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

No Gain


When I was 6,
my cousin asked
“does it hurt?”
as she watched me stick
a needle in my arm
“No,” I said,
“nothing hurts.”

When I was 11,
my best friend said
“does it hurt?”
as he touched the bruises
on my knees
“No,” I shrugged,
“nothing hurts, silly.”

When I was 13,
my dad asked
“does it hurt?”
as he stitched up
a cut in my head
“No,” I said, voice cracking,
“nothing hurts, dad.”

When I was 15,
the girl I loved said
“does it hurt?”
as she traced the scars
on my wrist
“No,” I smiled,
“nothing really hurts.”

When I was 18,
mon chéri asked
“does it hurt?”
as he wrapped his
hand around my neck
“No,” I said,
as I prayed for more.

When I was 21,
the boy that left said
“does it hurt?”
as he put his hand on my heart
“No,” I laughed in his face,
“nothing can ever make it hurt.”

I’m 23,
last night
my brother asked
“does it hurt?”
as he glanced at her
kissing them
“No,” I said,
and didn’t mean it for the first time.



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


free market



it’s not the statues
we can build some others
it’s not even the piles of rubble
not the blood spilled
it’s not the cries
or the traps
or the gutters

that’s not what’s sad

what’s sad is the emptiness
the neglect
the fading of hope
the muffling of roars
the dimming of dreams
the loss of a cause

it’s really not the death toll
those are statistics
it’s the death of soul
the vanishing of passion
it is the victory
of logistics

what have we become
we are so used to violence
that we choose silence
because we are numb

we live in a world
where even if we
tried to unify our voices
all of us
the damned
the robbed and
the bitter
millions of us
uniting as a force
we still wouldn’t beat
the one percent that
owns our destiny

it’s the ugly truth
billions of us
helpless and
under the mercy of
who owns the most stacks
of papers of nothing
that we made into

it is the heart of the problem
and the root of all evil
we have just become too distracted
by our misery
to see that we gave all power
to moloch
in the name of



it’s a crescendo
the urge to write
to spill the poison
from my soul

i felt it build
all week to eventually
puncture my bubble
of apathy

humor me

being present
is toxic
and it has made me

i’m floating above the city
i look at everything
like an outsider

i don’t have roots
in this world
why do i not

i couldn’t see today
my vision has been clouded
by rain

my demons have families
and they inherit
my torment

maybe i’m crazy
it does cross my mind
maybe i need help
but maybe

i’m the only sane
in this god damned
shit show

god why do i even try
my lonely is better
than all company

i just want silence
for a while
i want to sleep

maybe i need an escape
from all the pretense
and the giving
and the living

or maybe
i’m just as dull
as all the real evil
and all the imaginary good



i still remember when you
dug your claws in my chest
and filled my lungs with warmth

i was drowning in shadows
i was a drop of ink
when you gnawed on my flesh
until i bled the darkness out
and was filled with light

i still think about you
because you ignited my spark
and now it won’t go out
making my fires collide

do you see the red thread
running from my pinky
to yours
it’s tangled
it’s a mess
it’s an inescapable force

i still have scars
where you cut
i don’t know if they’re
a fond memory
or a brand

we missed our chance
didn’t we?
then why do i feel
shake the ground
so we fall into each other’s arms

are we a duprass?
tell me are we
a karass or
a granfalloon

it’s the gibberish again
god and faith and love and
the universe
things we believe in
to make sense
of this dumpster

i’m afraid i’m falling
into the darkness again
and this time i’ll have to
ignite myself
on my own