30 October 2012


Drowsy, hungry, longing for the night
where I'm comfortable.
No one can see my body in the dark.
There seems to be some confusion:
You ended it, and yet you are the victim.
I am the villain, shielding my face, my identity.

When the church bells sound,
that's the gun shot that forces me to run,
to tell the truth,
to be horrible and blackened and small.
Such is the danger of denial,
and my fingers lose sensation from holding on so tightly.

Didn't I comfort you?
Didn't I hold you away from the rain?
Wasn't I beautiful?

Looking at the end
of the tunnel, you aren't there, waiting.
You aren't there, feebly, clumsily
holding the torch, the candle, the whatever.
Instead, you're grasping onto a figure
of speech, of enlightenment, of anger
and I am left, the monster,
fumbling in the dark,
where it's comfortable.

23 October 2012


Love is dangerous,
a pistol still hot
from firing.
I was always good
for a laugh.
I was always good
for something.
When the rain
crept into my heart,
I didn't close
any windows, but I did
shut my eyes.
Love is cruel, like the crow
pecking at my windows.
Love doesn't want,
love waits
too damn long, curtains drawn,
cobwebs forming
to fill crevices
where wonder should be.

22 October 2012


It's nice to look at, this weakness.
It's shaped like a house, folded inward.
Wandering out into the night,
we misplace our dreams, tuck our sorrows
into swollen pockets.
I am mute, because words are forgotten here.
I am cold, because I left my coat at your place.
When we stumble over rabbit holes in the dark,
we remember our voices
just in time to cough and cry
into the night,
wondering if we can ever make it home.

19 October 2012

October 19

Glass cavity,
pure and deep --
that is where
you hide your surprise, love
letters written in the night.

I feel your breath
on my hair,
feel your song
in my throat,
but I can't hear you
for my own voice --
re-discovered, dusted-off.

Hey, sugar,
clear crystals forming --
encasing --
brain cells,
yeah, you snapped me,
snatched me up.