inflated grotesque rendering of a wife

taut round blunted

spent potential and the bent grass where some other version of her slept before the trap snapped

there’s not much to prune, subdue

stillness comes 

naturally

how much time?

wait while I think about it?

don’t ask me that, don’t watch me while I—

I think—

I want—

the image host finally gave in
I don't know what to do

restore a time capsule?

I had a dream about you this morning
we were in your car, something that only happened about once in person but that I remember the feeling of vividly
(this happens often in my dreams-- me, the Passenger)
we were parked somewhere sort of green
I was sitting in the back, watching the nape of your neck in the driver's seat and catching glimpses of your expression from the rearview mirror

this was the finished draft of a daydream
Can You Please, you said, and I did

and it was so nice to be outside of my life
with you

we were out all night talking
and I woke up, in the dream,
and I touched your back to wake you up

the morning meant the game was over and there'd be
Questions

a sad, tired smile
"anytime you want to--"

you need a haircut

am I happy?

the same sins

it’s a poisonous thing to pine for
me, the apple in everyone’s eyes
the root being I only feel Worthwhile
when you’re pulling me up from the soil

and only me

everyone, only me

take the torch back, what am I doing here
I can see fine in the dark

amelia

I should have heard you when you warned me I was courting damnation
a demon with my brand of cigarette
I couldn't trust you because I watched you long for him, too
assumed you were caught still
and if only you'd have kissed me when I wanted you to, maybe I'd've listened

many years too late I'm looking at you, for you
hoping you hear me & maybe next time
try harder to save yourself, and

me

you & your mother were asleep in the trailer park

sometimes I need to sit back and take in another person's devastation
to visit the bittersweet but only in transit

placing the ambient darkness of Me into a bag that I can
hold rolled in my hand until the album scratches, over.

Here is a list of people I have thought I was [you will find my name absent]:
Anne Frank
Ava Gardner
Erwin Schrodinger
Eurydice
Franny
Jesus Christ
Kurt Cobain
Marilyn Monroe
Orion Escher Redinger, unfortunately lost to chance


my father


the drugs told me I was literally all of them
Truth showed me they are everyone and so am I

but who is she more than me?

this is a poem about Daniel

(and every boy I've ever loved)

if you are sweet to an artist

if you are good to Him, if you

cast light on the parts of him He is

disinclined to see

you will find yourself in his art,

the Experience Manifest.

if you torment

and occupy him,

if he fights the idea of you while she is close

but sings for you  

six shots out the door

you will find yourself in his body

of work.

if you kiss an artist

and he looks beyond you,

somehow cannot marvel your body

(would that he could, only--)

He is unaffected & you can taste it.

you can find no part of yourself

in what he does.

but She is there,

look