9.30.2010

San Francisco

i live
in a city
where
people escalate
beneath the ground
to travel past land.

9.28.2010

darling;

where lies my admitting
when yours is sleeping,
on the very bed
that has divided our
together ness,
i watch your eyelids
closed and breathing,
and i noise the walls:

feet long for any association
of the familiarity of your skin
covering your bony ankles,
hands clumsily mismanage
the washing of the dishes,
i am bored
protesting your trance
with the sound of my own exhale
my own sighs, migrating murmurs,
deserted to plea with you:

please blanket my loneliness

9.25.2010

i know your time is worthwhile,
but i dont owe you
a (or the) present,
just because
we were friends in the past.

9.21.2010

yes, it is notable
that things grow
from our inside
to (protect) our outside.


like, for example, fingernails.

9.19.2010

collected comrade

elizabeth guides hands
with words. soaks her senses
in honesty. grows anxious
like i, overconceptualization.

she allows herself to "feel at any given moment,"
i learned today
that meditating with your
former and future self
can beautifully replace any lack of spirituality
i feared
i encompassed. gratitude.

9.18.2010

hush.

i will use that word correctly.

9.08.2010

wind shakes bones,
the tree outside my home
is as alone
as i am
one.

9.07.2010

naturally, i want to eat san francisco's (poet)ential. what a silly assumption.

9.04.2010

the premature waking of eight small paws
chasing wind, and your beautiful hands
adjusting your tie, as you look at me,
"what were we thinking?"

love, we wanted life
to cover our floor (even/ly
when we could not).

the awaited opening of the welcoming door
(followed by a precise dance:
your legs are for their paws
a mere hug, a conversation 
of meows)
finally returning, and your exhausted hands
 removing your suit, as you look at me,
"this is our family."


9.02.2010

a deliberate attempt

to find comfort in confessing
words to be read.