The makeshift ashtray one trick pony

poetry, big thoughts, mischief, vanity press

a biography in 3

1.
when matter dies
so does why,
because what
else is there to say
but I hate you and
I love you
midswing, my hem careless
a moment of free abandon
in a pot of disaster

2.
I put my chin in my hand hoping
for a return to sanity
my gaze blank
this is beyond my control
is all
I can hear
framed by your frantic
apologies and explanations

3.
when I take
what is mine,
all is left is
a shadow of self
a creation of my own
to take
as you recede

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of oceans

I feel
unafraid
with you

I think
of texture
hidden in teal crystal water

I want
you
to hold my hand waiting for the bus

I am
sitting
on a bench watching clouds die and live,

I hold your heart

awakening

You touched
my arm fully clothed, we stared talking, finding rhythm,
an adolescent rush
I read this
in the morning
sitting on my knees
succumbing to the floor, reading in succession our words
in mine

stopping all time
each caress a tiny planet
you could be
anyone you want kind
of death
and life
no line, no separation, no veil,
just a silhouette of lovers

the book of matthew

It took me 9 years
and 3 months
to know
you loved me.

I’ve discovered that the heart
is not
like any human
organ, it knows no logic,
only magic —

lilies left on your windowsill —
that afternoon light a dream replicated
in skyscrapers of mirrors
collapsing and colliding
like they say stars do

I read our book
every night before I sleep
and when I wake
feeling for your hand
knowing it’s gone

It took me a moment,
a blur of an image of your passing self,
bringing me into an embrace
I feared,
to know —
to know.

for the green heart

I would say to you

that being apart
is wrong
elementally, out of
sync with basic laws
of physics, if you need that
but, of the realm of the unknown
constant, true, terrible —

that, night, I saw in planes
of mirrors set to slow
the way your fingers
bent with anxiety, and my own
clenched toes, uncomfortable glances
through panes of wood
I’ve wanted to touch you
for months —

that we exist
in that fog, wet with ocean
imagining our own life together —

yes, she

no,

I want it piled high
on top
I know why
hair has power, like the rings of a tree

the brush of your arm
against my breast
we waited
asleep in my bed

drowning roots grasping
for still sand —

no,

 

you are my father

you are my father
whether or not you’re sick

you are my father
whether or not we talk

you are my father
the most on graduation day

your cushion hands
meeting one another
in a clasp tightly —
around my entirety
a smirk of —
hey, she fucking did it

you are my father
living or dead

love #10

I watch the clock
like it has a mind
a second opinion on my worst version
to be distracted by your seeing you
after a month,
watching you
cross a street in a shirt
it’s like I saw you smile
for the first time

knowing true
as you stack avocados in between
that mundane —
are my daydreams

what I lack
in consistency,
I stick —

I feel your heart

love #9

when we ascended
I gripped the sides of the metal cart
curled and bowed to all the other rides
my lip along
the slow curve of your nose
swaying our weight
to each turn,
your hand on my hip, just below
sitting cooling off at the window fan
I laid down
your body a magnet

the chains clink
like a favorite rhythm
you raise your hand up
my back, tracing an invisible
up river destination
we interlocked
puzzle pieces, finally making sense
the peace in being one with one

and here at our descent
we peer at unforgiving circles left by the ocean
don’t we forget
how many afternoons in sun
tangled between light green
sheets, just as the rain comes
your embrace, complete

love #8

I was destructive,
you smiled and cupped your hands
around mine,
clenching like you do when you hug someone
–you haven’t seem them in such a long time
a lingering touch
around my right shoulder
blade like a knife
but made of flowers as we lie
staring straight into the sun

I was destructive,
feeling your breath
on my neck every time you laughed
bright and light like a shimmering
lake on a lost detour to a trail you struggle
to make into analogy, its pure fleeting nature
–so good, so simple, so familiar
feeling your tentative touches, even the ones that remained
silent sitting in a room set to laughter

I was destructive,
being lost in your embrace
your whispers into my palm, at a concert feeling
safe –like falling asleep under stars, a small
triangle under sleeping covers
closing our eyes under white fog

I was destructive