore and legend at this point

so you keep believing

in it 

every day

one day 

at a time. 

I am (year of the snake)

like a serpent, not in

the metaphorical

but very physical

as a creature making due without legs

on land.

You are

like snakes

at a throat,

or in a basket,

I can’t decide which,

for a year of self-portraits

done with invisible ink.

I am an anaconda killer,

not literal, but literature-wise,

a concept I hope you

grasp in the night after terrifying movies,

a chill you feel when you exhale through pitch screens,

a dull numbness you claw at in the darks of truth.

Poetry is always subjective,

poetry is always subjective,

poetry is always subjective,

poetry is always subjective,

poetry is always subjective,

poetry is always subjective,

poetry is always subjective,

some art is not.

7/17/16

I don’t know how to make you

not make me

hypomanic. 

Glass cargo trucks carry

big boulders across 

dessert storms

and I am supposed to perform

as if

we aren’t all paper mache puppets

and you did not

laugh the same as I did

and I did not 

wipe

snot off your face when you were drunk in the bathroom

and I am supposed to not

understand your hurt

because common social graces dictate

that I hold steady

but I am a wave

and I am always forward

until I am back

and I run on for so long

with an undertow. 

If you press sand long enough

on the shore or elsewhere

it turns translucent

and these shards were removed from my feet long ago

but I keep them in a jar

to run through my palms when you call,

just a reminder why

I stay so far

from what you sea. 

proper medication. 

everything is made of stained glass

I want a spider plant in the window

I remember how rare these moments can be

presently

let go

you’ll see

if this sounds sad it’s not

that must be projection

this is just those things that made me happy

when laid bare

with less fraught

the volume turns down 

and the water had rosehips last night,

and turmeric this time,

and I’ll remember to take pills on time,

I’ll medicate and say thank you and please,

and it feels the good kind of calm

and it feels the good kind of talk

and it feels like it rained but was warm out

and it felt like I didn’t even think bad

things would happen,

so they didn’t

and today already feels okay. 

2015

1. I set your room on fire 

and rolled around in the mourning ash,

laughing

like a mad girl

writing a love song,

singing a freedom chorus. 

No recollection would be complete

without a nail in my hand

that has your name on it

pinning me to the prayer of 

thank god and goddess and spirit and the like

that you gave me a fire once

to set you ablaze. 

2. Deep breaths are calming

free from your smoke. 

3. Mountain air,

CO2 and lack of conspiracy,

a long hike with no underbrush 

because that is the first to burn. 

I thought you were a tree but you’re just rot,

you wanted to be irreplaceable and I knew you were not. 

Immolate. 

I am sleeping on the couch

because the bed got so empty tonight

empty like a clean bowl

nice set of China, we took it out

to use whenever we wanted because

fuck special occasions, it’s an occasion to be alive 

and in love 

and to miss your laugh. 

I painted blue lines on my body

and you told me how your veins once collapsed

from dehydration, 

I once drank so little water I turned into a stone ridge

and got Scarlet fever. 

Same mindset. 

Same rings around Saturn and this dishware. 

Same hole I’m boring into the floor I pace

because I can’t sleep on a red eye. 

The sheets are made of glass. 

Curation and preservation of where you last saw me. 

Arrange your art so it’s beautiful to the eye. 

I have two couches in this living room,

one for me and one for you. 

Picture

I am

laughing

girl on desert cellophane

feet arched over rocks and sand

still dancing

til I blister

still spinning 

til my knees give out

despite the 

sunburn

despite the

roaring thunder over hills 

like funeral hymns 

ever encroaching

I am

laughing

11/18/15

Now that you know I’m afraid of lovebirds and budgies 

but not so much of flying 

it is plain to see that 

four blocks is not far at all

and neither is 763 miles. 

I laid your love out over two sets of sheets

and I don’t care who knows. 

Say what you want, I meant it all. 

I mean that I mean it, not meant, I mean I’ll mean it, not meant. 

I could live without but why would I call that living? 

Dared myself to leave a deathbed behind in Chicago, I see the birth of beauty in your eyes. 

All these words probably sound floral but they’re quite factual,

it’s just Cancer moon speaking sometimes. 

Say it again. 

I’m not pushing, I promise. I’m just asking, please. 

Started being soft as such I am, hope you don’t mind, just going 

to keep heating you like a salt lamp,

iodized and oxygenated heartbeats

sleeping with your hand on my chest. 

This poem doesn’t end. I don’t know how. 

That’s what feels best.