July 2011
hideaway
bare boned and feeling it all
June 2011
Here is my hand, my heart, my throat, my wrist. Here are the illuminated cities at the center of me, and here is the center of me, which is a lake, which is a well that we can drink from, but I can’t go through with it. I just don’t want to die anymore.
Richard Siken
i’m beginning to say things i don’t mean
and mean things i don’t say
leaves in the gutter
are more pretty than i
let me create a feeling in your bones
what would you do if you knew how much i wanted you?
you’d say “hey me too, so lets get busy
let’s raise some hell in this little city.”
we’re struggling with our sincerity.
running after your youth
i’m the only one who laughs at the jokes when they are so bad
and your jokes are always bad
but they’re not as bad as this
i look into your eyes and i search for the color.
in that moment, i feel all the different shades of you.
it wasn’t deep or meaningful,
it was shallow like bath water.
you swam on the surface
among the muck and dirt
of your uneven life.
i hope you realize i don’t have any idea what to say when i’m talking to you
children you will be cared for at once,
warmed in our arms like promises plucked from above.
