write poetry more often

I met you, a Song,
sung sweetly into the seashell of my ear
in between eyelashes
and lip pressure

with you,
it was Heavy Honey,
long, slow drip
skin, crackle, pop

whispering sweet light into
your hands
leaving me run through,
epicee,
stark naked, bleeding silence

a blessing, you were a blessing,
a blessing!

being that you held me,
being you held yourself to me
an offering,
a sacrament

love
love
you’re leaving in the morning
but stay
until dreams…
until we wake up
and the sun erases all of the night’s lovely shadows

it’s april.
it’s overcast.
and there’s this fucking couple walking by me
holding hands
smiling like six year olds
at a carnival
at the cotton candy stand
mouths watering
pupils dilated
bodies anticipating an avalanche of spun sugar

i hate them for their single-mindedness
the only thing in their world isn’t even each other
there is no we
there is me and my ornament,
me and my pet,
me and my mother
me and my steady hope
me and my cotton candy

if i threw a rock at them
it would bounce off of the place where their hands have met
their hands would break and bleed
but they would keep walking

see:
the cotton candy stand is within arm’s reach

he hates the shoes
he hates the sunglasses
i don’t know how he feels
about the sex
except that sometimes, he comes
and it goes through me
down into my toenails
ricoches up to my hair follicles
flutters like a bird as it rests, finally, in my sacrum
and he moans
and then his breath comes out like machine-gun fire
aiming at my neck,
my shoulder,
turning red because he has not shaved
in 3 days
i lay there, pinned,
his eyes wincing now and again
and i think about pain
and i think about what a good lay he is
and i wonder if he loves me, deep down

he laughs, not looking at me
as if answering my question

It’s 3am
And you’re jumping ship
Because sharks
Are more merciful
Than he is

You would rather be food
Than a lover

I could kick you,
Where you already bleed

I ought to pull your hair out
And wear it on my breasts

Power
Is anywhere you are…

I ought to strangle you with that hair

Instead, sit on a mushroom
And stare at your hands for just
Five
Minutes

Tell me the story
Read it to me

How many children
What kind of wife
Husband
How many children

When do you die?

I go back to the night on top of the counter
The jealous breath of ice, the glass yearning to feel wet
The lemons shrinking with the advance of the moon,
Just gestures
Things to pass the time

I swear to you,
Wide eyed,
Sweating,

I was just bored

You ask me:
Why do you bring this up
Every time we go out?

And I answer you:
Because it’s here, now
No matter how much we love
No matter how many books we read and respect
No matter how much we eat
No matter how much we fuck
No matter how many asses we kiss

No matter how many cunts breathe
No matter how many trees are fed
Into furnaces of human curiosity

It’s
Time
For
It

And you assure me I’m crazy
Again,
God it never ends

I could bathe in lava
Live
And still
Your heart wouldn’t miss a beat

I want you
Before it’s too late

I want you
Before we melt

I want you before duality ceases
And we become one
In the depths of human drama

Fuck drama
I want a kiss

I want you to dance

And I want to sip nectar
While you do it

every day now
i can sense my mother
coursing through my veins
hear her speak her words with my mouth
my voice
i see my face echo her
sharp angles
her worried chin
is this the metamorphosis i’ve been waiting for?
is this who i will become?
not a doctor, or a lawyer
but my mother
pale and smiling
fierce and lonely
trembling every time i am reminded
nothing lasts
for more than a heartbeat
lasting less
the faster it beats

i am bigger than her
bigger than she ever was or will ever be
and in that weight i carry my father
red, protective and eager to find god,
quick to laugh as a result
and yet
when i laugh

there she is

my eyes are the color of neither parent
is this where i am?
in the folds and feathers of greens and browns
like a speckled egg
that has been pillaged by a hungry bird
the black hole empty of budding life

there i am.

my mother ate what was in that egg
i am the shell that’s left

and relationships,
when they end
(isn’t that something)

it’s like death,
in a way,
it’s like trying to hold to every atom
every living scent
trying to salvage every tear, soft,
like holy water

but the body dies
the body disappears
the lips, the eyes, the tongue

memories
like bones
they stay
buried
but they stay

in the end all we have
is earth
and the hollow
in which our love sleeps

it was sultry out
no matter how little you wore, there was the undergarment of beaded sweat over the entire body
a salty, watery sheath
reminding us that we still belong to the ocean and always will

the peonies drooped their heads in exhaustion
one can only take so much abuse from clouds and rain

i told them to sleep well
and to dream erotically about bumble bees and hummingbirds

i love watching flowers twitch in their sleep

i’m at the brim…or almost at the brim,
almost washing down the sides of something invisible
but solid
and breakable

the wind could alter my course down this slippery slope
and blow me into little reflections
capturing light as i hurtle towards evaporation

when i am free, i am in love with just the sound of the word “turtle” and the name “mona”
everything moves me so

i saw around 7 hawks on the way home from running home from, running away from home from my family
my mirrored past
which has been shattered and rebuilt and cursed and kissed

with this beautiful music
i realize
i have only painted 4 faces today
one my own
black
and needy
and ready to show off
and ready for pictures, movement, dancing

what does it mean to be able to stroke faces?
to love texture and skin?
what does it mean that this means something to me?

i love the faces i love the colors i love the process oh my god
oh god

it’s 2 am
i broke my fast and i am drunk

i could make love to 4 people at once
i could open wide like dawn
i could shut down on them like jail bars
i could make everyone whirl like dervishes

and they could make me cry, pick my skin, they could make me yank teeth

and i would love them for it

there’s a halo around our living room
if it’s jesus,
i’d laugh my ass off

jesus in my living room
that would win the pulitzer

i’m breathing face paint
i want to lick it and taste black, pink, yellow, powder, cream and glaze
i want to eat these decorated bodies
i want to swallow this youth and color

they say being drunk lowers you
but then why do i bother writing?

there is snoring, singing, moving, drinking
and if only there were sex
with 20 people all together, moving in the same room
like birds
like wind

toes curling
fingers begging
eyes falling

lips giving up
arms caving in

backs
arching

careful now
we are only
awake
so much