this time i was happy

i see it in the redwood trees

and nasturtium leaves

in the broken breeze of a

passenger window

goin slow in the melon groves

i was the one watching

in the starboard dreams they run

in the ink on her arm they sing

in that breath of cigarette smoke

so sweet i kissed you

on the lonely nights

catching the jet trails and

wailing trains and the

highway's whisper

i heard you

so clear and loud and

pressing

i can hear you

in a sting of a bee

when i bit my tongue

or stubbed my toe

i felt you

don't think you go by unnoticed

because you're there

every

damn

day

in the flash of a moth's eye

i saw you.

the bath

i put my ears underwater to hear my heart beat. the hum of the fan breaking past the barrier. i'm trying to remember that time in my life when everything was golden and shiny. everything was as it should be; a disdain for school, a pool of mediocre friends sharing meaningless conversation, a complete and utter lack of understanding and gratitude for what i had. that was my last life, my current one has a harsh glow to it. it can sometimes be overwhelming to look at and so i turn away but still with a headache. all at once nothing seams real and everything seems possible. such an odd sensation to comprehend; i switch it on and off depending on my level of insight that day. the warm water is almost uncomfortably warm, my body temperature a couple points above normal. i want to stay under, i want to stay in this weird stage of existence where nothing exists outside of the bathroom. the soap, the smell, the wrinkled puckered skin that slouches off of my frame like dead weight i can't shake off. i find her books and her necklaces in my room. i found her wedding dress the other day smelling of her and of age. it was the simplest thing, the simplest and most logical and beautiful thing. i look at my hands, my face, my eyes, my waist. i wonder if anything is exactly as hers was. anything to keep that alive. but it's all from the other life. that life of predictability and security and mediocrity. how i wish to feel like my life is mediocre again, what a gift that would be.
existing is a weird phenomena; it takes on so many different forms and functions and grocery lists. her handwriting is around the house still. i'll find scraps of paper and try to pull out the most of one word in her handwriting but all there is is ink and a time lost. these ghosts in my head wonder out sometimes, in the middle of the night, check on what i've been doing, see what i've become and i am afraid they'll return disappointed or upset and start fights with my thoughts. my other life is there in the moment before i wake up or when i fall asleep. i slip into that place of mediocrity, of bliss, for a millisecond and i don't even have the satisfaction or comfort of remembering it.

i was only for your very space

how can you miss someone you don't know
the feeling of loss but something that was never had
grasping at smoke, take it in
the light drifted through the window
warmed his skin
taught me how to look but not touch
with a glow
and a shut door
our stories fill the room
till we can no longer breathe
or stand each other
till it's gone
please leave.

honey, you cannot wrestle a dove

elbows to knees
the dead branches of the humming bird birch
receding descending falling into sleep
a sinking stone and one fast wing
elbows to knees, we try again
in an attempt to focus on the night sky
my hand fell into yours
and there was a landslide
with such close investigation we are bound to find nothing
the turning in my stomach
the limp hand on my pillow
and gushes of air passing through your lips
what am i to make of this?
some truth in friendship, some understanding
buried beneath but i cannot make out
a single word of your eyes
I let him sleep, I'll let him rest
the untouched, the unknown, the unavailable
scheme of things that permeates
my interaction
hands will fumble and words fall into each other
the scout i sent out has come back empty handed
and i am disappointed
but the train will keep passing
and cups of water will be filled
and this hangover will end
but soon another will follow.
sometimes the black is blue.

Ramblings of May 3rd (evasion of exam-thinking)

I gave myself a blackeye today. I am not a very self destructive person, full of knots and loose ends and other metaphors of a broken person. Cliche as it is, this is an attempt to create something real that is original and similar to all other stories or narcissistic rants about the tests of life. In some witty presentation I will spew all of my pent up complaints and angst that will be so relatable to you that it will cause a worldwide hype about this book. This is a story that will top all other book sales.

Or this will fade away under stacks of used notebooks, half finished and ashamed, left to rot in damp clothing that was spoiled by that one summer day when I forgot to hang up my swimsuit and carelessly tossed it on the floor half naked struggling to get those jeans over my sticky legs (it's the most frustrating thing when your legs are still wet and you try to put your pants on, you always seem to be in a rush too. It's like when you go into the ocean to clean the sand off your feet and tragically get them coated with sand as you walk back to the car with your flip flops dangling by two fingers with the sunset out of focus in the background and fades to black.

the creases in your fingers make me believe
you'll be around again with soft hair draping
light catching and swooning aching to be in your eyes
will you stop tempting me with these figures and motions
wrinkles tell
the lovers you had before
i am here now.

do you remember?

driving back to oakland, i take a detour

there is a cushion of ambient light on the horizon
i can push my finger into it and watch it slowly rise again
i clutch it and press it into my cheek
nuzzling the glow and slipping into unconsciousness
wrapping my body around it i sigh
turn off the lights and go to bed.

April seventh

I don't like to think about the days separating us
I don't like to wake up each morning and think

about how I'm wasting my youth
Time stabs you in the back and pushes you along
and I just want to be lost in the woods with my songs.

today

and my head told my heart "let love grow"
but my heart told my head "this time, no."

of the one purchase i made today
it was at 7:54 pm
a bottle of Cook's champagne
and a pack of 12 djarum blacks.

happy 21st to me.

i love

that you finally left my heart
and soon my head.

one year

and all that is left is the shell of someone i once knew

death in the family

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