Tuesday, December 30, 2014


i burn my home down
and i sit and watch
as it goes up in flames

i sit and watch
till it turns
to ashes

i burn my home down
the flaming torch
to my cold, blue, winter games

a handful of ash
i pocket
i smear on my forehead

for years
for a lifetime
my home
housed me


in my pocket
and rubbed into
the lines on my forehead
i carry it around

i am
and baptized
i am
and without walls

i am
my home
burnt down

Thursday, October 16, 2014


you do not write much
you do not write too often
but when you do
those two
that you write
i gather them

i hold them
those two words
with the exact same care
that i
gather air
i hold them
like i would 
collect a stream of fresh water

in the hollow base of my palm

i take
your two words
and fill balloons with them
words, words like helium
filled in balloons
of pastel shades
balloons made out of satin
tied down
with silk threads
to a mahogany writing table

those two words
that you write
around which
every other thing
by its absence
stands out
like people around us
in the plains of

those two words
you write
are like you
like the morning dew
like grains of sand
like scent of an ocean
like a scarf
made out of
the summer sky
wrapped around
an august neck

those two words
you write
are like you
crystal cubes of
melting away

who i gather 
in little
shape shifting
coffee cups

do not write much
do not write too often

but when you do...

Tuesday, October 14, 2014

a tree. the wilderness and an infinite infinity.

when we get tired
wondering about
wandering in
this infinite space

i will find us a tree
a tree by the lake

willingly offering
some shade

we'll stand underneath it
for a bit


like two content fools

we'll stand for a bit
and let the leaves fall

leaves that gave 

into the gentle
tempting caresses of

the breeze
a breeze with the heart of a wind
a wind with the legs of a windstorm
causing flutters
and sensations
in us
ground up
starting from the sole
of our feet
weakening our knees
tracing the tremble
on our thighs
sucked in
sucked in by our hungry
abdominal cavities
stoking the fire in our
quicksilver bellies
warming our breaths
clasping our chests

measuring our gasps
disrobing our sights
untying us
from our forbidden selves

over us
all over us
like confetti

we'll stand
for a bit
underneath that tree

and then
we shall

for a bit

and then

we feel like it again

wondering about
we'll start
wandering in
the wilderness
of this
infinite space

Friday, May 16, 2014

a very gradual fade

veins carrying coal
to your heart
arteries carrying saline
from mine

standing at the edge of a cloud
no wings to fly
no will to try

we've bled out
oceans through our eyes
we've answered every question
with a why


my chest
an open sky
on a summer night

the sweat beads
on my upper lip
the fissures
in your eyes

one reflecting light
the other letting it pass through

the rainbow between
the cusp of our palms
an upside down slide
colors dripping away
how our rainbow has
turned white

words turning
in to floating burned flakes of
in our mouths

we look at each other
two people

two people
who look like
sand clocks

slipping away

trying to fill up
the craters
on the face
of the moon

not any time soon

not any time soon

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

at sea and drowing

dipped in acid
to wash away
the satin stains
of the gentle

this is no world

for the gentle
or the kind
the forgiving
or the loving

especially the loving


oh lover
leave this world
there isn't enough room
for you




your bitter heart

and its broken shards
are dousing this world
in acrid rain

the stench

of your moth eaten

and dried petals
and ticket stubs
and lipstick cups
and carefully wrapped
gift wrapping papers

is sucking up

the oxygen around the rest of us

eating away at the ozone
poking holes
leaving us with burnt
body and souls


oh lover
leave this world
your weight is too much for us
to bear
you bare
you wear
your heart on your sleeves
and your naked sighs
and heaves
and gasps
setting up traps
trying to catch
our attention
when we have none
to spare

not for you

not now



oh lover

leave this world
this isn't a place for you

things written in red ink

how long can you chase
the feeling of that 
odd ball of soiled
erstwhile cotton
riding a roller-coaster

up and down
down and up
either ways
neither ways
going nowhere
scraping everywhere

don't you just wish
you could
thrust your hand
inside your mouth
deep down
your throat
and grab
the slimy end
of this cotton ball

and tug
tug hard
make it come undone

and then pull
purge yourself
from its
spidery web threads

pull it out gently
inch by inch

can you feel the space
that new found space
in the hollow of your abdomen
and the cavity of your chest

as the threads give way
as they make way
for the fresh air to rush in
for the sun-rays to shine in

don't you just wish
you could split yourself
down the middle
and air out

inside out
this old museum
that you have been curating
guarded by cages of your ribs
and breast plates
love and hate
love and hate

don't you just wish
that you could unclog
of this
cotton ball
which has rolled all over
and around a lot
and yet has gathered all the moss
the moss of memories
the moss of the number of times
you have had to bury yourself
the moss of the number of times
you have taken the pyre

the moss of all the times you remember
the moss of all the times you can't forget
the moss
the moss of loss
a choking mass
the moss of
broken mirrors
and one way
see through window glass

don't you just wish
to finally slay
all that
which has
slayed your
your hunger your thirst
all that has robbed you
of your throb
and beats
and rhythmic feet

don't you just wish

don't you just wish
that the misery of the burned out synapses
and the short-circuited nerve endings
would finally come to an end

the tingles
the shudders
the surprises
the shocks
the human
that you once were
now parading around 
as indifferent

don't you wish
all that would just stop

the cotton ball
the moss of loss
don't you just wish
all that would
just stop