i closed my eyes and wasted kisses

The grave

this part of me that won't die

that is stain

a resonance

a rocket

two shadows now.

one split.

i can bury it 

it claws up through the earth

and back into my body

through tiny feet

that are running as quickly as they can

towards anything

any man

any song

any dance

any drug

this part of me that doesn't die.

a zombie heart

feeling without beating

loving with nothing to love

embracing an empty space

a grave look on it's face

i can bury it.

some days the rain gets in.

my heart is back on my sleeve.  where it belongs...

 Need.

 it is not a gentle gift 

 that god gives us. 

 but it is a gift.

 need ties us to this planet

 sharp rocks

 staked deep into thick earth.

 arms like balloon strings

 tethering us together.

 i am grounded by your expectations

 grateful

 to be needed.

 counted.

 counted on.

 i am not loose in this world

 i am a wild child without you

 your disarming love

 your gravity.

 your resistance

 

 when need is no longer

 we will be wisps of cottonseed 

 dandelion rain

A still life

tonight all my answers are questions

my heart is beating too fast

my thoughts like blurry hummingbirds

i fall apart 

crumbling leaf 

stepping over shit and onto glass

bleeding for who

for what

for when

a brand new amends 

my sorry winter coat

a breeding ground

this is still life.  

mabel

evergreen.

i close my eyes

 and kiss you

The maybe's

i'm a work in progress

unfinished business

oversensitive

and touching it

the television groans 

in the close distance

and the rain

has potential

like we have potential

like we slide off the road 

in the icy iciest ice

and correct the wheel

just before

the he said inevitable smash

DON'T

not everything is inevitable

there are always

other possibilities

like dreams he says

NO

like other realities

the maybe's 

the boldest chamber of my heart is a crying room.

i climb the walls

discover

a mirrored ceiling

high walled 

wallpapered and blanket covered 

closing in.

the singing from inside is 

listening.

and the hurting is

looking. 

i hope i never run out of october firsts.