20 November 2016

The Collector

When you loved me,
you told me secrets,
and I carefully wrapped each one
and stored them where even you
forget, under leaves and snow,
under traditions and inside jokes.
I recall the location of every truth,
hardened, even though you
are long gone, your footprints trailing.
These treasures
were not enough to keep you.
Surely, I will collect others,
squirrel them away
for a time when I am useful.

12 November 2016

More Than

I am more than
a nasty woman.
I am a bad bitch.
Get the fuck
out of my way.

10 November 2016


Maybe there will be
buyer's remorse,
or maybe we will adapt
to the taste of blood.
I hope not,
but my brain fires
my brain is fire.
Maybe we deserve it.
This is what happens
when we find
our nooses decorative.

04 November 2016

Worth Keeping

I wanted the chance
to love you through it,
the thick of it,
the rose bush you
threw yourself into.
I wanted the chance
to rise together,
you softly holding me
when I show you I am
a rose worth keeping.
But I am not who you want.
I am a tired ache
and a delicate reminder
of who you can't be
and what you can't do,
and I am left in the bushes,
red and swollen
but unplucked.

02 November 2016


I'm dark like Nick Cave.
I'm sad like Morrissey.
I'm tired like Ian Curtis.
I'm mad like Black Francis.
I'm pompous like Bono.

31 October 2016

Like the Jellyfish

Like a jellyfish washed up on the shore,
that girl is too scary to help.
Compassion mostly extends to cute things
or things that look most like us,
small noses and big eyes,
too safe to be careful.

You either make meaning
or you find meaning

and that can be good or bad.

26 October 2016

Finally Gone

"i need help,"
she said.
and i pictured
the raccoon we saw,
its insides exposed,
leaving a trail
where tires carelessly
drew rushed lines.
i drew a rushed line
from my mouth:
"i am so sorry."
i grabbed her hand,
fumbled with it,
wet clay in my palm.
"let's go.
let's get you what you need."
we flew above the scene
as shapeless ghosts.
below, we saw the raccoon,
running away
from its shell,
safe for the moment,
and everything became
smaller and smaller
until it was finally gone.

23 October 2016

A Freshly-paved Parking Lot

Heaven is a freshly-paved parking lot,
tar burning
our nostrils when we breathe,
and I am the child
in the carpeted van,
looking out of the blue-tinted window
(cracked only just):
some small angel,
yellow wings,
carries a fluffy dog in a handbag.
The dog's eyes are covered
(but I look for them anyway).
The angel hurries along,
her bare feet pattering.
The surprisingly fleshy soles
clap against uneven pavement.
"Look here," says a voice
(and I am reminded that I'm not alone).
"Look to me."
And he cradles my round face in his hands.
And I am fresh,
secure in my seat
as we finish loading the car and leave.

21 October 2016


You break
into my house
and complain
to me
that there's nothing
here to steal.

18 October 2016

the last thing I said

It was April
and I asked
"Is it OK
to still tell you
that I love you?"
You never replied.