Everything I have written
looks like you eventually
even words before you
were for you

I would willingly
walk into any trap
wrapped in any tricks
eyes closed
face first
hand in hand
with the fools
and the addicts

You make me think
of honey,
the lightest of greens
everything lucky,
warm, and fuzzy

Your touch is heavy
on the top of my soul
crushing and melting
the remnants of the mountain
of my self control

I keep your words
under my pillow
to chase off sleep
I keep your voice
as a scarecrow
to fight off

And you, I keep you
at the bottom
of the bottom
of the deep end
of my abyss




I can’t drown in the same pond twice
never done it
won’t do it
not as long as I’m alive

I have taken this road before
we are exactly where we were
the same cloud
by the same ship
by the same shore

I can’t help you re-shove
that knife in my flesh
not when cuts I have
are more than enough

I have to stop
hearing the music
that plays in only my head
over and over
like a chronic throb

I have to quit
scratching that unappeasable
before it burns
everything I built

Don’t say my name
ever again
avoid it
like you’d avoid taking
the lord’s name in vain

The doors must remain
to immortalize
that nothing will
ever be the same



Don’t let the restless nights fool you
nor the turning
nor the counting

I don’t need rest to raise hell
the sun inside me
rises 5 times a day

Don’t let the reckless thoughts trick you
nor the pointless words
nor the sand

I cannot be trapped
even when I’m in a minefield
in an hourglass

Don’t think that my soft voice is weakness
nor the blushing
nor the tears

My delicacy never stopped me
from stabbing god
in his sleep

Don’t mistake my silence for obedience
nor forgiveness
nor peace

I am of the sea
and the wind
and the fire
that buried men
without a sound

Every time you forget
who you wronged
drop to your knees
and pray to your lord
hell hath no fury
like a woman scorned



if you don’t catch the magnets
when the pull is at its finest
you get used to
their absence

now gravity’s under the bridge
the magnets looking for it
and you’re on a ship
headed to a ditch

if you don’t wrap the silk
around the pot when it’s hot
you waste
the boiling milk

but the milk was spilled
and the tears were shed
and the silk was ripped
everything seeping
all is bled

if you don’t put the flowers in a vase
the thorns grow bigger than the blossoms
it’s a power race
so make a garden
forget the chase
root for the petals

but the orchids have died
and now they’re just sticks
in a dry bucket of moss
you toss away the sick
and minimize the loss

if you don’t keep the stamps
the letters never make it
they’re taxed and damned
forever lost
in the fog and the mist

but the stamps don’t exist
and the letters are in the trash
eternal goodbye they were kissed
yet some of them were buried in the cracks

moral of the story
if you keep flipping that hourglass
you’ll end up basking in the glory
of messing all the math
and missing all the paths



what is left is the empty box
and the ribbons across the hall

what is left is
the dishes in the sink
and the ink
on our bodies

what is left is the bright colors
in our hair
replacement therapy
for the light
in our eyes

what is left is the paint
on hardwood floors
and dead flowers
in empty drawers

a lot is gone
but a lot is left
sometimes it’s hard
not to
submit to the theft

what is left is sweat
the taste of salt
on our lips
and the weight
of bruises on our hips

what is left
is lust
the empty yearning
the need to combust

that’s what’s left
a lot of wrong
a little right
a song
a dawn