if i could give up expecting,
i’d know what hope really is
and probably love, too.

to give up pushing and trying, i think,
must be quite beautiful–
i’m sure i’m right.

if i could take him as he is,
the love i feel in my gut
wouldn’t feel like transgression–

it’d be calling out rather than a calling in,
and i’d feel less of myself in everything–
the world could just be.

perhaps i’d learn to stop wishing on everything–even
light-struck dust particles–that he’d learn to love me.



to ask for a sweet hurt
to desire it
to want to feel fear and
bury one’s face deep into it
to receive the requested and
look wide-eyed and regretful

this is folly

to imagine oneself a sacrificial lamb of love
to crave the violence of wild romanticism

that is to go mad

know for certain, there is no promised good
we can only make strong petitions
to think the good is due to us

that is unreasonableness

to be injured by choice
to dismiss small and giant infractions alike
to hide one’s soul and think too low when considering self-worth

yes, forgetting that love is a gentle game
not warfare
surely, this is madness


i walk into walls
hard and rough
i reach my arms around them
like walls had life

i’m thirsty
starved of warmth
and love
i’m a bit too sad to seek happiness

i let the last drops of light
escape from my eyes
i scrape skin off my tears
the wounded drops of liquid

with no direction
they make my resolve soggy
they fall on my hands
they eat through them

lonliness, you cruel fantasm
ruthless but true
what could i do without you?
you, the high-walled guard–
the sharpened machete
that makes verdant possibilities
separate from their stems and fall over–

in a breath–
in a glance

sorrow holds me gently before taking my face in her hands
she Kisses me hard
she bites my lips
she draws blood
her affections leave me injured–



kicking and screaming
i wait for the explosions in my chest to calm
so that breathing doesn’t mean
taking a beating
taking it and smiling

smiling, i bite my tongue
i swallow the blood
because spitting is rude
and i’m already familiar with the taste

mute and defiant
i think of my metallic reality
how i bite my tongue often

i fall apart when i think of my
flattened instep

i keep saying:
i am here
these feet are not pavement.
but still they’re treaded upon

i could move, i suppose
but I refuse
these are my small protests
my displays of imagined indefatigable honor

i will not budge, i scream with my body
i will cry where i stand
weep and choke like a mad woman
when it hurts badly enough

i will not move


Eli said
tears are justified
so I cried
I mourned her departure
and felt her fall off my tongue
like a swollen promise

Eli held her hand last
watched her light fade
kissed her where her tear traced
licked his lips and swallowed
caught her sigh in his fist
pocketed her tightly coiled air

I arrived too late

Heaven’s ruling impaled me

yes, ends are unreasonable

beginnings are, too


sometimes i think i’m pretty
but most often not

it’s my eyes–
my tired eyes–
and my cheeks too round

yes, at times I think my body is lovely
though frequently i despise it

if only slimmer here and fuller there

if only

well, i suppose my face and body will have to do
i must take them wherever i’m going

but my god, i think, if my manner must be peculiar
can i not be just a little bit prettier?


yesterday God cried
and the ground was wet
and my hair curled

the clouds touched ground
and I could barely see
down the road

i peered through squinted eyes
till it hurt
till I resigned to guessing
what might be there

yesterday he smiled
and it touched his eyes
and tickled his throat

the laugh hit him in his chest
and he could not contain his joy
it was no secret

he peered through squinted eyes
till they watered
till he was pleasantly pained
wondering how he’d know to stop his giggle
how he’d know that the funny was worn

tomorrow, the world will be too bright and needy
and I’ll feel too much
and have too few words
the restlessness will be forceful
and the loneliness will win

it will be a day of remembering
and tracing the lines of his face as I recall them
till the thought wears thin
till the absence hurts and the places
where he touched tingle


she is not hungry
because she lives off the Spirit–
she never puts on weight and
never has to wait for what’s real to settle

she tastes it now–sweet and sticky and heavy

with no consequent, added inches–
with nothing extra–
she is content to taste and be unsatisfied–
to diminish her soul
and tease her body


i’m a scratch
a hard laugh
that cracked at the top
and everyone looked
and thought, Wow. Was it really so funny?

because it wasn’t
they all misheard
that wasn’t a laugh at all

it was the sound of failure
and loss
and being lost
never found
at least, never soon enough

i’m a burn
a good cry
that grew legs and arms
and clawed and ran through the middle of the body
no one looked to see her walk away
because it was loud, crowded, and hot
and there were smiles and touches and clinking glasses

because the bathroom was more inviting
because that’s where the best cries happen

she didn’t make a wail that could be heard
the quiet was wide and tall and deep
it was a whispered whimper
that whimpered for what is lost
and for being lost
for never being found
at least, never soon enough


Weighted, the iron fists fell
Ribs were crushed
Unsuspecting hearts broke

Souls escaped

Everyone knows premature farewells
Sting worse than anything
Yes, sharp want and rabid remorse

Her spirit hardly dimmed
Though her eyes shut and would not open
She fought casket and grave and dirt
Her rebellious laugh pierced–
The sharp eulogy

It is difficult to reason with her absence
She is hardly gone
Though she surely left

This is a cruel joke
That steel will
And inflated faith cannot undo
It is a weighted reality that is indigestible

She is gone