the constant brain ache makes it near to impossible to think, let alone write. I keep praying for a good night's sleep and it keeps evading me. The nerves have set in about the approaching homecoming. I cannot wait to see my family, but my jaw locks when I think about everything else. Why I am returning to a city that I am no longer invested in, that I no longer care for, and that no longer cares if I am there?


I stand at your funeral
though you are fading
in a pub three blocks away
the hairs I found on my pillow
and the letter i wrote for you
lay in the hole at my feet
i pray of you to stop
your following me
I can't stand the haunt
and when the worms
eat at my fingertips
maybe then I will
remember the movements

we sat on the plastic bench and miniature yous crawl from my eyelash follicles. they sketch your favorite Picasso on my exposed back. but because your ear is in your pocket, you forget the chalk applause. eleven blue recycled years and you curtain me with your arms and whisper to the trees let's call it a life.

kiss me one more time
lie about the storm
the winds rips the skin
as your fingers stroke my hair
you push me into the eye
and i am swallowed up
the hurt crawls around my ankles
biting teeth bone
i laugh and salt chokes
my voice creaks like the stairs
to your lashes

my eyes cry tiny winged rubber bands
breaking against ice walls
i lift my arms
and the trees twist from between my ribs
the owls whisper 'yesterday's street'
and i slide inside your mouth
and sketch on enamel