we three

they rest on the surface of me
granting my entry into the most sacred of places
a surprising density with neither mass nor saturation
i wake every day to watch them settle in
more and more and more please more
one a tight fold into contemplation
two a delicate containment bursting about the skin
three an assertive grip at its most vulnerable expression
i am strengthened by the safety you have given me
you are my anchor in the tonle sap and throughout the dry season
my botanical acolyte
my parents

ruth less

she is
trapped
an arid word she’d never thought to use herself
on behalf of herself
not in this timeline
a word she’d used often
in the pasts of passing

how is she
captured
again
she wonders
how has she deemed herself the hunter
while assuming a position of prey
well she must have feltbeenseen
both
she decides

a radical breeder of choice
her surroundings provide few outs and far ins between
each crippling to a savage end

has she killed herself on repeat
she ponders

the spear has dulled
yet it pierces nonetheless
while she bleeds muchthemore

a hickory syrup of muted acceptance

lessons unlearned until
no escape
no endurance
she traces the sap
in search of injuries
to find
none

elbows traverse the chest
an embrace of
compression
compassion
she shovels the fever of her pulse
knuckle fist knuckle nail

breathing her own breath
in
out
she counts
in
out
she counts
in
out
controlled
in
out

suchthing

there’s no such thing as a perfectplace.
no hardwood floor without that one exposed nail head
no bookshelf full of novels that evoke only layered laughter
no pantry stocked with just peanut butter pistachios and chili chocolate
yet i wait for that place
socks on hammer in hand
a few unlikely library books on hold
sun dried apricots and fresh ambrosia apples.
i make this place happen
by writing here
this is my fuckingplace.

no title

silence
but for my poppa’s clock
now set to spring
climbing up
climbing out of myself
burrowing into an unidentifiable comfort
present most times of the day
though imperceivable during the dour hours of dreams
such concentration
exhaling any hesitation to trust myself
come the stroke of light
birds

you open the door

existence becomes
a soft lens
a distant campfire
a weak cup of tea
no less real when we are
chest to spine
always simple
always being
always needing more words for
correct
right
mint
flawless
fitting
true
perfect
an endless launch
into shared egotism

this is

the kind of day

my jaw bone gnashes on an invisible feast
craving to create
craving to feast on the creation

but with instrument missing from his stand
and sight taking the vacation i was meant to have

i am stripped

though a happy heart acts as an industrial grade furnace
this chill ripples beneath the skin in blues and slates
a continent’s distance within
the disparity between spectral beauty and simple pain

away with starvation
and
skeletal clenching
my
stomach is full on the
soon
of
songs
and
sun

search and ..

she had forgotten why she’d even driven west this morning
so she turned herself about and headed east
she had forgotten why she parked the car
at this dead end
so she fled the scene in an alarming ascent leaving
half of herself at the avocado farm part way up the ridge
while the other half forged ahead to the horse springs

each overlook was a chance to observe her abandoned self
at a helicopter’s height
a chance to see
the she that was no longer her

those who loved and searched for her
couldn’t possibly love this her
and now those very same couldn’t possibly love that other her
besides
who was even who

her kin
one speechless one furious
searching half body half mind themselves
fully helpless
choosing to never find either of the hers
and certainly not
the theirs

dad, know

my memories of you
echo with the scents
of mulch and bamboo
of breyers seasonal blackberry ice cream
the streams of car wash suds down the driveway
your stale sweat of late night business travel
to places I’d see myself later in life
in the arms of other men less deserving of my love
of beer on your stache and breath I’m still so fond
of waking to your return
and the safety
in having that

“well, they do say that you marry your father.
and sometimes your father is too nice.”
mom

“i love you daddy”
tweety