THATDAY

it was all bones that day--
stripped down to nothing but calcium and marrow,
we couldn't even drink lemonade
without it burning out our intimacy.
we are so different,
you with your sky-eyes and
me with my earth-eyes,
you with your seabourne heart
and me with only my bones.
we
share
secrets
on
your
seashore--

like how what i hate the most
is that i pushed you out of
my entire imagination
that day,
no room for the weary
in rot-eaten boats
where nobody sings.

[i still write you letters--]

setting fire to Calendars.

yesterday:

i was a victim of 5000 degrees soaked in putrid anticipation,
a heart attack all balled up in an ulcer taking a nap in my skull--
12-hour-shifts of screaming veins
losing everything but white-hot love/hate/indecision.
i was a stagnant industrial revolution
complete with bedsores,
smuggling memories into my Depression Lockdown
disguised as masochism.
there was still room
to be in love with you,
yesterday
in my car.

today:

i am doused in a rotten shade of yellow,
like pus from the bleeding sores my eyes have become,
unable to look away from the meticulously vile sunshine.
i am obsolete, dead weight in my own skin,
inviting bluebirds to eat out my unmotivated arteries
to make room for rejection.
i am very afraid that my eyelashes will turn to glass
and i will go blind--
i never want to see your beautiful face again;
i cannot wait to see you again.

tomorrow:

is a negative variable shot through my heart,
sitting uncomfortably in my crooked spine
just begging for a car crash or a
bar fight
[and i am eager to please]
i will still be an oil spill to your blue blue seas,
and i will always be VIOLET--
the bruised off-brand of your perfect cerulean.
we are miles apart
we are oceans apart
we are worlds apart because you are beautiful,
and i am not a tiger or a cyclone
and maybe i am not really a life,
either.

deep sentiments.

i want you to know that you
should dig out my arteries and
fill them with plaster and rain--
i am sick of you,
and i am sick with you;
most of all,
i am sick without you.
[what a shame that we can't be
together.]

fragments.

we'll burn up someday in a starstruck-explosion
eyelids acidic and heavy as the world.
we'll cry and paint our arms black
but it only means as much as
their killing laughter-
[you're only as good as the world will let you be]

--

you are the brightest night of the week,
a bedtime story wrapped in glass.
i don't admit that i want to kiss your
fingerprints
until our body heat melts them off--
identity is for cool afternoons
on a love-strewn seashore.

--

lately i cannot relate to natural disasters
because i feel tragically man-made--
i am an oil spill to your
cool, uninfected breeze.
everything about you is cerulean,
enough to make the sea envious
and it is lightning on my tongue,
potent and fleeting
like dead summertime.