manifesto II

Dogs > people.

Samara Key

Sugar maple seeds spiraled groundward, pelting
the sidewalk, each landing haphazardly
across our path. It was spring and I was
feeling better, if only for the stupid
seeds, their dizzy descent
toward a dizzier world.
I wanted to shake loose from what I knew.
I wanted to learn how
to leave what I love most.

.philadelphia.2.

Like a hot shower, home-cooked dinner with new friends steams up the glass; you'll never see us not peering back out.

.philadelphia.

Another Chinatown (the same Vietnamese cafe across town) has me convinced that pieces of cities are now following in our wake, a toilet paper past tucked unknowingly into the back of my pants.

.new.london.

All the hispanic children on the pier, so ready to race you, cover their ears when the train arrives.

.cape.cod.

From the catwalks above, all our actors' skulls are crosshairs, waiting for the lightning.

.boston.

The roads here, like our crisscrossing emotions, have never been tamed.

i owe y'all some decent blog posts...when i get a chance.

.manhattan.

Inside concrete tunnels, you are oxygen, being carried into the heart of this city.

.butterfingers.

You like to throw your weight around, but I can't ever catch it.

jesus!

after this week, i'm never gonna want to tattoo again!

afternoon

felt like august only
it was april. you shed
your clothes like
a good tease, one layer
at a time. summer
sweat on your skin.
all we had was time
to give each other,
these few hours
in a room full of
the sun's glare,
and nothing else
mattered.

.these.bristly.legs.

These bristly mosquito legs, finally shaved free of your bloodsucking buzz, always around my ears.

.fans.aplenty.

All these fans, we're just pushing hot air around us. And you can hear the spinning coming from the ceilings, the windows, the whirlpool where your heart should be. You can hear the windmills making the wind, hoping to attract themselves a little chivalry.
All this hot air rushing around us, gushing out the windows, and hopefully taking with them the stale emotions, still lingering, like a flirtatious glance.

the pursuit of happiness

you are more work than worth.
fool's gold.

.dr.light.needs.right.to.win.again.

All you bitches come to my show on Sunday.

And afterwards, I'm taking a 10 day vacation, but I'll be trying to update everyday with a cheesy dark line, unless I think of something better.
You get a sampler today:

Who knew this picture was a jigsaw puzzle, so ready to fall to pieces?

.always.hungry.

If I could swallow the world, I would keep it in my gut. I would lock it all down, a collapsing star shaking off its last lights like iridescent sweat.
And then I would vomit it all back up, everything dissolved into unprocessed acidic bile. I will pick through the bits for small chunks of you, and I will read gastrointestinal fortunes as if they were tea leaves in your grandmother's cup.
I will consume my past with ravenous hypotheticals. I will loosen a notch of my nostalgic future, the belt of expectations that ties it all down.
And all the time, I am hungry. I am full. Unsatiated.

Your Room and Everything In It*

stay home today--I want you
in your most natural state.

and let me undo all the hard work
your clothes perform.

this can be a secret,
our chaos marked by

the unmade bed and a song
that keeps skipping.

when your mouth moves over me
my skin burns for you.

I wanted you closer, I
don't know how else to tell you.












*I kinda stole this title from Jon Chopan's piece, "This Room and Everything In It."

.knight's.tour.

why do we purchase one-way tickets back home?
an errant knight's tour come back around
jumping over black and white squares
blending all together into familiar grey sidewalk slabs

Remaining Separate from What One Loves Deeply*

Don't believe me
if I'm cold, far
as the moon from you.

I wanted your love
but I'd only ruin it.






*line from Louise Gluck's poem, "Telemachus' Guilt."