glue

and the world crashes like a wave on every particle of my body
i've forgotten ocean communication
something about speaking to the salt
drinking tea blood
cherry atop a sad sunday
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i painted my nails the sky
clouds and blue
white and atmosphere
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i leave notes for him in the morning
when he's left for work and i have the apartment to myself
yesterday a bath of milky fiber
and emerged dripping my brain onto paper
poetic nonsense inhaled like the rectangle scrap i sprayed with cannabis rose
leave part of me for him in the evening
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the elements have been kind to me lately
lovely nature greetings
zoom through my eyes
corrupt my brain and
flee to necessary limbs and joints
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this doesn't make sense but
how can i explain that
my hands are the eternity in every cloud that hangs in the sky
that tea invigorates my veins fills cavities with history and hope
a taste touches tongue spreads and expands to the remaining blandness
spewing truth
trees whisper birds twitter their mysterious simplicity
an ocean within and without apply pressure to my body to keep it from
falling apart
from crumbling
and from dying without ever knowing the beauty in momentary crashes
the life in shifting twisting twirling
until pain subsides
and you cry just to cry just because you can because rivers and streams and lakes need an escape just like every other molecule in the universe
that in every chaotic second there is union
a kiss exchange meeting
a familiar face skeleton
harmony transferred from brain to hand to paper to hand to eye to heart

a drain to what

i feel dead
like someone sucked the life out of me
i can barely smoke the cigarette he slipped into my pack
i am melting
beneath summer heat and summer obligations
i am shrinking
and crying
and wailing
anguish sounds in every message
look
burning incense stick
every cup of tea
shattered mugs in the imagination
a wind that won't carry me away
punctuated rain
sleepytime allthetime
i told my soul to wake up
shaken beaten chastised
and still it slumbers
until some second coming
a second season or
a second fuck or
a second life
a third a fourth
a century wasted
on cheap wine and television
cheap people and stories
a skeleton ready to buckle
be assembled anew
replaced
instructed
in the proper ways of growing up
and growing boring
growing dead and dissatisfied
i can't do it
lift my arm
it's deteriorating
ruin flowing through veins
leaden weight keeping me immobile
lies churning brain whirlpool
a drain to what

his hair in my hair

strands descend like light through
curtained windows
to the bathroom for a long walk to work
forget the sunset
dream in daylight
and swaying smile to bedsheets
hide between layers under pillows
drift in and out of smoky universes
but always return home
to the golden waves
cerulean outposts
to guide the lost to safety

short and sweet. trying to get back in the rhythm of writing, the habit of twisting my perception just so so that it's readable, consumable.