.love like thunder;make yourself known
.he pointsto a crucifixon the left sideof his necktells me he can end allof your suffering -and i look at himand i cross my arms, thinkinghe can't even do this
.i remember the springwhen you did not growand our arms unfurledfor no one
.the rabbits twitchin their sleep;they dreamof red bitten neckswet with spit,the birds dream of their eggscrackedand runny -the mice dream of hearingthat tabby cat screamas the teeth of life ripitwide open
.a motherstripsthe sheetsfrom her earth -red as dying
.sooner or laterwe'll fall throughthe trapdoor of death
.dig lifejust to get buried
.and they knew,they knew i'd gone -when they found me outside crouchedwith a string box and stick, singingi'm going to catch me my death,make him sick -now i sit in a gown that is whiterthan white, doesn't suit me,this ghost to myself -on the corridor bench with my kneestucked in under my chin, rattlingwith green yellow blue(i've told you, i know where i'm going)
.in the bodyof a dead womani am aliveand kicking
.he always wants the light onwhen he's sleeping, says he's scaredbut i can't see the point;i say not all monstersare trying to hurt you, at leastnot right awayand his bottom lip goesand he screams shut upbut i laugh and i tickle his ribsand then he laughs with meand he sayslove youand i say i love you toolittle man(i love you too)
.i think you know of hair wound tight round a hand like ropeof thoughts that sail in and let down anchorin the night, sleep drifting away on the black tide,i think you know of god up in the crow's nest, keeping watchhis eyes have rolled at us so much they rattle, loose nowin their pits like marbles, they say he knowsi have examined the slides of my childhood, uprooted my body,yanked myself out of my years with my own gloved handlike a weed and stared in disgust, it's only naturalthat you should still want to sleep with one arm overyour head, she said, don't you think?i think the sun lit upthe world's scarsand felt bad, hung its headthrough the horizonand cried in shamenow i don't think it's evergoing to stop raining(i am holding up my mind, i am shoving it in your face)
.i keep wearingmy skinlike an old wornjacket and jeans,stitchedover andover again
.green childrenforce themselvesup and outof their beds -the sun smiles,and reaches downto embrace them
.i wokeon theedgeof nothing,one armdanglingover theledge(numb from the wrists down)
.i will carrya small hope, a grainof itin my pocket(it will do whatever it can)
.i feel in a languagei don't understand,and the wings of the bird in my kitchen, theywon't get to feel the sky anymore -and sometimes doesn't it feel good?to put two fingers round the neckof a flower andsnap,hear the petals scream fortheir withering limbs,then start choking(instinct)
.she saysexplain these thingsto me -i say the silence sort of ticks - my sadnesshas a face, think blue, think black and grey, think sanguinered, the end of may, he had a pulse too strongfor me to take,i killed it, stripped it bare, i carried it rightto it's grave - i say andmy lungs, they feel like frost, they're filled with silverlight and sharpness, rattling pips, a scream - i stayedinside my bed for weeks, i didn't eat, i didn'tdream - i think in fire, flame, volcano,resurrect you, keep your nameinside me like a splinterturning green(i could not bring myself to say yes, but i think you know that)
.half my life sitsin this waiting room,dust on the spikeplant so thick that itfeels like grey velvet,i prod my fingersonto the sharp tips,as i sitwith a two week cleanjunkie who saysthis is terrible(i sign in, but i never sign out)
-she knew he was a grave, but she buried herself in him anyway.
Barb WireYour barb-wired brainwon't let me in,and I'm getting cuttrying to jumpthe fence.
we lost some things along the wayYou started using,shooting me (the gleam of my eyes;the flush of my cheeks;the uneven beating of my heart...)straight into your veins. Now - strung out and reeling -I dare you to try quitting this love cold-turkey.
clipped wingsI wonder if gods fear dying.
.she never carried enough oilto keep her own life burning
beautiful broken things must stick togetherbecause she is a broken pretty thing,and he is the little boy who grew upmendingtreating,lovingbroken things.
promises.i'd tear out my rib-cageto give you a place to sleep.i'd even silence my heart,so the beating wouldn'twake you.
mother knows bestI'm sorry for the bumpy ride,I know nine months in a U-haul'snot exactly living the dream.But soon, soon you can unpackyour bags, stretch your cramped limbs,blink those baby-blues and for once-see something besides my heartand soul. Because I was never thebeautiful; inside and out type.(still, i've never tried harder for anyone else)
lunarWhen I was six years old,I decided I wanted toeat the moon.Mom with her pink frayed bathrobeand tired eyestold me to go to sleep,that I had school in the morning.Dad with his stacks of booksand prickly beardtold me that it was impossible,the moon was too distant.Well, guess what?I ate the fuckin moon.And it was delicious.Bitches can't tell me shit,I'll eat the fuckin moon if I want to.
.i disappearinto love