radio cures

around you i think of rehabilitation centers
itchy hands, dark eyes, swollen-hearted

i watch you blink and the world blinks with you

i watch you forget something you never really ever knew, not really.

i could stop sleeping with your shirt if i wanted to
i could stop thinking your kiss is like a sip of cold water
i could stop opening and closing these doors
i could stop crying if i want to

i could stop wondering how many times
 men mention their fathers at bars after they've had one too many
wondering how much of sex is love and how much of love is sex
i could stop wondering how much of love 
is watching someones face falling.
someones body crack, and move, 
watching life treat them like a bad bruise
i could stop wanting to put ice on it
i could stop wanting to hold all of your pieces.  




over and over and over

1. face to face,.
our eyes doing all the talking; golden and calm. if we spoke the words were like the soft rhymes of childrens hand games in the background somewhere, the grip was held in the air around us and all the blood and muscles that god or science put in my heart were stuck in my hands wanting all of yours.

2. our legs under the wooden table
no one else existed but god did they try.

3. driving through woods that wished they were jungles, wet and green, the deer all huddled by a pond, stock-still and staring back at us, them in our dream and us in theirs.

 4. the sky was a pink blue, if you can picture that, if you could understand, it was soft and the clouds reminded me of the lava lamps i always wanted in elementary school, it was moving, so were we.  i strained to look up and watch it, to watch you, your eyes were like a chocolate fudge brownie and if the grass was hard i never noticed.  if god was crying i could only hear you.

5. breathing into a silicone oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth, my eyes feeling like two melting sunsets, closed they were cloudless night skies. your hands  would shake my hands, twice you'd bounce them up then down, they said don't go and i didn't want to, i wanted the mask to be you, breathe into me i should have said. when you said my name it was like someone looking for a lost dog, your eyes were big and wet and lovely, my lungs were small and cold, you put your arms around me or i inhaled, both felt the same, indistinguishable.

all my titles are times of night

things i should be writing about
instead of playing "machine gun" by portishead over and over:
  • boys with lisps.
  • the smell of tea tree oil & the heavy door open, the screen door closed, the 6th street brooklyn wind breezing through into your bedroom, a book always on the table next to your bed.
  • water on water, rain on a swimming pool, rain on a river.
  • the end of summer closing in and i never thought it would come to this, somehow.
  • there's a hand on my leg and it's moving.
  • the scene in "the little princess" at her birthday party where the teacher said very seriously "you are alone in the world" - an off screen line with a blurry background and a black balloon that suddenly popped after she said it. i never did like balloons.
  • standing on the toilet seat holding the stall door open in my catholic high school building to see if my knees looked okay in my skirt, if my knees felt okay, the weight still buckling, the things written on the walls there that may or may not have broken my heart, that may or may not still be here, the caves crumbling.
  • when the horses jumped into the ocean, that's when i left the theater.
  • consistent spiritual nurturing. (?)
  • heads pressed on a buzzing railroad track. "you are waiting for a train. a train that will take you far away. you know where you hope this train might take you, but you can't be sure." the rest never mattered.
  • there was a sun shower.
  • and then there was fog.
  • someone is going to die.

love minus zero / no limit

so if you don't mind, if you don't mind we should slow dance barefoot on wooden floors without music on, because kissing you feels like not killing deer.