my heart hangs
from the ceiling fan; a kite
i never really learned
how to fly.
a bloody carousel
i paid too much
to ride.
an exhibit
to be displayed for the rest
of my life, my remains sit
behind plastic wrap walls
that
leave no handprints,
eternally orbiting
emptiness.
it makes sense now, you
being born during hurricane season:
the way your eyes melted
into clouds,
the way you spoke in rain,
the way you tore apart the ground
beneath my feet
(you made it look graceful, though).
you were my life’s greatest
metaphor,
and you’ve left me
looking for explanations
in every corner.
the controller is here
in my hands,
but i can’t move
my thumbs.this video game keeps going
and i am on autopilot:
an endless cycle,
straddling the line between here
and somewhere else.i know i’ve been on the other side,
i just can’t remember when
and i’m waiting for the day
that i feel awake again.
take a breath before
you jump off the deep end,
child.
don’t you want to see
the canyons around you before
you commit
yourself to a cubicle?run, and feel the breeze
in your hair before
you put on your suit and
tie. your hands
have yet to touch
so much.the paper they give you
is only worth what you
let it be.
don’t let it boss you around.take your head out of your
computer screen
and put it back in the clouds.
when
his fingers strum you
all you can do is sing.
or wail.
sometimes it sounds more like wailing.
and whatever he’s feeling comes out of your mouth.
whatever he’s thinking.
whatever he’s saying inside
comes out of you instead and
your throat’s sore from all the screaming
he’s feeling; from all the anger
little peach pits in his stomach
and you regurgitate them and
your throat is bloody red.
i find the quietness i crave
amid the forest’s windy veins
where my mind can be at peace,
where my thoughts vacate with ease.
here my feet become my breath
and my mind one with the earth,
i come to realize my worth:
an atom in the universe.
When I was young,
my mother used to warn me
not to look right into
the Sun: I could damage my
eyes from the
heat.The first time I met you,
I could not look directly
into your eyes; I still
can’t.
I’d never expected
to find the Sun
burning
in them.
my mother asked about you today.
i didn’t know how to explain
that your name
on my tongue is like
novocaine;
that i’ve been waiting so long
for the numbness to
fade.
slip dreams into my drink tonight
so i may write you poetry
from the skies within my mind.
knock down the dams and let the water flow
from the nerves in my brain,
through my veins,
out my hands, onto this page.
twist your fingers between mine
and pull me back down when i get too high.
you cracked me
open
and started reading at
chapter 12.
this was long before i knew you
liked to read the last page before
you started the book.
Silenticel 