Tell me

Does it embarrass you

That your son fancies lovely things?

He’s not a brick breaker

Like his father

Or his father before him

But he wears the seasons

On his fingers and toes


Should the mood arise

And he knows

That you’re a product of your era

And he cannot blame you

Nor is he inclined to

But the blood’s

A little thinner

Between you now

The heart has to

Pump a little harder


The lashes sting

A little less

Now that they’ve become

The yolk to your egg

The routine

And he has all but

Lost his marbles

In a panic

He tries to collect them

Like little bits

Of a rolling sky

That used to be blue

For him

For me


The Equation

Fucked up.

We are both fucked up.

Idiosyncrasies rushing over

like schools of fish

caught in a current.

Psychoses biting down

on our heads

like piranhas,

drawing blood.

We found common ground

in our mutual self-hatred,

and from it

we built love.

Fucked up,




Together, we became

the piranhas,


on the school

of fish.


Interpreter of melodies

He sang to me, and I fell asleep.

Not because I was bored of him,

or tired even.

Quite the contrary, in fact,

as I had never known contentment

quite like in that moment.

I had never felt such tranquility,

as when I was cocooned in him;

tangled in the hair

on his arms.

He is fictitious,

and I am dreaming,

but his song remains

as poignant as it always had.

via Daily Prompt: Melody


I feel the twinge

of your breath on my spine

Raising bumps, and questions,

and land mines

And I resign myself

to the fact

That this will only ever happen

when everything is black

And I will only ever see you

ever be you

in my thoughts

in the past

on my back

Your edge of the world

There are thousands of miles between

your golden coast

and mine concrete

Thousands of things to go wrong

potential for heartache

potential for loss

Potential for fresh faces turned

weather beaten moss

Thousands of reasons not to

thousands of reasons I want to

With every step towards

your edge of the world

I am more confident

that this is crazy

and more confident

in the path ahead

Just so long as it

leads me to swim

in your eyes


This is how your brain

responds to pleasure

The flares go up,

the lights blow out of pressure

Your eyes grow wide,

but your engines cool

Blood can still run warm

if you have the right tools

You’re a monster, you know,

from what I hear

A well-oiled machine

I’m walking away with my heart

stuck in the gears

My head lodged in a dream

J’ai tombé amoureux 

I have fallen in love 

with the face of charm 

One of many guises 

All of which I’ve learned 

and worn 

I have fallen in love 

with a specter 

Shallow and pale 

No color to your eyes 

Empty and uncommitted 

I would poison myself 

with the bite of an apple 

Picked from your tree 

Grown especially for me 

If you called it candy 

or if I knew 

It would still be my wish 

if it made you happy 

I gave myself to you


You’d give me back whole 

but you left me a shell 

A faint resemblance 

of my former self 

So here I lie:


draped over the sofa

My heart in your mouth 

Smiling until you take the leap

and swallow 

Because I have fallen in love 

with a nightmare 

Who scared me awake,

and who cradles me 

back to sleep 

I leave tomorrow

I only sleep with men of substance 

I only give myself 

to scholars 

You’re committed 

And I’m a wanderer 

But he knows 

And I leave tomorrow 

He’s in South America 

We’re in the Atlantic northeast 

Pulling creases from silk sheets 

Popping glocks at the summer breeze

You’ve lived this version of me 

nearly three times 

and that calms me down 

As I rub knots from your back 

and ask about your students 

This is not subject to change 

And I am feeling OK

because I’ll walk away ahead 

I’ll get off on your intellectual capacity 

knowing there’s a brain in your skull

Not just fire trucks racing 

to paint your girth 

You’ve done well for yourself 

And we may not speak again 

But I know that I’m capable 

of building a story such as yours 

Now having been tangled up 

with you 

Unfinished, Untitled, Unsent

Queue the vocoder answer-song
A voice that sings to me when you’re gone
His words don’t charge through me like yours
They don’t ignite the fire I was hoping for

The longer I stare, the more encrypted my vision
that I cock my head and swallow hard at your decision
Your pack of wolves blows through me with success
if you bring those eyes ‘round here again, just leave me to my mess

Enter the crow with a scroll in its beak
A letter of rejection written down through your teeth
Your arms, like tourniquets, saved me from injury
But now every ligament feels the pain
Blood’s taken it upon itself to drain
And you’re responsible for this; the death of me

No Other Way of Loving

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.

–Pablo Neruda