mannequin

identical
to how
i'll never be
describe the worlds
you want to see
the beauty that
is in your dreams
the beauty that
is in my dreams
i live too far away for my liking
and the washing machine
sounds like
a airplane motor
coming to take me away.

too late
i've been ashamed of
the knowing and
the shying away
from mirrors
looking in the souls of reapers
because i am not
the dressmaker's dummy
so take me for one of your own.

school high

gay prom queens
and sequestered juries;
the whole world is on trial.
i close my eyes for the
political enemies of
our father.
i lied three times
to you, to him, to me
break apart
pick apart my words now;
rarely does a book touch me
in such a way.
maybe
it's just the
understanding
of such a
sarcastic villain.
i wish i'd have someone
to be myself around
but i only have
a smoking buddy
and
judgmental words.

chokehold

maybe i
smoked the wrong stuff
when i was
here without you
and
last night
turning events
have me breaking
by the neck
with the
dresses
and tresses
and me all alone
i couldn't wait to come back home
maybe i'm wrong
when i cry
without this darkness
paradise
could i ever find
comprehend
and put myself
in the mind
of a virgin?

burnt poem

suburban
housewives
in the
smoker's section
of the
singing, vesting, dancing
restaurant
like the
epitome
of lighting up
a cigarette
i'm dying
without
these blackened lungs
and tongues.

and the
lipsticked lesbians
on the staircase
look at me cross eyed
when i take out
my pack and my lighter.

no morphine

breaking and
shaking and
shivering nights
i taste calamity
but in spite
of the words and
the cords and the vines
he'd tie us together
and leave us to die
sublime
define
the morning's rhyme
and i
[alive]
cannot refine
the shudders of
pulsating veins
take the reins
i hear blood pounding
in my ears
so when
i die
i'll satisfy
your eyes
but until then
good bye.

understand

that i will always be here
and i know
that there are
hard times
and troubling lies
and fake friends
my defence
i sway
to paralyze
and self revise
despite
the often
singular verbs that you use.

hello and goodbye
why can't you just try?
and pick up your
telephone
yes, no, yes, no
bus stops
now hold more meaning
than before.


for k and c.

shameless

it's those
snake skin hips
and the
corrosive blood baths
that send us
struggling
coughing
smoking
into the hazy past
to find a time
tonight
at last
let's drink
for wealth
for beauty
for honour
that shall prevail.

next door:
let's drink
to suicide
to open eyes
to birds and bees
to fantasies.

smoke stacks

shadows centered
in fatigue
like a pillar
a high up pillar
made of ice
good night and good bye
and i wish you hadn't told me
because now i lie
too boldly
i claim it doesn't bother me at all
when really
i'm dying of jealousy inside
hate the body
hate the face
hate the people
hate the name
everything that
she was born with
blew away like ashes
but she's rooted to the ground
and i can't move an inch
and i can't grow an inch
feed me
free me
need me
see me
i am just a tree.

cry moderation

you understand
that i conform
to the walls
stuck in my room
alone
staring at
the damn computer screen.

and without you
i could relate
to love
to reason
to hate
to fate
to be
to see
to realize
that i see my ghosts
in your eyes.

my iv drip and me

with eyes so wide
they reflect the sunrise
in blue
like you
in my
explosive state of mind
you blink
three times
wash away
my sunrise
and throw
the blanket
off
bodies
warm and touching
like
single souls
and gems
in rings of
singing

tornadoes.

doll face

pills
and cheap thrills
and advil stained hands
with stolen completion
of eight marching bands
could you stay
for a bit
in the rain
for a trick
for a doll
it's a call
from the
single minded side of me
fake eyelashes
and your
glowing embers
and i confess:
you are a terrible dinner guest.

tombstones

i've got my stutters
and you've got my lies
doesn't it sound
fantastic
tonight?
screaming
like tonsils
stuck in the
snow
there's nothing but
heart ache
in november's soul.
his house
is empty
of leaves
and of
sweat
oh, so she
takes a
biglongshortthroatydeepcoldsaltystingy
breath!
and begins her
speech
to the gravest audience
you'll ever find
it's called
regret.

today
i have a book bag
inside the book bag
i have several
very
important
newspaper articles.

woven words

open up your pores
like doors
like floors
when i stand here
tried alive
limbs fall like sparrows
out of
wooden skies
(it's part of life)
him:
a representation
of my
shingled roof
and a carefully draped ceiling.

welcome home:
back to your
disaster area.