I love you.

Already.

I can hear moonlight
and I can taste rain
and I had all my senses heightened

Since I forgot your name

What They Don't Know

Our friends help us through
the separation

but don't know
we snuck away

last night

to kiss beneath the moon

This Place

Pressed atop your chest
I exhaled "I love you"

and you begged me
to "stay in
this moment forever"

desperately

as if I have a say

In My Mother's Tub

plugged in
the plastic radio I bought at last week's yard sale
and peeled my robe from sticky skin
as Meshell Ndegeocello's
growls begin to drip from the speakers

cut to

the double
indentations
on the bridge of my nose
from the glasses
i wear
on work days

today was especially long

cut to

However bitter against
raised tastebuds
coconut sure smells sweet
on steamed skin

cut to

me squeezing more
onto this tattered
wash cloth

cut to

my head dropped back on
cold ceramic
as my body sinks lower
into sudsy lava

nipples and kneecaps
all that
peak
above the surface

cut to

a thought of you.

and i touch myself
in my mother's tub

Where are you

Irene Grandi growls Italian love songs
as a backdrop for this conversation

90 minutes of "That's so true" and "You know what else?" and "What do you mean" and "I feel the same way" barrel from the other end of the reciever


Rivers of words are leaking through the earpiece

But where are you?

Where are you?

Where are you?

The metal absence of your presence
The heavy presence of your absence

Men who love to listen and a girl who loves to talk
Men with things to say and a girl eager to listen
A dangerous recipe
Don't you think?

And in the midst of it all I still want you
I want the food they feed to be fed to me by you
But where are you?

Where
Are
You

You are
the difference
between
metaphors and similes.

You are
not 'like'
or 'as'

But You 'are'.

Oh baby, you ARE.

champagne

color me deep deep gray
the gray so deep it's almost light blue
make me cry the way meredith grey's denoument-monologues often do


lick my skin and find it gray and rough like the moon.

Crowns and Syrup

Your fingertips taste of metal
and my split-ends line your bed
The last poem was meant to cut
But you called it beautiful instead

Conversation has stalled and stuttered
Yet my heart grows larger still
My head- its got its mind made up
But I dial against my will

Your love it leaves me red and raw
And syrup fills my hands
Let's wrap our necks like ostriches
Unless God's got other plans

Our 'after-birth' is sour
Yet and still I drink you down
'Cause while the birds chirp 'Mossy hat!'
My eyes- they see a crown.

My tongue dances in sugar
While thick lanes drip below my neck
Everything was sweet at first
But syrup leaves a sticky wet

My tears dripped on that golden piece
And 'oh!' what have I found
It melted quick as sand and soap
My tears melted your crown.

The syrup that fell from my face
Liquified your crown.


My God, what emptiness I've found?

Floating with Anchors

One moment- at the bus stop
the next- on hands and knees
in your garden;
twigs disturbing
the brown cracks of my palms
and shins.

and again i crawl
towards the cluster of
red sunflowers.
our meeting place.

and, as is routine,
i pull my dirty index
and plug one nostril
so hard
my nose begins
to bleed

bent over
i am running my nose across the soil
beneath the flowers
and let the pollen rush to my skull
so that my head begins to hurt
so good

rolled over on my back
i fail to notice the slugs
that made their way into my hair
slick and slow

i release myself to the
rivers of itchy grass
while
bits of bloody sunflower pollen
feast
on the 90%
scientists say
we never use

and i cough up flies
while you make love to me.

Possibilities

He says

he loves me

more

The Wheel

as I roll
i sometimes wonder
what would come of us
-of this wagon we carry-
if i gave a little less

i've been on the move
since given this position
from my creator
from the one who shaped me
and, in his infinite wisdom,
he set me in line with you

two wheels, you and i.

to take this load somewhere
to travel
to move
but sometimes
sometimes
you've got me wondering
if we are rolling on my momentum
alone

you've got me drowned in muddy waters.
wondering. curious
if our wagon would make it to california
still
if you were left to your own strength.

i pray you'd have enough
in your spokes to roll us both
if you'd take on the extra load

but something tells me
if i stopped
to explore such
hypotheses
i would- for the first time- dread being proven correct

for if i laid by the road
this wagon would surely rot away
and this load,
this delivery,
will never be complete

& i envy you.

you sleep at night
when the wagon stops, and we warm near the campfire
and you are sound...
knowing that if you ever stopped rolling
things would be okay
for i would work for you

and you sleep with your Knowing
and you sleep with your Knowing

and i wake gasping for air
a worn wheel
desperate for your Knowing
jealous of your Knowing

hungry for your Knowing

wound.

Chugged Zephyrhills
in place of vodka.
Less brain cells suffer that way.

Now I'm here every hour
on the hour.

Emptying myself
of the water I've stored

I sit.

And in the time it takes to pee
I've propped open my mouth
and escaped myself.
Clips of this weekend
slashing their way
like paper-shreddddded pieces
across my mind

--fatherbrothermothermascara-stuffednailstriphopbingeone.long.silent.film.--

It's a black-blanket cocoon with
square of light pushing through,
like a laptop screen
in a dark room
tiptapping on the keys
so your roommate
doesn't wake
and bitch you out.

you can't expect people to save you
our chests aren't big enough to bear the "S"
...or the Cross.

Three sheets of Charmin
(my mother's OCD taught me well)
quick wipe
("from front to back!")
and i can blink again.

scrubbing between my nails
with her eucalyptus soap
i wonder
if the next trip
to the bathroom

will be as heavy.

Sometimes

on rare occasion

I see

God's love

for me
in you

the beast

you were there all wrinkly
your hair long gone, just like your father

and we had been through things
secrets God told to only us
and which we kept

and i saw a boy who walked like you
and had your laugh
and loved his momma
like you do

and i saw me crying
and smiling
both because of you

and i felt your hand
on my leg in church
years ahead in time
not unlike the way it is now
and

this time now was remembered
with pain but as a catalyst
for our growth
a phase
but

i can't be the only one who's sure,
for faith and reassurance
are too big of beasts
for one to take on
all alone

Dear Paul : For the Team

Dear Paul,

you're my favorite player

if i can't find your jersey
once the sun sets
and it comes time to lay my head,
i'd rather sleep naked

because no one else
is worth that 8 hours
of closeness

is worth my body

and i've never missed a game
if i can't make it in person
i've got it playing wherever i am
so as not to miss
a single play

and my friends all noticed
my commitment
and fell impressed
and hope to be with other players
the way i am with you

for they've seen how your game's improved
how i am loyal again to the game i once cursed
because of you

this morning i hear
that you were nearly released
from your contract
and my whole life
was put on pause
spent forty minutes
in the shower, with pandora all a-go-go
praying the coach would change his mind

until i got the details...

i hear they asked you to gve it up for the team
that world that you indulge
off of the court
wasn't a test of pride or power
for the franchise
but a desperate plea
from the "team"
for the "team"

and i don't know what's going on
but if it's for the "team"
if it's for our "team"
then, Paul, you've got to realize

fans like me don't come around too often
the opportunity to play with these guys was a miracle
to begin with
so whatever it is, i'm with Doc:

give it up.
that off-court-world
and indulge in a new one

for the sake of the "team"

because i think i take back
what i said before

i have no hope that you'll give it up soon
not anymore
you're too far gone

so i will sleep
naked
until you come back around

and when you're ready
to come back to the team
and examine that off-court life

let me know
no worries
i'll wear no other jersey
until you come around

even if you're off your contract for a full year

but not now, Paul
not now

i will always be your biggest fan
but am so in disbelief that when it came down to it
you weren't ready to sacrifice for the team
that until you are

until you are
your jersey will hang
retired
in my boyfriend's closet
because i can't look at it
without crying

remember that at the end of the day,
your unwillingness betrayed our love
not me
for this is the hardest thing
ive ever had to do
and it's because you're MAKING me
whether you know it or not....

i love you, Paul.

but i can't support the "team"
if you can't either

because that team
ain't shit
ain't shit
ain't shit
without you.

still friends,
your number one

Architecture

You built it together
Upon foundation weak, and
I hear they all warned you

wanting a house so badly
you convinced yourselves that
sand would be enough

Realizing your poor construction
the demolition soon began

but the tearing down of your home
also
destroyed my own

------------------------------------

your.divorce.cracked.my.life.too.

haiku

I am a "hugger"
Came today instinctively
Your love has changed me

a lesson in sarcasm.

let her go.

if she can't accept
that you've got control
that you've been doing
this thing since before
she came around
that you do
what the hell you
want to do
because-you're-a-MAN
goddamn-it
then
let her go

what's next?
rights
to the club
the games
your "me time"
your dreams
nah.

let her go.

so what if she concedes when she's wrong
and stands convicted when she's right
that she loves you for you
and defends your name
so what if she would never
take advantage of you
so what if she's been marked
forever
by your past

so what if she'd take your bullet
that she's your street team
and your deacon
your teacher and
your student
your job
and your vacation
your cook
your Pam
your biggest
fan

if she doesn't get it
if she is going to get
hung up
on this
one
little
thing,
man

let her go.


that girl still ain't worth this shit right here...
nigga, this shit right here.

friday night

it is for friday night.
it is for estrogen.
it is for twenty-dollar parking.
finally worth every cent.

it is for stares from strangers.
it is for drowned-in-smiles slumber.
it is for the best daiquiris
i've been drunk off since summer.

it is for epiphanies.
it is for newfound appreciation.
for my body
and for hiccups
and for humid salty sun.

it is for stranger-kisses
it is for balconies with views.
is is for many things.
but it is not for you.

this one is not for you.