Hallway Water {poem}

tall heavy fog

quiet language blinking from smoke and berried lips 

on the floor, bottles of bleach

terrible clapping from inside the middle school auditorium

dry prosthetic hands swinging at each other

punching plastic flesh, dull soft macabre machines

twisting their eyes

so much like hungry fish casting through the cold deep ocean water

the world asks so little for our death

but 

midnight's problem

is the back seat of a 1977 Lincoln Continental

midnight's problem

is the unopened eyeliner pen on the attic floor

midnight's problem

is the fabulous laughter coming from the dark corner of the bar

there shouldn't be

but there is

and it's leaking awful and fast 

we speak of legs and silhouettes

from angel-girl? a whisper? or a prayer?

we speak of gods and guns

killing while we pray

the world asks so little for our death

Ghosts In Wigs {poem}

all my friends are gone

I left them alone

days, weeks pass 

they call all the time

although I am so shiny now

with my ghost eyes

and my ghost hair

and my ghost hands

I wave as they drive by

but they don't see me

most of the days I just pretend

my eyeliner is still on

my nail polish hasn't chipped away

you bought a wig for me

and sunglasses

so you can still see me 

when we dance

looking out the window

I see them all go by

waving from the top

floor, but nobody stops by

anymore

when you loved me

when we danced

when the ocean was the color of you

when organs played in churches

poor Bela

would have had so much fun

picking out pumpkins together

riding in the back of my van

ordering plushie bats online

drinking the magic potions in my kitchen

but tonight the oil refinery has exploded

we escaped in your car 

blazing north on PCH taking video 

of the towering flames

laughing and singing as all the windows melted

into the ground

rising higher and higher we go

from the dust 

into the sky

that incessant 

ticking from 

god

asking us 

again 

to come home

 

 

breath orbits {poem}

drug juice leaking down a shaped chin.
eyes swollen 
rolling into the groggy wind.
these alleyways are hot and narrow; it 
is the sentiment from which shadows climb one another
in an errosive collapse.

we partake in animal dances
flask-matted masks, 
bone thin
and wet in the tempered sun.

breath orbits
and dangling tongues, so allowed to take these gleaming words 
then make the watering can fall through the grass
the desert snakes will bake at another time.

cruel paint, moody stabbing the 
riders of the 7:30am train,
the message of milk and desiccated flowers
perched in the washroom on 7th and Lincoln.

we will find fire
flaring and exhaustedly
burning and burning and burning

because the tomorrow astronauts
are floating in duplex capsules,
software riddled with bugs and miscalculations.
they made promises of herb gardens on Mars;
a potato from Valles Marineris.

I pull you tight,
tight as ever.
taste, with me, the rain.

greentext @lucy

When Lucy overdosed
we were all in Kentucky
at the bowling alley.

Chloe's breath smelled 
of cucumber water as she 
made space for her words
above Lucy
on the bowling alley floor.

We scrolled through Lucy's Apple Watch
it had called 911 18 minutes ago.

We all stood above her body eating french fries
posting @omg.lulz.finsta

"damn, theres no signal here."
"just hotspot off Lucy's watch."
"is that how you're able to post?"
"hells yeah."
"my fries are cold, you think they'll reheat them?"
"dude, it's Kentucky - what do you think."

Trina wandered off with her cold fries
"cool, I got on. This is going straight to my rinsta."
"wait, guys....our Uber is here."
"what should we do?"
"well, we just can't leave her, I mean - right?"
"you guys do you - this Uber aint sticking around long."

We all left
Lucy on the floor of a bowling alley in Kentucky

It's been years since that night with
Lucy.
>> greentext
> drove to mountins
> been laying in 
> snow for hrs
> waiting/crying for another storm
> to bury the rest of me
> don't be me
> be a good lil human
> luv ppl / help ppl / help all lucys

Dust Has Collected {poem}

dust has collected
on the shelves within her room

and I move so very quietly
in the dark
lifting my legs over the
tall stacks of books.

I have stopped 
eating during the day
now only drinking licorice tea
from white
porcelain tumblers I leave on the
floor when I'm finished.

She spends the morning taking
pictures of the neighbor's car
parked on the street
from different angles.
She doesn't say why.

It is December today
the harbored boats roll 
upward in the high tide

I am having a very hard time
believing anything 
is solid or laughing
or real at all or 
anymore. I've cut through sheets of colored
constructions paper
realizing how much I really loved her.
I will not find her
I won't even try
in the strange holiday from
which we push our shoulders down
and slouch our earthly bodies forward

taste the air
if you get a chance.
stop and follow the sunset
if you get a chance.
reach your hand out to touch the face of someone you love
if you get a chance.

And of Ms. Rose Blak,
she has a castle in El Monte, near
the Ralph's on Ernest Pkwy
her makeup is always running down her cheeks
she wants to swim in the ocean at night
and will drive you to Santa Monica pier.
Things won't be easy, she drives recklessly
in her Cadillac svt. she will tell you 
how she never finished paying for her car
and that the bank is after her. she will
smoke with the windows rolled up. She will drink
Soylent Green from plastic bottles and apply 
lipstick on the freeway. 

I'm not with her anymore
but I never returned her keys, cassette tapes or guns
I put those in a box in my closet
labeled 'love'.

JoyLights {poem}

JoyLights

sacklock and tempered the reflection
forward they run
arms frightfully
rumpled
rinsing their buckets with
praire-bleach

should she call out the name
that will burn the sky?

we surrender our strength
with balled up hands.
warm
bleach cascading
over our shoulders

the memory of
a moth for which struggled
to dry its own wings in our rain

armies clumping near the
nothern borders
so that the passage
shall not be sought
and the millions
traveling North with only
shackles and a mask
need not look up into the amber fog
they too
have the negligent acid
fumbling down thier arms

but whispers have
a way of transcending
into fists
as do eyes in their way
of deconstructing
the soft material of breath.

I have never seen
you before
but I have felt
the distance you have left behind
the surface tension of the water
has been restored

I am tired of believing in you
but I am bored
and have nothing better to do.

And thats when it hurts
because the water is no
different within your mouth
or mine.

The Distant Jaw {poem}

The Distant Jaw

mascara whispers
between the small spaces
in your mouth.
I will not let you
out
I will not let you run
back into the
forest.

because when you said
you
were an angel
the flashlights were immediately
pointed down to the ground

we understand how the
lights
hurt your eyes

we knew to immediately
operate on an
encrypted channel
and run our
external communications
through
an international mud-switch.

we gave you your distance
although
we crowded you in a circle
I told them
to put their
weapons down.
They did so.

I knew, the others did not,
to avoid looking
you directly in the eyes.
it was information I was obligated
to share,
but chose not to.
they have never encountered
an ETB before.

within 14 seconds
I saw wisps of heat
drape from
your mouth. they rose into high
cast foliage, burning the leaves
as they gathered light
and floated back home.

you taught me
how to smoke
in the rain.

wearing a silk
smock and
I have laced my boots
all the way
up my thighs.

I taste the motors
of your
pray-things
following you closer
making your
teeth
straight
and your scars become mine.

immutable dystopia,
I want to go back to
California with you
drive around Sunset with
the top down
singing among the wretched humility
of my permanence
so you can see what we've become.

lost is heaven
within your heart,
faith sudden in
the morning bloom of desert blythe.
take this door
upon its open
allowing the light
back in.
so to, fill our Ghost
from crater steam
with your ephemeral heart.

we are the falling water
into the repository
swollen
of quick moving clouds
and
lightless light,
for what dreams dance
if our
children cannot laugh
in the
cadence of God.