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4 pulses:

a dream: so real i awoke shaking;
where did i go?
again, i catch my reflection in your face.

a face: more familiar than my own;
love making the anger ebb,
lately, my mind afire with memory.

a memory: that tesmpestuous panic;
a gut-sick feeling,
yes, but this is what we live for.

a life: as changing as the sky;
now pregnant and swollen with storms,
and then, the pouring burst.

messy.

how easily the texture of your tears moves me.
undone i clasp the tentricles of time.
moving, restless, the full-bodied shaking of sobs,
how they mingle with the rain.

i await the dawn.
set on haunches, jaw clenched,
would i but leap you could capture my rapture,
lessening the ego’s grip,
funny how time does drip
away.

Away i could possibly know myself
as separate from your insistent voice.
the intense fragility of my mind
craves pure molten eruption,
would i but spew forth the immensity of my complexity.

how i wish for the flight of night.

we walked across boston, pensive and utterly mad.
the intoxicating fear, the brilliant streetlights,
a full moon looming over metal and glass.
electricity and gasoline.

( i tried to inhale, and!
caught sight of wire wings as I
fell to pieces )

i am bored these days by confidence,
smug smiles and dry quips,
that drip, as it were, down the back of my spine,
skirting the mind.

but you! and your burning eyes!
all the world could freeze and-
well,

pushed to the pinnacle, I cried so hard.
rainstorms gasping to pour free.
wished for a spinning kiss,
spun, flat, flew, collapse.
every shudder of my skin grows trivial.
dance so hard you shake the self out.

(and she smiles
so sweet
i could kiss
her feet)

and the rain keeps coming down.
and i just keep coming up.

bring it on, bein’, begin celebration.

It’s in recovery, she said, and I didn’t question her.
A mission for a vision is stifling me.
Unabashed tapping out a tune just to clash,
It’s in the tiniest of flowers and a picture of a moon,
not your own moon, mind you
do you mind nevermind your mind?
And to your ears it would grind.
How to unknow, desensitizing.
The ribbon of your voice is prettier than I can bear.
I called out for action but the camera never moved.
I stood looking ’round bewilderedandconfused.
MomenTUMMYACHE.
Silly achy-pants
the dog, underneath the mistletoe.
how far did it go?

If we’re nothing more than fragments of a whole, then why do I have so many creases?

Bright light crafts its way into day, unforgivingly cheerful.
Like lovers past I lay in bed,
waiting for rebirth, darkening
a path through furtive memories.
Waiting, for elusive thunder
crackles my neurons afire.
Oh, won’t you stay?
We’ll push the night into day,
grasp at sweaty sheets,
inhaling skin, breathing fire in.
The innumerable consequences of love include the following:
a loss of wll, the absence of constant performing,
an identity crafted through
a turn inward.

Lapping at a bowl of guava juice,
the white flash of blacklight smiles,
coming,
the bare feet running loose.

A long and curious contemplation,
leads me to the following conclusion:
eliminate anticipation.

time, sharp like a pin stuck in the palm
of my hand; fists clenched into balls and gritted teeth.
unbelievable, the flimsy notions of knowing and being
scratched into consciousness; the ego persists to exist
and i am left standing in the midst of the seemlessness of this:
time, forking a river of blue ink on white sheets.

songwind trails behind,
thoughts unfurl and unwind.
soft gestures speak swiftly,
the heart lurches upwards
and out.

It rose with the sun, and lasted all day.

I worshiped the light stripes crossing on my jeans, uncurled tendrils of consciousness tapping those around me on their ears. They were meant to unfold gently but I got excited, could not keep them from leaping away and splaying out into grotesque poses. Oh but to pour myself like hot and liquid joy, the sweet candy kiss of spring twitterpation. It’s mad, isn’t it, this incessant series of endings and beginnings?

Death lurks, cold and stilling, does not move. This is the sudden weight on unsuspecting shoulders. Enormous, black, fragile. I do not understand. Afraid to speak, afraid of shattering glass in the dark. Consolation? There is nothing to say; I hold my breath. Less than the tiniest piece of you, but a piece nonetheless.

And death is no parenthesis.

realish.

Sketching the edges of things, hinting lightly. My arguments are tired, the warped psychology of psychology; I work too much. I miss people. I miss drugs, cigarettes, all-night mania, crashing euphoria, the blissful awareness that I can be a mess and not hurt anyone, all those anyones kept at arm’s length. Myself anonymous. Foreign places. Culture shock. Helpless laughter.

You are so close, I breathe so light. I crave something higher than what I am. I crave to be what you are, yet I lash out like a caged thing. Forgive me, love.

I have not sinned enough.

the missing.

how to tell you straight away: how rich you are, indeed. there is the sound of snow falling somewhere. in between the blur and the blue i see you holding steady. still bouncing, still barely there, still unaware- i will flex. the power lies in a will made right that will drown, in time. so windswept it sticks me to you.