passing through

and yet 

somehow i already know

that i will never want to do this again

that i will never again want the warm curve of your neck

(well yes i will want it but i will never get there)

we will not make mistakes

like i did before.  you are not like that.

you do not make mistakes so lightly.

and when you do i hate it.

hate to see you regress. we will not kiss

again. that apartment, you will move 

out of. you will graduate. you will not

say my name anymore. only sometimes. you will

want to be friends. i do not know if i will be able to.

if i am able to, i will never be able to go back

again. to ignore the way we clash in favor of the

way the curves of our bodies fit together. to forget

the knot in the bottom of my stomach, in favor for

the pleasure of watching you dancing.

watching you dancing

watching you dancing

i think that is what will hurt me the most.

even as i always knew

what i knew. that i was just a phase

you were passing through.

march fifteenth

reading my own words
makes me fall in love with the idea of
sorrow again. drowning has its
benefits. how are you? i want
to type out, touch the iceberg.
but fear. of tongue sticks. and jabs.
real. of being beyond the story.
i am still trying to get beyond the
story now. to get beyond The End.

christchurch

and today for some reason
i find myself unable to breathe
periodically. later the
news pain like the holes of
a sieve, the sand keeps
pouring through. caught particles
like the jolt of air in my throat.
the sudden panic, the sudden pain.
to offer beauty will take time.
to rise above when everything
pulls down. how to understand.
how to remember. how to honor and
how to live. sometimes (most times)
i am unsure. in and out. i am unsure.

are you reading this?

sitting here i’m drowning

drowning in what i used to be

and how many words i gave you

they poured out of me like a river

and you caught them in your hands

but that was yesterday

and now we can’t understand

the languages that we’re speaking

will never be the same

you keep on calling my name

but i can’t hear it anymore

Tú

Como olas
regresando a mi,
tormentas momentaneos que me preocupen por días después.
Los pedazos de madera en ciclos en la playa.
Ciclos y círculos que no puedo cerrar.

--

(You)

Like waves
returning to me,
momentary storms that worry me for days after.
The pieces of wood in cycles on the beach.
Cycles and circles that I can't close.

digging

i didn't want it to be like this
our lives intertwined like
a vine on a lampost
yours a straight line vector
and mine
clinging. vectors go in diagonals these days
bouncing off the panes of glass
that block my every day life. they
stand on the corner, in the middle of the street.
suddenly everything impenetrable.
suddenly everything see
through. i wanted
to walk without holding your
hand. to face the night
alone. noah says to speak in a russian
accent. how can i already be so
afraid of holding my
own hands. i didn't want it to be like
this. the little pit in the bottom of my stomach
unveiled. periodically. in half thoughts that
weigh my mind down. to remember i was
alone. that was my original point.
how to fit the dancing and the sleeping
the warmth of your cheek and easy
falling in with it all? how
to understand that things like friends are permanent
but somehow things like you
are not. when everything is impermanent?
i am digging myself
my own hole now.

stomachache; boy (frustrated with her, but g. stein inspired)

STOMACHACHE

A tired girl with a stomach. Head hurt the and before. feel down iron rise to nose but also stay. before head. forehead. hot fuzzy also stay. lightning strikes constantly in sea bursts. Where are my fork and knife? brussel sprouts under the floor possibly taste like cut. When belly opens and. loud loud loud. black warm. big feeling. not morning not evening in between. Waiting for the green beans.

X

Suddenly inside. red out spilt on floor. through back mirror see fall. fingers in your nose out like roots. Pull and chop them. Trash holds left. Turn. Turn. In some cases the and expires. Pickled words bitter for winter. misplaced can openers. all closed chests. forget forward. jelly is dirt. sugar sand. handed a collection of teaspoons. the big hole is empty. not sunrise yet. cold red hands for the turkey. You will not eat. never enough. enough. stay for more. more if you. no pink just yell even in the yellow egg yolks. Break in your palms when you find them. shattered sand. night sky lookalike of paper nails and chalkboard. too many forks. standing straight in a circle. I refuse. Refuse in the trash.

dia de muertos (3)

cuando el ritmo me pega jamas quiero llorar
solo quiero bailar como eso
sin pensar en el movimiento de mi pies
sin pensar en las miradas que andan por el aire
atravesando el espacio adentro de nuestros brazos
tapando mi cintura mientras pasen
el ruido, el musico, el calor de las bocas abierto
de las olas de las manos de las ojos medio-cerrados
la bebe en mano y la pareja como uno
solo quiero bailar como eso
sintiendo como todo mi cuerpo es bueno