Monday, May 26, 2008

the first time we rode our bicycles underwater
the trees weren't moving
and our parents still made love

now the trees move themselves
(water is something to be afraid of)

Saturday, May 24, 2008

Thursday, May 22, 2008

How can I sleep when what doesn't wake you wakes me?
Haunted by the sight
Of silver turned to grey

And the visits
Of what you and I
And our parents ate

You would be a poet
To say, "I've seen it"

I would say I've heard you

You would be my poet

I would say I've heard you

I couldn't see your faces
Or smell your breath

Wednesday, May 21, 2008

The smell of bleach, flesh and something more
All holy white walls glow, but one, a mirror
Where meat is torn, belly filled
No sound but forks on plates

And small ,small, small
They are not so very far away
Content around the table
All but sister, full plate

Seeing in the other wall
The small folk and
The shit that drips
Watered down from the upstairs room
The other room where the family sits

“What is this mother, dear?”
“Oh, that is just the mirror. Now finish up so we can go to sleep.”

Her plate is finally cleaned
But the smell won’t leave her nose
And the promises of windows are nothing
When you can’t even look out your mirror

Thursday, May 8, 2008

I spat deep into that cavern
the echos never sang back
you never sang back
and for a second I thought I caught your spiteful eyes trying.

we stumbled upon a field of fingers
hidden like prarie to occupied eyes
caressing softly our middle places
we were so safe in our middle places
I couldn't tell if you were just playing
you had a look, you wanted to get hurt
not a single one wasn't moving
a new finger for each heartbeat, skin slid further
you wouldn't know I was hiding soap behind your ears
for moments like these years
so we close our eyes to discover just how long "we" is.

and for a second I thought I caught your spiteful eyes trying
but we were shoveling dirt into our faces

I should call your thoughts pythons
when you caught me loose within my soul

I should have called your thoughts pythons.

I was closing my eyes
I am soap behind your ears
mixing with the dirt
but I was always there
so safe, in our middle place.

Tuesday, May 6, 2008

Every demise is eventual.

Saturday, May 3, 2008


"'A penny saved is a penny earned' Benjamin Franklin."
-Albert Einstien.