XscreamxmyxnameX

Two a.m. crawls out from beneath the bed, passes over dry eyes, shattered. I want to climb through the screen and claw my way down your throat, in search of the source of the words that make my teeth ache. I want to insinuate myself into your spine, spreading my nerves tense along yours, to feel the electricity that crackles beneath your skin. I want to break brittle bones and reset them with your marrow to become the easel such beauty is crafted upon. I imagine the brush of your eyelashes in the static buzz of the monitor against my finger tips, soft and wanting.

There's something about lying awake in the cool, quiet creeping dawn rain storm like the drumming of impatient fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist An easy shift of linens and limbs and I press my cheek to his the night's stubble scratching between jaw lines new silver and self-consciousness invisible in the dim blue light Photographs watch from old walls frozen images of the dead and gone, the up-and-coming, the barely changed surrounding us in time A sleepy hand brushes pale-streaked hair back away from my face, a gentle gesture practiced and perfected to the point of habit raindrop patterns on window panes casting age

They are noiseless against the parked car Warm tire tread pressing into bony backs Eyes locked on the single bright pin-point Hovering along the horizon of bruised sky Suddenly, words tumble unbidden, uncontrolled Cracked lips spilling all, bared against cutting wind Pain and pressure and and confessions of horror Emptying a river of bile into open air Heads heavy with tired trepidation They clamber into the busy back seat Nestling amongst cotton knit mountains Tangled arms heating frail bodies Sleep comes slowly, frost glazing glass Before raw eyes can finally close The promise of sun remains, however distant Colder stars to b

There is a couple, fresh-faced and oblivious to my groping eyes, intent as they are on each other. Eyes shine in the dying light sunset over still water, a postcard perfect night for love. Park benches begin to empty into melancholy, a sorry state of affairs. I watch for desperate grips, watch for kisses like last breath inhales. Expensive perfume drifts on a late summer breeze, an invisible advertisement for late summer lust. She pulls him closer, small hands tucked into his back pockets, a tell-tale square imprinted against the denim. Nothing is sacred. Everything is bare bones and screeching rubber. A forgotten novel pr

Like the girls in her poem we stayed locked in conversation into the woolly hours of heart-breaking dawn, cigarette smoke whipped into the tangles of our hair. Heads full of acid and grass of questionable quality, we trade memories back and forth-- thoughts exchanged like a joint passed between long-time lovers.

The death of art is a lofty claim Especially when so much of art is death Or as the tarot deck so often reminds us, “change” But sometimes, change is forgotten in pockets Or spent on a college degree And all that remains are our words Cuz see, last time I checked Words were free A renewable resource available to all who Can dig them up Polish them off and put them to use Some of us have been taught in brick buildings Some of us have been taught on the streets Some of us have never really been taught At all But we speak the same language Whether scribbled down or spoken aloud Everyone’s looking for a new turn

CYLINDER! MASTER      CYLINDER THE SIZE OF A           SPACECRAFT SIZE OF A MONOLITH...! MASTER CYLINDER BECOMING MILES          &                 MILES IN LENGTH i do not FEEL it i AM it i AM that which fills me i AM the void it is filling i AM the SPACE BETWEEN two bodies i AM black hole eating white light i AM the destroyer of stars            and the creator of void i am a pinpoint           filled by a solid           LIGHTYEARS IN SIZE and that sound! i am not hearing it i AM it. the pre-nerve connecting to ear, funneling sounds into BLACK HOLE of the brainpan. i am impossible geometry       being s

This here is classic like plastic Smells like 45s rollin’ out Smoke filled grooves Smells like raspberry splatter paint Smells like raspberry incense -my incense is higher than yours smells like burnt fingernails smells sticky like sex, singed or not smells like seven people in a cramped bathroom -dryer sheets and a box of rain smells like resin and hair particles (Not mine, of course) smells like spring snow and second floor acrobatics applause unnoticed on an ice covered balcony smells like roaches in the carpet lonely survivors of a smoky holocaust smells like Ophelia in a knit hat green and blue and pink and ---

A room A white room Spartan with the need for detachment A room to assure To assuage any doubts of normality He stands, motionless Wide eyes reflected in the blank television Bed meticulously made behind him Long fingers twitch Long lashes strike razor blade cheek bones The stirrings of a symphony in dress rehearsal She clings to the door frame Afraid to cross such a threshold Dark hair hangs in damp ropes down her back Towel clenched in tight fists as she takes a step Puts a hand out-- A room A faded room And the people who used to live there