GoldI don't want a heart of goldscraped from rock and stained in blood.
sometimesthe rocks speakto my bones likelong lost friendsand i wonder whati missed while my eyeswere clamped shut.
Cracked Shellsi.All the king’s horses and men graduatedfrom medical school with high honors(the valedictorian gave a speechabout a man that fell from a wall).You cheered for them,turning to me and remarkingthat science was a gift,medicine a miracle,and God a savior.I smiled and clapped with you.ii.I wish to speak with the king.The horses shy awaywhen I walk past themdown these formaldehyde halls;nobody taught the menhow to deal with grief.What is it with walls and headsWhy do they collide, whom do I blameWhen will this be over, where did you go?iii.I stole a horse from the hospitaland told him to take me into the sun,let the fire burn me through.I am ungrateful, unworthy of the manwho relearned how to walk and speakand tell me that he loves me with all his heart.Fuck science, fuck medicine, Fuck GodIt’s been a year and I wonder if Humpty Dumpty was better off.
'just' friendsi am sickof the romantic relationsbetween everything--the rain can be platonicand the birdsong benevolent.i do not needto be in lovewith the world.
the twentieth winter (colorblind)December.the snow hardens to icequiet thoughts pressed into white;the stars grow brighteras water is siphoned from the atmospherewoven into the blanketed ground.January.the sun has stoppedtrying to press through the cloudswhite light from a gray sky,black ice beneath my feet--i am tired of watching where i step.February.they wrote me another prescriptiontrying to stop me from dissolvinginto the road-salted floor.white pills to white teeth,white tiles to white noise.March.the crows are darker in the sun;white snow to gray waterlicking the salt from the sidewalks,stars growing rosy with the heat--only the bay knows better than to thaw.
wingbeatsi love youthe way i love birds--flying across October skieson to better places.
making boys cryyou never know what’s folded in pocketsor nestled between teeth;we are wolves in wool and sometimesit’s better to watch from a distance.
+my mother always told meto make good choicesand although she tried to teach mei never learned the differencebetween good choices and easy onesand i think that’s why i’m still here,because most days it’s harder to think aboutwhat my mother would say at my funeralthan it is to keep breathing
butterfly breastI’ve been told thatlove is a rollercoaster,that I am luckyto be the type that criesabout dead pets and rising suns(but it makes my heart sick and lungs sore:grief like twisted driftwood and joy like soaring gulls,my seas are too shallow to harbor such ambivalence).
.a leaf falls; it toohas had to sever itselffrom the one it loves
gardening tips for the mentally unstable1.i got drunk last night, eight beers too deep,preaching streetlight gospels about the benefits & drawbacksof rocky mountain air,we stayed up past the stars & showed off scars, told scary storiesthat we really wish we had just made up in the first place,killed apathy with a flyswatter, splattered its guts all overthe coffee table outsideand come to think of it, we didn't even end up saying much anyway.2.my mother used to tell me secrets, secrets of science, secrets diagnosedby doctors from ikea furniture catalogues,secret bits of diluted reality with my toast for breakfast, genial omensin my aluminum lunch box--it wasn't until tenth grade that i learned that some secrets are just sickness,and psychology textbooks seem a lot less appealingwhen they start to sound real.3.it's hard to remember if death threats were dramatic ironiesor just empty promises,but i'll tell you that nowadays i nurse the idea over a cup of tea at noonbecause shit,i'd like to think i can at l
At Least We're Happy In a Different DimensionIn an alternate universewe are having the conversationI wish had started long ago.
.the nurse saysi am too quiet.i only speak to the flowers.i jumped into the riverwith my pockets fullof stars. i had the stones.i was a girlin an ocean of blue.it was beautifuldrowning.now i have to wear whiteso they can know me.i don't know what it isbut they do and they have a name for it.it which skinned me like a rabbit.it which carried me here.(i cried all the way)
.my mind said he wasgoing out to get somesanity, don't think he'scoming back becausehis things are goneand now i'm up to myneck in words that havesnapped cos i twistedthem all too far(it gets me down so much that it keeps me up at night)
.the seaboiled itselfclean andholy again,bones washedup on theshore,smooth asdriftwoodi lay inthe ribsof a whalea while,carve myname in thewhitewith sharpflint(in the corners of sand, dug my feet in)
.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)
.slicing openthe tips of my fingers,four in one strokethen the thumba little flesh hatfor the spirit in each(love is dead, lilith)
.i threwa sack overthe head ofyour dream,i marchedit out backto die(i want your mother to know that her hell is in my head and hips)
.know this; i loved the fireand i walked into it willingly, heavenis not up above but deeper down below(there is a snake with the world in its belly, eat it; you are a killer the same)
.watching the skychurn itself thickerand thickerthe birds tireand drown asit sets aroundthem(no fight, and no flight either)
.you will alwayshaunt my body;this is whereyou died,and where you'll neverget to leave
.think i'm madas a hatter,just becausei want to sit anddrink tea with the deadfor a whileon a sunday afternoon?just cos i like totrace the patterns inthe woodwork onthe table with my fingerswhen we're talking,yes,something has beenhere before,and it's us,with words so wellused that they're nowdamaged andwe can't even tell whatthey mean anymore(still cramming them into the distance though)
.not nowi am too afraidof dreaming,if i do -the tidewill recoil atmy touchand then say, come,come sleep under me,look,the sky is throwingdown its nighttime sheets, let's gograb that loosegold thread and pull,let's watchthe stars unravel -i might have kissedthose feetof freyas soft and gentle,but you know if you waderight in i'mrough and heartless,the planets willalign, and then,three ghosts, one of themmy father, and there ain'tnothing holy'bout him,a starving dogwill run - there willbe red on white and i willlaugh, and i will standat the topof writers blockand i willthrow myself off(sleep please take me back i'm sorry about before)
.there are a million different worldsthat have been built on top of this one, and i know this cause they whisper throughthe cracks of doors in secretto each other -i heard you're never more than six feetfrom a rat, eight from a spider andseventy from the sea, please, don't letyourself drift any further out from me(holy ghost, are you flammable?)
.tonight across the street i sawthe devil sneak into god's garden;he took trowel in hand, planted seedsin the earth, grinned real wide andshut the white gate behind him(gonna come up smelling of roses)
.listen to your heart;it is the one that knows bestof the inner dark
.hope you'redead in a ditch,cold hard hands growing weeds,hope you drop your heart with yourkeys and you can't get back into me, to the two marks you madebefore that one,hope someone smashes youopen pig and the air will refuseto lift up your lungs anymore,scurry away from your lips in the rain again,hope you're still trying to fix yourselfwith vodka and bare hands,hope you learn that if you take someoneapart and expect them to put themselves backtogether, they're going to have a few loosescrews at the end of it all,and jesus christ i rip the grass up bythe roots at 3am because i'm cruel nowand not because there's anything wrongwith my grapefruit(i know and know and know, only one i belong to is death)
SometimesFly on fast wings and smilebecause sometimes,just sometimes,you are quickerthan the sadness chasing you.