embrace (em.bras) v.
   1. to clasp in the arms;
   2. to accept readily; avail oneself of;
   3. encircle, surround, comfort;

   4. to make all the difference.

early morning.

i tell you
just five more minutes
to lay
to sleep without dreams
and you kiss my
face smelling
of morning and the shower
and behind my eyelids
i envision a space
we could exist in away
from everything
we've spoken of
silently
perfectly.

you could cut a trapdoor
in my forehead
and all my secrets would
spill out.

draining words.

condensation
draws
lines with water on
a solitary window
a cryptic language
twisting as
my intestines contract

while

broken glass
on the cold tile
pricks my feet
every step more
painful than the last
time we fought

through

shower steam
our conversation
spirals
down the drain
like water.

sliding

way

way

down

under ground.

if he never saw [her] again

he needs to know [she] thinks of him

always

mind-fuck.

back myself into cliches
a ladder of words
on a paper road i
drive straight to Hell
looking through a windshield
cracked by falling rocks of innocence
thinking of you and [he]
and god is laughing while
he plays me for a fool.

make the bastard pray for mercy.

twilight zone.

mirrors
blinking lights
crystal clear bulbs
in rows like army soldiers
equally
placed
and
spaced
burning hot white light

sideshow stuffed animals
snakes with legs, and
the elephant man
the world's smallest...someone
steamy tents eminate
age-old yellow light
while ancient dust
covers this world
of abnormalities

and the loudpseaker
beckons
come one
come all.

yellow legal pad
asks for memories
i don't have.

frozen.

our white room
nearly square
but not
buried under blankets
nearly grey
but again
not

i whisper secrets
to the dark
so you cannot see my eyes
untrusting steel blue
but not | that aren't
as much as you think
                    i think

buried under blankets
of snow and ice
trying desperately
to thaw
just enough
just enough.

back and forth.

you and i play
the fill-in-the-blanks game
like MadLibs
in middle school
except this isn't about
fun and games
it's about serious business
and your five o'clock shadow
grows darker each day
worrying me.

process.

charcoal compressed vine ink eraser pencil
masking tape crayola markers glue rubber
cement graphite paper stonehenge rieves
arches found objects text foam brushes
bristle brushes ruler fixative workable and not
pastels colored pencils charcoal powder
newsprint lenox gesso dripping texture
oil-based ink water-based ink ink slab bone
black vine black perfection perfection
sweet perfection palette intense black graphite
collograph cintra file clamp plexiglass
scratching monotype duct tape etching
copper steel intaglio drypoint aquatint
dremmel tools sanders power tools acid bath
regular strength double strength dutch
mordant 6 to 1 10 to 1 time time time i need
more time mineral spirits big red acetone
hardground soft ground stop out brushes
large small relief scraper burnisher roller
knife tarlatan brayer rags boiled linseed oil
gloves apron press felts cut plates
contact paper carborandum pumice rolplex
modifier miracle gel easy wipe lacquer
screenwash paper pulp handmade paper
chine-colle soaking tub tear bar proof
proofing paper newsprint plaster plaster wrap
scissors chicken wire styrofoam peanuts
cheesecloth needle-nose pliers glue dust plaster
plaster plaster water plaster plaster plaster

proof.

there are a few things i wish for

that desperate kind of wishing

and if they came true

it might change everything.

mechanics.

in traffic
driving westward
sun kissing ground
the moment
when it still blinds you
from just above the horizon

a few more seconds
til night swallows day
and i can't stop thinking
about the creation of the universe

in less than a blink of an eye
an explosion | inflation
from a tiny something
to everything
and in the blink of an eye

it could all be taken away.

west college avenue.

three thousand and something carpet stripes
roughly an eight by ten room
white
but not white enough
eighty one square ceiling tiles
give or take a few
ten foot ceiling
grey ceiling fan
lamp emitting light too yellow
twin bed
patterned sheets
dresser
three bookshelves
toy box
solitary window

never enough light
to overcome the dark.

sleep
sleep
sleep

forever.

through the window
moonlight caught
the ceiling fan
as it kept revolving
and i kept counting

waiting.

i had a bad dream this morning

and in it i could see

even in the darkness

every one of them laid out in a row

nausea.

gut wrench my stomach
split pea soup green
sticky peanut butter and
raisin spider bellies
the smell of sweat
taste of blood
my lips mouth______
fingertips bleeding
reliving in a bathroom white white
bent over red drops
a pattern replicating
ocean blue tile

folded letter
your name in black ink
red envelope

handwritten apologies.

maybe He
will forgive you
but
i never will

ever.

[he] is

maybe i am the one who is drowning.

conversation.

in bed
you rub my arm
the left one
smooth and white
we talk
in hushed tones
your face so close
i can feel you
breathe and we
sleep with words
floating between us
between sheets
getting lost in the dark
night of our white room.

time stop.

in the        thiiickkk
                 of it



she                  wonders|waits|stops

searching not for

           what is
           right or wrong

but for what

[she]

is.

alluvion.

i only want
to build the dam higher
to flood the history
on the other side
and i lie awake
wondering
if you've used enough sandbags
to hold it all back
when i know
what i really want
is for the rushing water
to drown you.

dryer
keeps running
and we wait.

tiny pieces.

i am afraid of snakes.

i laugh at horror movies.

i have a bright red bike, which i like to think makes me faster.

i don't like peas, or things that are purple.

i like watching people from a distance where i can't hear them,
and then i make up stories about what they're saying.

i can't slice onions without crying.

i'm not bothered by dirt under my nails.

i bite my lips when i'm nervous.

i write because i sometimes lose my voice.

i hate wearing a jacket, and i despise grocery shopping.

i kick a rock down the sidewalk, a little further each time,
because it makes me feel like every step counts.


maybe every tiny step does count.

if i were a writer
i would write hardy boys mystery novels.

last night i dreamt of you and i
lying together in a bed of white sheets
no, nothing like that
wearing white t-shirts and jeans
and white white socks
sun streamed through the window
there was no sound
but nothing wrong
you held my hand
then traced the scars
and whispered to me
that you knew what he did
but you'd never let it happen
again.

revelation.

for            you
the           blood river
same         always

                          under
                          shadows beneath my eyes

anymore

   revealing myself

i will         hide
but           miss you indefinitely
as it

is



                and
                dream
                you
                love me.