fairytale.

in a t-shirt, maybe
you and i
would go together
into some not so distant oblivion

laughing
i would ride
my pink + green bike
in circles around you.

perspective.

if i could see me
from inside of you
from your guts
where we hold all of our truths
maybe then i would believe.

little miss muffet
was a fucking arachnaphobiac.

disease.

last night i had a dream
and we all had the plague
rural community
farmhouses
avoidance of light.

i cursed or praised
all the things i had done.

winter. part I.

in a pink skirt
corduroy happiness
ribbed like wrinkles
in your blue blue jeans
we walk through frozen tundra
four below and
under the weather
i cough, my nose red and icy
like black streets now snow white
with salt you've rubbed in my wounds
that i can taste on my tongue.

clock-watching.

time isn't moving
the hands stand still
oh, how i wish mine would.

seconds taking minutes
the blink of an eye
lasts for days

she says it's old material
staring at me
brown eyes burning
my black black vest.

dreamsquasher. part II.

three drawings
new, but not good
graphite smooth
metallic wet
tears running down
a portrait of a broken heart
with drawn hands
holding a solitary dream
squashed again.

you put your hands in my hair
getting stuck in the knots.

i apologize for my trickery.

drawing.

moments of brilliance
fleeting
but in one of them i saw you

clearly
your contour vibrating
your hands drawing long
elegant lines
across and around me.

hushed.

in the hours after midnight
before the sun rises
i sit in the silence as
a voiceless participant
now
more than ever
wondering if there are words
that can explain
something i cannot
speak of.