Ghost Ride the Whip

August 18, 2017

White and red
Like blood and the bread
With three nails she said
She’s put us all to death

then she dragged all ten
deep across my chest
and yet here I am
and i’m still not dead.

A golden cross around her neck
had it since she was a kid
Brings her luck she insists
When she gives it a kiss.

Jesus take the wheel
and I’ll just close my eyes
I probably shouldn’t drive
But you can’t take me alive.

As the road’s crooked lines
Merge and divide
I cant tell if I’ve died
but that matters less,
and less all the time.

I find poison and rhyme
and I feel guilty all the time
I don’t need the body
but I’ll gladly take the wine

and I’ll drink until its fine
with the shame you supplied,
weaponized, and refined
we’ll head out for a drive.

So Jesus take the wheel
and let me sleep
finally and quietly
My soul is yours to keep,

There’s headlights ahead
You could just let this end.
Steel and cement
Believe and repent.


Black Wings

July 19, 2017

There’s a God who’s abandoned us
To his lovers’ open scorn,
Their closets brim with shadows
Whose wings are torn.
Because no one asks to be born —
We just hope the crows understand us
When we toss them a bit of corn.


Jonne and Ysa

June 10, 2017

I wakened in darkness — complete, cold darkness. But I wasn’t alone, I was never alone.

This couldn’t be the end and yet it wasn’t the beginning, either. I was somewhere else in the familiar feedback loop.

I opened my mind up to her, “Jonne, you know we can’t keep doing this,” she rebuffed me.

She was waking up, too. I flinched as I felt her mind stab into mine yet, after the initial shock of otherness I welcomed her in and she spread through my body like cold water. I was nothing and she was all. I breathe, you breathe.

We had spent the whole night entangled again. It was now still dark, but it was that early morning darkness laden with promises and cool gray tension. Dressed only in secrets and a shared inability to speak, we instinctively moved into the kitchen to find something to eat

Triangular light split the room.

“Do you like strawberries?” I ventured, only mildly interested in the contents of the open refrigerator.

The cooled air seemed to pour out onto the floor and wrap around my ankles where there was a small scar on the top of my left foot. I got it when I was twelve after climbing a tree in a neighbor’s yard and then falling out of it on my way back down. I broke a few metatarsals and so my father The Valiant Personal Injury Lawyer had the neighbor for everything he was worth on negligence and I got some bone screws. The purple scar has curved with time, and now it tightened just a tiny bit more than the skin around it in the cold. As I was contemplating the circumstances of the injury she caught me off guard with an honest question: Do you need me?

I couldn’t answer, I could never answer that. To give the truth is to accept it and for us that meant to die. I breathe, you breathe.

“No, Ysa. I don’t need you and you are free to leave.”

She didn’t buy it, of course, and she turned away from me moving quietly back to the bedroom. That tiny, heated room where we conjured our mistakes and miscommunications; where we consummated our lone purpose over and over again; where the only witnesses were lampshades and window sills; where we lie among the tapestries and stylish knick-knacks upon expensive linen sheets — sweat gleaming on our brows — wishing we were someone else somewhere else.

I followed her eagerly.

Let’s lay the torch to all of this.” It was not a suggestion and I was not able to decline.

“I need you.”

I know.

I’ve always known.

I breathe, you breathe.


Don’t Worry, It Has a Happy Ending

February 15, 2017

We’d sing until our throats burst
raw and breaking,
with every fucking chorus
we’d sweat,
we’d breathe in each other’s exhaled curses
and every vaporized
word tasted like catharsis.

We’re still using this —
We’re still walking with our holy crutches
after breaking windows with our feet
and throwing bricks
into the street.

Yet
Even as we promised not to take any of this seriously
we killed everyone involved.

As the walls crumbled under our fingernails
and we danced through the conversations
we managed to lose ourselves in the disfiguring,
“we hurt, yes, but never others”
we console each other.
It’s ok.

It’s never okay.
It’s never fine.
It’s never us.
We say.

In the end we were just a pile of ruptured concrete
under a parking lot
for a Costco.
Our lies married our dreams
under the floor
of the frozen food
aisle.


Directions Unclear

January 20, 2017

There’s no such thing as certainty
In this life of dreams.
I am shadow of shadow
Infinite reflection reflected.
An abstract of an abstract.
Concept indeterminate.
Syntax error.


Cohabitation

January 19, 2017

We share this home –
this vessel of blood and bones.
Mingle with me
and divide my cells.
Mitosis. Meiosis, Metastasis.
Inch across my abdomen.
Terrify my family,
and eat me from inside.
Wrinkle my skin and hollow my cheeks.
You breathe when I breathe.
Eat when I eat.
Divide. Divide, repeat.

intercellular-bridging


We Spend Our Time, Leaving it Behind

January 15, 2017

“I must think of it constantly in order to take care not to think of it. In this connection it must be understood not only that I must of necessity perpetually carry within me what I wish to flee but also that I must aim at the object of my flight in order to flee it… Thus anguish, properly speaking, can be neither hidden nor avoided.”

From Being and Nothingness by Jean Paul Sartre translated by Hazel E. Barnes

We are a potential energy
dancing between poles,
We are a dammed river
raging.

We are that little god inside me
forced to possess my freedom,
We are a simple question
waiting.

We are a always facing one other
and are never speaking,
We are pressing need
aching.

We are love and we are also not
so I keep on dreaming,
We are always sleeping —
being.