For Pauly

Turned upside down and thrown against walls of brick. 
That beating figure everyone describes with such cliche intentions. 
It was tormented. 
The one thing I have trouble putting in words. The one thing I can't force my 
fingers to produce with the aid of ink. 

Despite my hesitation to allow my heart to feel again, I've let you in. 
I've only stared into your eyes for so long. 
Only felt your kiss ever so briefly, but it felt right. 
And every time I think of the rain now, all I feel is the comfort of your palms 
against my hips. 

I'm known to push away. To cross roads sporting smiles unfamiliar. 
I'm known to only accept winds I've known to brush my hair away 

I don't know your wind. But its warm. 
I want to wrap myself in its blanket pure and true. 
I want to know what it feels like to be held again. 

I want you to hold me. 
The roots of your tree have grown beneath the surface. 
They've reached me, and have begun to grow with mine. 
Their intertwining bark is strong. 
Although new, no branch has the desire to stretch farther than your grasp. 

I like the feeling of you. 
I don't want to let go of this. 

Black and Marble

Black and marble
It smells, and your insides are running down your stomach.
Dead fruit,
Calm wind.
I'm still breathing, its okay. 
Deck with too many jokers.
They're all tricks.
Throwin' their bodies on tabled black and marble.
The stench won't ever get to them.
Crystal powdered noses

Danger

Summer

Flopping and flying,
Red kites kissing whirl winds on beaches full.
Bloody screams from the fear of being left behind,
You are only four, with beige crystals on the balls of your feet.
Sticking to your skin the musky haze of sunsets.
Sitting on top of your teeth, the icy film of blueberries.
Underneath every fingernail, hides each hour spent awake.
Humid and calm is your small room,
You're only four and that is okay.
Plastic sails on strings above your head at night.
Sand in your sheets, blueberry breath.
Flopping and flying,
Red birds in the dark sky.

This is all I have to give

There's not enough room,
Get in.
It's too hot
Baby, come closer.

This is all I have to give.

Maybe

Maybe our roots will shoot up into church lawns.
Maybe we will remember when we bled love.
Maybe you'll see my soul pour out of every orifice of my face.

Maybe we will have meaning again.

"Stay" - Sean Scully's piece in The Cleveland Museum of Art

You are an uninviting canvas of black stripes.
From far away, tongues water at your every corner.
I stand three steps away from being inside of you.
You are ugly and cynical,
But I want to be you.
placed on walls to be critiqued.
You don't even know me,
But I want to be you.
Accompanied by brighter friends, you stand out by being so plain.
Subtle.
You're subtle.
I want to be you.
Let me be you.

Your Sisters Innocence

This room is dripping onto the plate of your sisters innocence. 

Covering it in a thick black syrup. 

He unaffected beauty is becoming filthy. 

Dusty and old.

This black syrup makes her fresh.

She is no longer here for the taking.

She’s gone.

Covered in black. 

White Eyes

We will always shudder at the thought of being alone.
Like the belly of fish, our eyes will be white.
The pasty taste of nothingness will leave a film,
Bubbly and thick, sitting on our tongues.
We will throw our bodies over dry rivers.
Gracefully, our white eyes will close, and we will be alone.

I'm the bird screaming.
He's the one on the ground.

I really need you right now, dad.
I've been told to talk to you.
I've been told you're there.

I don't feel you.

Another exercise.
Had to create a poem using the bolded phrases.

I was a member of the sun.
I remember how many coincidences would happen a day.
I'd write them down, and pin them on trees.
I was a a glut of points and lines.
I heard that the unevenness between my fingers would be modified and I would have hands of wax.
I saw the birds ripping apart the insides of bloody masses.
I worried they'd pick at my scalp and eat my mind.
I thought of malicious ways to trap them in their own joke.

But, I want to change.

I am convinced that no black wings could fly higher than me.
I think these coincidences are fake.
They're right behind me and I do not want to catch them.
I need to melt into the marble of your mothers kitchen counters.
To watch you tired people pray to a God you don't believe in.
I try to let go of the wire you've wrapped my thumbs around.
I feel my feet collapsing, but I do not care.
I forgive those stumps of wood that never supported my slouching ghostly structure.

Now I can change.

I will morph into dust.
I choose to run from myself, with no direction.
I dream of becoming honey within a bear shaped plastic jar.
Being poured onto edible treats, and thrown down a tube.
Getting lost inside of twisted insides, whee I can lie and even the heart wouldn't know.
I hope that no one knows where I have gone.
I'd like to stay inside of everyone.
I predict you'll push me out of you.
You'll drop me waves of leather.
I know this because I want it.

I will change.

I am trapped inside of this amber fog

At one point this was exactly what you wanted.

You were unusual and tragic, and you weren’t feeling anything. 

But you were given credit for the voice you barely used.

Inside of the lifeless chasm of your mind you were disgusting.

Deteriorating and becoming nothing.

You weren’t graceful. You fell with spirited claps.

We

We will all vanish

And the all of the shit that we carry on our freckled shoulders 

Fall into our voices 

Before they fall into us.

We will wake from night’s of broken sleep 

And press ourselves against cold refrigerators.

Begging for the courage to sit down on palls of black and smokey clusters.

We will forget ourselves, and milk every chance to speak.

We will be polished and set on shelves.

With the same blood flow, we are still separated.

Never forget who we are.

Never forget who we were.

?

Do you know who you are ?
Do we know who they are ?
Do they know who you are ?
Do you know who we are ?
Do we know who you are ?
Do they know who we are ?
Do they know who they are ?
Do you know who they are ?

Do we know who we are ?

We are all accidents waiting to happen. 

I am Strapped Firmly to a Chair

I am strapped firmly to a chair.

Force fed chorus after chorus of every song I hate.

My feet are walking blocks, and the corner of every building starts to blur.

The city is humming a gentle chaotic tune.

I cannot stop at any store, because I will get lost in every isle.

My hands will find they’re way through every security tag and confident clerk.

I am strapped firmly to a chair.

The wings of all the butterflies are being ripped off by the sound of the sky opening up.

It’s colossal mouth breathes a breath of fabricated puffs of air. 

It’s warm and poisonous.

I am strapped firmly to a chair.

Obsessed with the limits I need to infringe.

We are all drunk and scared.

Drowning in the gloom, grey and thick.

Kisses lathered in the sauce of filth.

I cannot move.

I cannot move.

I am strapped firmly to a chair. 

Writers Workshop Assignment

okay, so what we had to to was create a poem consisting of the bolded phrases.
so aye, here it goes.




A young concept creeps through your ears and over every cell inside of you.
It falls through small openings of unaffected light, 
and crawls up the broken spines of our youth.

Looking for a sense of comfort inside the mouths of those with pillowed tongues is where this concept can rest. 
Where it can feel safe among molars and plaque, last night's desert.  

On my first day of school it followed me to every room.  
Written on each desk, etching it's purpose into all of the wood. 
It poured itself glasses of reassurance at lunch.  
Downed them by the gulp.  

To comfort me it pinched every line on my face, pulled at every hair. 
Stuck its feet in the oil pools,  
Stomped over freckles and moles.  

An innocent sense of right and wrong flushed throughout the cheeks of every student. 
Rosy red and warm. 
Embarrassed by it's pronounced existence, shoulders slouch and eyes droop.  

I find myself fingering specks of incompetence that lay before my feet.  
I pick them up and build them a nest made of their own accomplishments. 

An innocent eye peeks through the mass, 
But i will forget it.  
I go to the place inside of my head where the walls are soft and the floors are prudent. 
The place where advice seeps through the vents and meets contradiction in the atmosphere. 


I learn about the candor of every heart inside of this room within my head. 
Skipping on top of wooden planks placed high above the ground.  

And now comes the time where this concept forces me to jump.
My bones will shatter on the enlightened floors. 
Advice will fight with contradiction in the air, and inside of my head, 
I am gone.

Beauty

Beauty insists on making every impression on me.
Rubbing against my tongue like gravel in my cereal bowl.

Its cotton appearance and inviting flow of letters tells me it's real.
It sits inside of my stomach, and crawls through my pockets.

It hides in the stitching of my pants, and in between my toes.
Underneath my ears, sitting on my neck.

The beauty will never leave.
Everything is beautiful.

Fuck You

So tired of loving people too much.
So much that it makes me to fucking sad.

So tired of proving that I am good inside.
So much that it makes me so fucking sad.

Falling From the Attic

There are stitches on your forehead and bandages on your knees,
I taste blood every time I think of our summers shared.
Close my eyes, and see you instead of red.

You've fallen from the attic stairs,
You raced against yourself to see who'd win.
Who could hit the floor first, but you lost.

A defeat over yourself which you had failed to control.
The race was finished, it ended in pools of liquid roses.
It's autumn now, you've gone away with yourself.

Marble Eyes

I’ve always wondered how those giant metal owls are supposed to scare away other birds. On top of wooden cabins and metal poles on docks. The only thing scary about them is they’re eyes, I suppose. But I mean, everyone’s eyes are somewhat scary. I want to know what is inside of them. Eyes I mean. What if everything we’ve ever seen was stored within they’re every layer of color and indifference, instead of floating inside of our heads spinning around like ghosts, every picture and image captured, every misunderstood concept you witnessed under tables and on staircases, sat in between blankets of hazel, blue and browns and spurts of yellow. 

Despite my immediate thought, statues can indeed see. Frozen naked women standing still positioned to miss their lover, one arm cupping the fragile body of her child, thirsting for her breast, legs flailing. The other arm out, hand searching for the grasp of her husband. We walk by these still stoned bodies, marbled finger tips and etched strands of hair. We assume they cannot see us staring past them. 

The Keeper of Bees

The keeper of bees.
The title you've established
over years hidden in your back yard.

Beneath a protective fabric,
between scented oils on your forearms,
and dry skin among your palms.

Appeasing the buzzing needs of black and yellow friends,
you tend to them night and day.
You are a member of their hive.

Purple flames bounce off your temples, 

And your bending air with every kick of your tongue.

The cement under your toes begins to fall into the earth, 

And I do believe it is the time of day when the steam piles 

Into the fabric of your vinyl seats.

The security of your hands beneath green waters slips away, 

And you cannot stand the feeling of your limbs floating with no reason.

Recovering from your overdose of infidelities, your eyes became whiter,

But you denied they’re purity. 

Hanging Tight onto Ideas Untold

Tipped caps, white caps
rough and thrashing,
caps on the surface of your ocean.