there is a past me and a present me.
my brain is a fog i cannot step into
at the end of the fog there is a light 
it is not the sort of light you picture 
when someone says to you: 'light'
it is something else entirely.
when i am there, when i get there
i will bring you with me
and i will tell the whole world everything.
today is august 1st.

aerially, undone

i recognize you aerially is how i know we used to fly, i remember you aerially. “so the cosmonaut" is how she starts and i say holy shit, i said, that cosmonaut is me. its me, its that same sound.

there is more. you know, always.

lists for unfed angels

it's coming, i think, she says, quietly, with her hands where they always are.
it's alive.




i want you to be someone who flies who could pick me up and show me exactly how it feels when the wind up there instead of the wind down here pushes itself on your face .


i just want to suck on the skin on your shoulders. 
make love to me like i am better than the worst thing i ever did.

daughters of the soho riots

why? i don't know why. why because i thought that life was meant to crawl into. i thought the pretty things were just that. i thought sadness was something you go in and out of, like an indoor pool. because air tells me things, because i read too many stories when i was little. because the same songs kept playing, because those songs were somehow both very serious and not, because things are never not way too quiet or too loud. i can count all the little trips into forests not on one hand but on two and each trip was just that and i don't know if they were worth this but they were worth something. i remember one well, alone in the woods, the sun sharply, marvelously scraping at the corners of everything around. i found so many things. i found a small ceramic white bowl, the size of a peach, like a teacup for a small creature or a bath for a bird. i took it home with me and washed it and i still have it in a plastic bag in my closet. it felt important.  'its a wonderful life' by sparklehorse was playing on my ipod when i found it and everything just felt so important. i don't know if that means it was really was but i don't think it matters. why because i worry the ocean is very very tired. i know it never stops so i thought why should i? because my brain and voice both felt sticky like the tip of a ball point pen. because i missed every room i ever grew up in and i wanted to be in all of them again at the same time. because there were parades inside my heart. because when i was small i'd love to always look inside peoples windows on walks, i liked the outsides of apartments and brownstones and then i realized the windows were always actually inside me. you ask if me i'm okay and it's not that i'm not. 

that glorious

you make me feel like the 4th street playground.
like finally getting close enough on the path to see if it was hot enough 
for them to put the sprinklers on.
you are the sprinklers on.


how did you come up with that question?
it made me feel really good. like in church when i'd cry, way before i knew anything.


i searched so hard out of the airplane window while we were still close enough to earth, through the swarms of cars on the highway like a pack of wild dogs i looked for your car, the scattered lights blinked like shining eyes.  i pretended i found you. the plastic window was so cold. soon the clouds became a thick, giant blanket and i knew i had failed. i had run out of time. it was me on one side and you on the other. i opened my notebook to write you a letter. the plane hummed soft and long. please, let's never die, i wrote. not ever.

new years

nobody thinks about the zoo when it's raining.