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 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.


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


On the Lips a Whisper 

December 2, 2016

You may have yet to find
The words by which you’ll be remembered most,
You may have yet to refine
The voice in which you say them,

But you are not, on the lips, a whisper
for those hearts by which you’re known,
Where in deep resounding timbre
You are a fully voiced song.


Heart Full of Bees

November 29, 2016

Its easy to romanticize bees,
When they dance
Instead of speak,

Its easy to romanticize bees,
As they obey their
Queen’s every whim,

Its easy to romanticize bees,
Atop their mountain
Flowers,

Its easy to romanticize bees,
Because
Your heart is full of them.


Ionized

November 26, 2016

from the stoic advances
of an ignorant boy
to the knowing glances
of a half-tamed lover


I Follow the Light

November 20, 2016

From hope
to expectation
I follow the light
until it dies.

I know I shouldn’t
rely —
but I follow that light
until it dies.

Left listless
in the darkness of an empty bedroom.
I’ve followed the light,
until it died.