may 2010

history (a-side)

to sidle through time
desirous of soaring

to maneuver,
dreaming of leaping

to roar,
longing to sing;

possessing
lionhearts in leopard skins,

slinking like satin gowns
down the body
of history– cloaking,
conforming to shape
and style–

my identity:
the tempest confined by the teapot,
a wolf in softest fleece–
a furnace in a flickering eye

songs of ashes

these past months
i have seen only
the side of your face

never full frontal,
absent the nakedness
of eyesmouthslipsnose
free of paint or hats,
just the sides
as if you were mocking the moon

just your jaw,
only your profile
(a page on the internet
does little to compare),

maybe one glacial eye
behind hoary lens;

i think i am in love
with the side of your face
the other side has large shoes
(if faces can be said to wear them)
to fill

i hope you never turn your head
it might break my heart

my whirling dervish: a last letter

from all this,
we learned
that two hurricanes can coexist;
we learned
that the silent eye
screams louder than we know
we learned that fingertips
scorch memories better than pokers.

from all this we learned
two teachers in a silent classroom
makes a convoluted curriculum;
bright flame can burn itself.

we learned it is possible
to make fortresses from broken stone.

from all this
we taught ourselves by inculcation
that strength lies not in stoicism
but in flight.

it ends like this,
me as the ocean again
with all my storms and waves
my hurricaneself downgraded in your wake
to a humming tropical storm–

you the broken angel with burning wings
and only a hard landing ahead.

they will see you streak across the sky
and call you comet,
they will wish up on you.

i will want to pray for you
but you were my god,
and i was your king.

we will not tear one another apart
as we thought. we will interweave
and knot into history,
one more blanket to warm the cold moon.

emilyswash

i just want you to know
i wish you lived in texas,

i wish right next to me so

you could be my punk rock indie princess
with bangles stacked on your wrists

jingle belling your way to me

on bare feet

with sparkly painted toenails
spangles on your cheeks and star stickers

i wish you lived in texas
with me and my mother

she’d stare at you for a minute
at the flowers on your skirt,

and the way your hair makes you look not quite human

but she’d make us breakfast in the afternoon
and tell us not to make too much noise while she naps before work

you’d say ‘your mother is a mountain’

i would admire your way with words

and we’d grab our bathing suits, towels and iPods

(it’s impossible to go without music)

and race into the broiling texas days untouched,
because we’re so fucking cool

dirty boy

you are a beautiful,
stupid,
fucked up angel

i blister at the sight of your sores

i put out both my hands
(trembling)

to catch you–

you intentionally fell to the left of my reach

and you glared at me
over the tops of your broken wings

but would not let me pull you up again

instead you just jumped up
and off another cliff

i don’t know how much longer i can bear to watch you plunge

(but i’ll staple my eyes open)

social anxiety

to the fugitive with filthy nails
in my entrails, kicking like furious infants
toward the nearest orifice exit;

to you who sleeps beneath my flesh,
you who writhe in my belly,
flattening your palms and the soles of your feet
against the sides of my throat, and clutch,
and pull the esophagus blanket in toward you

to the trespasser upon my brain cells
and my body, i say:
leave me. get out.
i do not want you here.